It's ok that I'm sad

 On Sunday I was standing in church and I began to cry. My female offspring whispered in my ear "are you crying?" and then wrapped her arms around me saying "it's ok Momma, it's ok". At that exact moment all I could think to say to her was "It's ok to be sad. It's ok that I'm crying." See it's been a rough year so far for me...and it's only March. 

On January 7, 2022, I received a phone call from my oldest brother while I was at work. The thing you need to know is that my oldest brother is not one to make phone calls, especially during work hours. So obviously I answered it. Our mom had been having some ups and downs with her health and was, at that time, in a physical rehab recovery unit of a nursing home. When I saw my brother's shuffle board picture pop up on my phone, my whole body tensed. I answered and heard him say "Nat, where are you?". I told him I was at work and I needed to step out of this classroom to talk. In the hallway, I gave him the go ahead. Although the words I heard next were not a complete shock, they felt like a punch to the gut. "Mom died this morning." My knees buckled and I crumpled against the wall as the tears started running down my cheeks. He explained kind of what happened and I heard him say "she basically went in her sleep, which is what she wanted". I remember thinking, that's good, that is what she wanted, but I'm still sad. 

In the Orthodox church, January 7 is "Old Calendar" Christmas (there's way too much to that for me to go into it here - if you're interested, let me know) but in our house growing up it was called "Russian Christmas". My mom loved "Russian Christmas". Her grandmother moved to the United States from Russia at the age of 14, all alone, and my mom made sure we remembered and celebrated January 7. The house stayed decorated until at least January 8, the lights were always turned on for January 6 and 7 and usually we got a gift related to our faith that day. It was often something small, or at least small to a young child, but looking back it was always significant. It honestly didn't click for me until my sister-in-law pointed out that my mom fell asleep in the Lord on one of her favorite holidays. That thought brings me peace, but I'm still sad. 

My mom made it very clear that she didn't want to be buried with any of her good jewelry. She saw no point in that "going in the ground". So we were sure to honor that wish. One of her rings is a mother's ring my dad had made for her probably 25 years ago. It has four stones, each being the birthstone of one of the kids. I wore it to church one day because I wanted Mom to go to church with us. (She had been attending Divine Liturgy with us via the FaceBook livestream since COVID made the FaceBook livestream a thing and I wanted her there now.) I noticed that day that my mom managed to have children during months that stones were "her colors". The ring is a combination of blues and a diamond. It made me giggle, because I'm not sure anyone else I know could pull that off. I realized when I was wearing it that I felt connected and close to my brothers (and in turn my sisters-in-law). Wearing what I now call the "sibling ring" reminded me how loved I am and that I'm not alone, but I'm still sad. 

Fastforward a couple of weeks to February 20, 2022. It's a Sunday morning and we are in church. Husband looks at his phone to make sure it's on silent and sees that my oldest brother has texted saying that he needs to talk to me, it's important. (We use a month to month phone service and mine had lapsed at midnight the night before. I planned to reset it after church.) So I take Husband's phone and I step outside to call my brother with a knot in my gut. Husband follows me out. "Nat, where are you? Are you sitting down?" I can hear the pain in his voice. "I'm at church, let me get to the cross ring." I sit down on the planter wall around the cross. Once again I tell him to go ahead. At that moment I heard words that didn't even make sense. My cousin and his wife had gone away for the weekend and my cousin...my 47 year old cousin...died in his sleep. I couldn't breathe. It couldn't be real. His wife, his kids, this wasn't even close to ok. After getting a little more information (and fixing my phone) I headed to be with his wife and kids. We are the only families in Georgia and I wasn't letting them be alone right now. I wasn't sure what I would do, or how I would help, but I wasn't going to not be there. So I drove, with a purpose, with a desire to comfort, praying I would wake up from this horrible nightmare. I was focused and praying, but I still sad. 

A couple of weeks later we had a memorial for my cousin. It was organized by his hockey team (he loved hockey). It was simple and sweet and perfect. People told stories and laughed. My brothers and sisters-in-law were there. We hugged on each other and spent time together. We laughed and looked at pictures. It was exactly what my cousin would have wanted it to be, but I am still sad. 

So back to Sunday, standing in church, with my female offspring's arms wrapped around me tight, crying, wondering how to "get this under control" and I feel it. I feel the moment that led to saying it was ok that I'm sad. It wasn't some huge revelation about the importance of sadness. It was a quiet, soft realization that it's ok to be sad right now. That it's ok to feel what I feel and let that be where I am at this moment. I've had a lot of loss in a very short period of time and to pretend that I'm not sad is to close off part of myself. That part of myself would never be able to be open again. It would be hard and callous. It would make me less who I am. Being comfortable with my sadness just means that I can feel it;
it doesn't mean that I will always cry in church or that every time the Steelers play I'll sob because I miss the people I loved watching the games with Sunday afternoons. It just means that in those moments, I am completely open to the love that is offered to me. This is especially true when I'm standing in church crying. In Orthodoxy, the priest often greets the congregation by saying "Christ is in our midst" and the congregation responds with "He is and always shall be". If I accept this as truth, which I do, then I have to also accept that Christ is here to comfort me when I am sad and that means that I have to have a real relationship with Him. I have to be completely open, which means I can't hide my sad. I can't pretend that it's not real. I can't close off part of who I am, especially right now. So I can be comforted by the love, the relationships and the memories, but I am still sad...and that's ok, because that is real.  

PS My brother is now expected to call me to tell me what he ate for lunch or if he wore PJ pants to work that day, because we need to have silly conversations once in a while.