4 AM

Sometimes the lights go out. Just for a while. Maybe longer than we’d like.

I never thought I’d be the type to get short on words when it comes to writing but when my nephew passed away this past February the words stopped coming. The lights went out.

Thankfully it was a busy time of the work year so I was able to dive right into preparation for what would surely be another long playoff run.

My heart did ache knowing that not everybody who knew and loved my nephew Zachary had the luxury of delving into busy distractions. The quiet of evening swallowed me whole on more than one occasion. I could only imagine what it was like for my loved ones whose days and nights blended together without interruptions of requests and phone calls and ‘important’ things to be done.

They say everybody goes through the grieving process. It might look different from one person to the next but apparently involves shock and denial, pain and guilt, anger and bargaining, depression/reflection/loneliness, the ‘upward turn’ (sunshine and lollipops, right?), reconstruction and working through, and then acceptance and hope.

 I don’t know if I’ve gone through any of those let alone all of them. Certainly I was very angry very early. I can tell you that much. Good thing there weren’t any sports or board games to be played at that time because my fuse was short. Dodged that one.

Initially, I didn’t want to tell anyone about what had happened. Maybe that was my way of denying it had. In my mind I was worried if I opened my mouth to say those words, the dam I had so carefully constructed emotionally would break and the tears and who knows what...would come. If there’s one thing my dad taught me, it’s nobody likes a cry baby--and that Fruit & Nut chocolate bars are the best breakfast for early morning hunting trips (don’t worry, I never hit anything but coins and markings on a wood stump).

Then one night something clicked. I think it was a light switch, somewhere. I grabbed my guitar. My therapy so many times before. And started playing a song that began with lines I’d been living for weeks:

“I’m okay on the outside but it’s all caving in. I can pretend that I’m alright but I’m close to the edge.”

I know I’m not the only one that was feeling that way. That has felt that way.

I thought about calling this entry “Don’t say your $%*@ don’t stink” but thought my LDS friends would think I’d gone apostate.

But really, we’ve all got stinky parts to us. Some people wear the stinky parts on their sleeves (ew…bad visual). Some people quietly carry the stinky stuff, trapped under its weight. However it appears or doesn’t appear, it’s there.

Only time can teach you certain lessons but golly do I wish I’d learned a lot earlier not to judge other people. You can’t ever know what’s in their heart. What’s in their lives. In hindsight I remember kids in elementary school that came from very broken homes. My best friend up until I was five was living with his grandparents because (as I later found out) he’d suffered at the hands of a pedophile. I never knew! I never knew.

We might never know.

But we can love. We can embrace. We can show compassion. We can show understanding…sometimes, many times, without understanding.

Recently my cousin posed the question on facebook about the Coldplay line “every tear is a waterfall”. What does that mean?

To me, it means we’re all connected. Pain can beget pain. Likewise, joy can beget joy. We can’t control everything. But we can control some things.

Be love. Be embrace. Be compassion. Be understanding. Be there.