Choosing Joy in Times of Despair

Losing my father to cancer left a huge hole in my heart because there is just something special about being "Daddy's Girl." His whole face lit up with a massive smile every time he looked at me. His smile never stopped when it came to being around me. I loved how he treasured me and cherished me; it felt so wonderful. When he died, I fought for decades to find the belief that I had value when he wasn't around to remind me.

 

A few days before he died, I was exhausted from the time spent providing care for my dad while missing my husband and young children. My heart was literally dissolving from the weight of losing this person who adored me. 

 

My husband and I found that our souls were ravaged from the incessant needs and pain. We had nothing to give each other, being totally spent from the time apart--me caring for my father, and my husband caring for the children. The kids missed me, I missed them, my husband wanted his wife, and I was so worried for my dad. It was a very dark time.

 

The day that my heart was the heaviest, I returned home to my children. The babysitter left and I did the unthinkable: I turned on Golden Oldies radio and blasted it at full volume. I grabbed my boys, got on my knees on the soft carpet and with my swollen eyes and puffy nose I told my babies that Grandpa wasn't doing so great, but I just couldn't cry anymore. I said we needed some joy and some happy in our days and I forced myself to invite my sons to do the unexpected. I shouted, "LET'S DANCE!!!"

 

They joyfully accepted my invitation; those sweet innocent boys smiled and laughed and giggled as I twirled them and spun them and danced silly crazy dance moves with them. We hooted and hollered and yelled and laughed and whooped up a storm!

 

Between the loudness of the radio and the decibels of our shouts of joy, I am surprised the neighbors didn't call the police on us. I'm glad they didn't because this turned out to become my most meaningful memory ever, because, right in the middle of the agony, I was able to find joy and to teach my children to find it as well.

 

To an onlooker, we would have appeared heartless and calloused, at the worst possible time, celebrating with joy and happiness together. 

 

But nothing could have been further from my reality.  At my darkest moment, I had to literally FORCE myself to make a choice: to dump the intensity of my personal devastation on my innocent children, or, to bring something so necessary to them: a mommie who loved them and celebrated THEM. A mommie who was interested in THEIR needs when mine were so incalculable. A mommie who was there for THEM when they were losing their beloved Grandpa, even if their little hearts couldn't fully comprehend the gravity of the situation.

 

When I look back on that day, 

 

-I celebrate me. I was so much stronger than I thought I could be. I was kinder than I imagined I could be, and I was still fun. I provided respite and relief and joy for my little ones at a time that it seemed impossible. 

 

-I celebrate the human spirit. It's this part in all of us that is able to do amazing things in impossible situations. 

 

- I celebrate my faith that gave me life during a time of death. I would scour over meaningful passages, memorize them and pound them into my heart during my feelings of helplessness. The words comforted me and gave me hope to hold on to. 

 

- I celebrate the friends who rallied around me to support me and uphold me in prayers, in thoughts, in visits, in dropping off meals or gifts, or bringing toys for my little ones. 

 

As I reflect on that time, I am so grateful, that for one fateful day, I could choose joy in the middle of painful loss.

 

My father passed away quickly, and re-learning to do life without him was so unbelievably difficult. I had a deep need for his priceless love for me. My faith was an enormous comfort to me, but living without my daddy nearly killed me. I had my husband and babies to focus on and that was very special, and I knew if I could provide joy for them for that one day, then I could do it again. I can't say I was completely successful, but I did try.

 

I have learned lessons over the years, and lately I have understood the incredible power that we all have available to us if we choose to use it. We have this remarkable ability to choose. We can't choose what happens to us, but we can choose what we do with it. 

 

I have discovered that there is a battlefield in my head. There are literally these tiny little soldiers fighting a ginormous literal war in my head every time painful loss and devastation happens to me. One night I played a little game in my head and the result in my physical body totally blew me away. It went something like this:

 

I had received a heartbreaking communication from a loved one. My self worth dissolved and I found myself becoming very angry. Fury and rage surged through me as I replayed the offense over and over in ruminative thought. I felt exhausted and weak and broken in heart and spirit, and my body felt like it weighed a thousand pounds. I could barely move.

 

I went to my bed to lay down and call it a day. As I laid flat on my back, I played a head game. Every time my thoughts went to the ugly side, I changed my focus. I shifted my complete and total focus on the idea that my spirit is strength. I changed my breathing to deep slow breaths and did not allow any thoughts into my mind except the one thought of strength.  I imagined the strength. I pictured the strength and in my imagination, I imitated things a strong person would do.

 

The results absolutely blew me away. My body suddenly felt light, buoyant, almost like a pool noodle floating in a swimming pool! I could not believe how good my physical body felt when I lasered my focus intently upon an empowering thought. It felt wonderful and freeing!! 

 

Then, as sleep descended upon me, the negative thoughts returned and my body felt heavy again. So I snapped back to an awake state and forced my brain to think thoughts of strength and power. My body responded in kind.

 

This little battle/war of opposing thoughts continued for two and a half hours until I finally collapsed into slumber.

 

I was dumfounded upon waking, because I felt FANTASTIC! I felt happy and light and joyful! I could hardly believe how great I felt. 

 

Then, my memory of the offense returned, and guess what? Yep, the heaviness returned.

 

So, the games continued and I fought this battle for days and eventually I was able to resolve the issue with my loved one.

 

But, the lesson was learned. I had control over ONE thing, and that ONE thing was how I was going to react to the unfortunate situation. Had I not noticed the uncanny physical sensations, I don't know that the struggle would have been as real to me, or, as valuable to me. But having a plan to address my pain attributed value and worth to the struggle. I can't say that I want to experience that again, but I can say that I learned something so very important. 

 

I can choose.

 

Like that day, with my babies, while my beloved daddy was passing away, I could choose. On that day, I chose joy over sorrow.  Strength filled my spirit. And life was livable again.