I find myself boggled more and more, in my senior years, realizing my sister and I are so different. Yes, we are all unique, made in the image of God. The love of family members is there but our uniqueness is chaotic to me. Perhaps, because I am the youngest, just odd, her feeling I am still a child, her baby sister. Perhaps, I trust myself more and know who I am. Just because she is older and perhaps wiser, I also am.
Months ago I wrote a short blog-like story on my Facebook page. It was on the serious side of me but encouragement for others to know they can face tomorrow, as storms in life come. In my brief testimony, my sister could not understand it and worried about me, making an opportunity to visit to see if I was okay. To her surprise, as I knew myself, I am fine and happier than I have been in many years. While trying to explain, she could not grasp but thought the worse.
I realized she can handle joking about my struggles but not the seriousness. How sad is that? So with her, I put my seriousness aside and not being the true me. She does not know me. She thinks she does though. Sadly, years ago, I felt closer to my counselor for this very reason, as she heard me, she knew me more. The depth of my seriousness and even my silly, fun personality, I could be me.
Again, last night, a discussion that reminded me that we are sisters but strangers. This will never change.
Have you ever missed someone and just the mere thought brings tears? Of course, grief is real. Real for those that have passed especially but also those that are living but no longer in contact. Sounds easy enough, pick up the phone or send a text/email, doesn’t it? Not that easy.
I had a wonderful counselor years ago and for many years. Now time has passed but still there are moments I would love to talk to her. Times in my own uncertainty about whatever. I have to trust myself and my gut instincts. Plus, I respect her too much to bother her and I’d be out of line, but that does not stop the occasional tears. While she heard me and understood me more than my own family/friends, I know that this depth of sadness within will dissipate. What I need is within me. It’s okay to cry and to miss her. Deep down, I feel thankful and so blessed that she enriched my life with truth.
I am stronger than I think and feel, and I know these tears will dry. It will all be okay.
Those moments come for me and you probably. Trust yourself and know that you will get through this rough patch. Maybe rest is needed. It’s okay to rest.
“This is the shortest verse of the Bible. It says, “Jesus wept.” This means that nobody is promised against sorrow or pain.” John 11:35
Today, as I listened to Reba McIntyre talk about her dad and how she never heard him tell her that he loved her growing up, laughing and brushing it off, I felt sad. What was it about that generation that did not say they loved their children? I know it must have hurt her even though she understood him. All children need to hear I Love You. I try to grasp what that generation was thinking, perhaps how they were raised. Did they not hear I Love You and figured that was the right way to raise their children or were they told too much and definitely did not want to repeat the same, which I really doubt. Maybe they were never told I Love You, so they lived a life of figuring they were loved, or also doubting of their parent’s love.
Had I heard those three words growing up, it sure would have saved me a lot of time and money in counseling. While that was not the main purpose of counseling, it played a big part of my life, a missing part. I discovered that I felt unlovable and not knowing even that until the counselor helped me see the dots connected. Something was just missing. Thank God she picked up on what I said and expressed of my childhood and adulthood.
While I, too, understood, I missed that part of truly knowing. Of course, they loved me, I am their child. RIght? Then again, I was an oopsie and did they regret me more than love me, which was a thought I often had. No, they loved me. It was just not part of them to express, and I have to remember that was just the way it was for them back then. How sad though that a child has to wonder such facts that should be an important part of growth.
Some will immediately state, of course, you were loved, as you had a roof over your head, shoes on your feet and food on the table. True! Is it that hard to say I Love You though to your own flesh and blood?
One thing, I learned of never hearing I Love You was to always tell my children that I love them. They never leave or hang up the phone call without their mom saying, I Love You. In turn, they tell me that they love me, which means the world to me. Maybe I run it in the ground too much whenever we leave one another, as I have thought, but how can one not enjoy hearing those three words. If I was to leave this world or they would, I want them to never have to guess or wonder if I loved them, vice versa. My heart beats for them, more than they will ever know. The last words, no matter when, I Love You!
I am sure in my parent’s heart, it beat for me, but my heart was broken many times when growing up, playing the guessing game if I truly was loved. Sadly, growing up never hearing, I never said those words to them either. Even though, they cared for me and at the end of their lives, I cared for them. That’s love!
It is understanding but yet forgiving them and myself of what did not happen in order to go on and know deep within that they loved me, and I loved them.
Never miss the opportunity to reassure those in your life of your appreciation, pay a compliment and put a positive word in their life and the most important is, I Love You.