Living on a prayer to the faithfully departed

Spring 2011 brought with it a myriad of life events. Instead of crafting an almost-two-year-old perspective on the happenings of the last few months, I breathe a big breath and give you my own voice. For you readers looking for narration consistency: Ken's innocence or for Sam's lack of capital letters, breathe easy. One or both boys will soon return to share his story. For now, I can't help but feed the need to blurt my own perspective across the blogosphere.
Lately, I find myself existing within a contradiction of hope and heartache. This is not necessarily bad, for some of the most interesting lessons in life co-exist in contradiction to each other: the stillness of summer within a thunderstorm; an entry-level job posting seeking two years experience; managing a career while starting a family; three persons in one God – just to name a few. And when I take a moment to consider the array of feelings that make up our human experience, the events of this spring find me skipping along to vastly different emotions.
I stood next to my husband at Easter as he proclaimed his full admission into the Catholic faith. I daresay that he’s proud of himself, and I’m honored every day to be the wife of someone so full of gentleness, compassion, and humble courage.
I sat across from my sister and listened as she talked about her changing marriage and her three beautiful daughters. I admire her strength, and I hope to someday emulate her talent as a teacher and mother.
I watched a niece and nephew cross her and his respective stage to receive diplomas: both simultaneously greeting an ending and a beginning of an educational milestone. Grandmas and grandpas scooped up my children in big bear hugs: a mosaic of youth and innocence wrapped in the arms of wisdom and experience.

I stood next to my baby sister as she married my newest brother-in-law: each of them managing the heartache of a tight job market, yet so happy and hopeful for their future together.
I sat next to my brothers at the unexpected funeral of my cousin, Erin. I witnessed a mother moan at the side of her daughter’s closed casket. A grown man, her father, sobbed into my arms and told me to hold on to my children with all that I have. I watched helplessly as tears dripped down my grandmother’s face, across the bridge of her nose: heartbroken at the grief of her daughter and the loss of her granddaughter.
This dwelling within the coexistence of hope and heartache is cause for wonder: How does one strike the balance between the two? As life goes on, I’m beginning to believe that this contradiction of hope and heartache may not ever be without one another. That is, in everything worth experiencing in life – school, family, career path, romance, friendship, parenting – one will always encounter degrees of hope and heartache: of have and have-not, of joy and sorrow, of restlessness and peace. We are to do it anyway. We are to look for hope within our heartache and to acknowledge heartache within our hope.
We pulled into the church parking lot of Erin’s funeral Mass; the church was attached to the grade school that she attended. I looked up as the church bells rang, and every single student lined the parking lot – greeting, praying, smiling, and crying. In this time of heartache, hope sprung from the teachers and students standing in solidarity around us.
Yesterday, my boys met me at the door as I returned from work. Ken greeted me with a toothy grin and a “Hi, Mama.” In that moment, my heart melted with hope in the happy-go-lucky boy that he is. Interestingly enough, my heart simultaneously ached with the knowledge that one day I’ll have to let him go, in order for him to be the man that he is becoming. (Not to worry. We quickly moved on to more tangible events of the evening: like sloppy joes and story time.)
As spring turns into summer, may this reflection find you in good spirits and embracing your own life’s contradictions with a peaceful heart. Love, Molly