Yet another post...

You aren't imagining things. This is another new post on the heels of an earlier post.

I want to share just a few thoughts I've had as the day has progressed.

I took the kids to see the new Karate Kid movie this afternoon. I was absolutely in love with the original Karate Kid (aka Ralph Macchio) during it's first go round. I did not mind seeing this version. I looked forward to seeing an updated version of the movie.

I was not counting on the amount of grief that is in the movie. The boy's dad has died prior to the beginning of the movie. The sensei lost his wife and child in a tragic accident prior to the beginning of the movie as well. This all comes to light in a powerful display of raw grief in the movie. The sensei is smashing his newly rebuilt car to bits with a sledge hammer on the anniversary date of their deaths.

Okay...here is a moment of complete and total transparency. I completely understand why he was bashing the car to bits with the sledge hammer. I have felt emotions that were that intense. I have felt that grief would completely consume me in the way that it was consuming the sensei. There have been times that I have wanted to destroy something. The one time I let the rage out it was in a non harmful way that consisted of tearing up a lot of magazines. I made a HUGE mess. MLC was very impressed with the mess I made and the constructive way I found to release the anger that had erupted.

During that scene after the sensei has shared the story of the death of his wife and son, the boy gets out of the battered car, goes and gets these training poles that have loops of rope on one end. He comes over to his teacher, loops the ropes around each of the teacher's hands, and begins to tug on the teacher urging him to get out of the car. At that point, the boy is using the poles to help his teacher move. The teacher is mimicking the boy's movements as long as he is holding onto the loops of rope on each pole.

It struck me with such intensity that when someone is walking through grief, whether it be as recent as yesterday or as long ago as 30 years, he/she needs someone to urge them to grab hold of the loops of rope and let someone show them how to move again. The reason being that someone who is deeply grieving may not remember how to move.

I am so thankful that I had several someones who were able to urge me to take hold of the loops and show me how to move again. In the early days, I had to remember to breathe. I could not have gotten through it without these special someones. They took care of me, my kids, my house. They made sure I ate, even when I didn't want to. They got me out of the house. They did not allow the grief to consume me when I was too weak to fight it. They encouraged me and kept me grounded. They loved me and let me cry.

When I was so enamoured with the original Karate Kid 20+ years ago, I did not realize the lessons that were in this movie. I have spent some time this evening comparing the first movie to the new one. I did not remember this intense grief being in the first movie. I went back and read a synopsis of the original movie and it was all there. Other than the obvious factor of maturity, I realize that losing the love of my life has made me more sensitive to others who have lost a loved one.

Grief is everywhere around me. It's in the newest book released by one of my favorite authors. I've had to stop reading the book for just a little while because the grief is too intense. I find that I am being confronted by grief almost daily in some way. It isn't so much my own grief that is confronting me now, as it is external grief. It just pops up out of no where, and I have to handle whatever emotion comes as a result of the confrontation.

And I thought the second year would be a little easier to handle...

It's now August as I am posting this. My baby boy turns 16 in 25 days from now. My sweet husband has been gone for 13 months in less than a week. In another month, we will acknowledge Nick's 14th transplant day. I will remember the mom whose amazing love for her dying son allowed my son to live.

I wonder if she had someone who helped her learn to move again.