I can hear my son’s virtual call, as I sit in the room adjacent to his. The teacher starts this week like all of the others, asking them to share moments from the past weekend. “Peaks and Pits” as she calls them.
“Peaks” symbolizing any good times they experienced. “Pits” symbolizing any difficult or hard times they encountered.
My son proudly announces he’d like to share. When his teacher calls on him he joyfully says, “I have a big peak! We got to visit my Memere’s grave this weekend!”
And my heart broke. And I cried.
And though he said it with love. And though he said it with glee. That shouldn’t be what he tells his class and friends. He’s still a tiny child. A baby in my eyes, with less than two handfuls of birthdays celebrated and years gained.
Yet he knows what it feels like to lose someone you love, someone you admire, someone you call grandmother. He knows grief and he knows heartbreak.
This is the reality of loss and grief. It impacts young hearts and it impacts old hearts. There is no discrimination. Yet, there is a powerful difference. Young hearts hold a beautiful view and perspective. They radiate light and faith and optimism.
For him, visiting his grandmother’s grave was the highlight of his weekend. He doesn’t care where he visits her, as long as he still can. That is the resiliency of a child. It’s the hope and positivity of a child too.
As I head further and further into my grief journey, I aspire to grieve like my children. To start seeing the joy before the sorrow. To start seeing the hope before the pain. To begin fiercely acknowledging the love and light before the darkness and longing.
He’s my child. I’m the parent. Yet he continues to teach me valuable lessons.
Lessons of perseverance.
Lessons of grief.
Lessons of gratitude.
Lessons of love and loss and life.
The lessons of a child’s heart.
The best and most inspiring lessons there are.
Hoping you find more peaks among the pits, friends.
