Pity Party

 "We must sip in the sufferings of today, so we don't drown in the devastations of tomorrow."

Our fish, "Tadje," is 2.5 years old. Over the course of the last month, we can tell that he's old and won't be with us much longer. Considering we don't know how long he lived in his cup at Petsmart before coming to live with us, he's fish old.

We've been slowly pointing out the signs of aging to Peanut and helping her to be ready for the day he no longer is alive.

It's a luxury in some ways - this time of preparation.She's spent a lot of time by his tank. She's talked to him. She's processing.

It's a burden in other ways - this time of waiting. We know the end is coming. He's loved. He will be missed. There's this stomach dropping moment every morning when I stand by his tank and try to see if he will swim.

I've been thinking about this idea of funerals as we explain to Peanut what a funeral is and what we will do when the time comes.

How a funeral is a piece of the grieving process.

A hard piece.

This made me think that a funeral is actually a gift in many ways. People acknowledge this deep change in your life. It's recognized. Valued. For a moment, your world pauses as you process. It's accepted.

I'm wondering why there aren't funerals for other things.

Like for your "normal."

When your world turns, and things aren't as you had hoped, expected, or longed. When there is hard change. There is grief.

But no funeral.

No recognition of the hard. No pause in your daily life.

It's healthy to grieve. To take time to say "this is not what I imagined."

I think we feel some shame in that because it seems to say at the same time "I don't want God's plan for me."

But maybe it doesn't. Maybe it says "I don't understand."

I feel like we put so much pressure on ourselves to "be okay" that we've failed to acknowledge that sometimes we are not okay. Sometimes others are not okay.

Grief doesn't just come after death. Grief comes after many different types of circumstances.

Mama Warriors, I say, if you are grieving something - put on your pity part hat for a bit. Eat the ice cream (or in my case chips). Binge the Gilmore Girls. Scroll social media uselessly. Couch parent the children (if you don't know what that is - girl, we need to chat).

You can't live there but you most certainly are worthy of allowing yourself to process grief.

And then - and only then- put your party supplies away and take a deep breath.

You can walk your new normal. He equips those He called - if He called you to this, you've got this.