I always kind of figured that circumstances were the barometer that determined if a day could be logged as either a good one or a bad one. Same with a year. And yet I’ve always been kind of surprised when people have dismissed an entire day—and especially an entire year—as one they’d rather forget, happy to see it in the rear-view mirror. I just can’t fathom disregarding all the good, deciding that there were simply too many tough moments, that we just rounded down, shading in the bubble labeled bad. I just don't think we ought to let events make that decision for us.
I wonder where this past year would show up if our family ever charted this kind of thing. Sure, we had a long, snowy, cold, record-breaking winter. Andrew crashed on a dirt bike, messing up his knee and chance at State. He survived a near-miss by a truck (by some miracle he landed right between the tires as it ran over him). My dad died. I had surgery to remove and build breasts. We’ve spent thousands of dollars on auto and human repairs. We’re down a car. Our raspberry crop froze to death. Avery reminded me she had a pretty ugly case of shingles. Most houses in the area were damaged by a freak spring hail storm that we’re still dealing with. Our oldest moved away to college, changing the dynamics of our household forever. I stress about money. All the time. Affecting just about every decision I make. Our repair list—like yours—just keeps growing, even as we attempt to cross items off. I guess I could list all the misunderstandings I’ve created. The sad feelings I’ve caused. The way I get snippy when I’m tired. My regrets. The ways I missed the boat as a mom and wife and sister and daughter. The cold, gray days I let myself wallow. The days I spent so sore and frustrated. And scared. But when I look it all over, I just can’t see anything to be that upset about. Because I know these were merely bumps in an otherwise breezy joy ride.
We spent part of a January evening as a family recapping the ups and downs of the year, I wrote everyone’s responses in my journal. I wasn’t surprised by their lists. Because they were the same as ours. Nothing crazy, just the normal stuff. Backpacking and hiking, camping with friends, spending time in the mountains, road trips to visit family (although the actual road trips part made it on Avery’s bad list), Thanksgiving, boating, getting a drivers license, painting a bedroom, helping someone move, watching the Olympics with our friends, a daddy-daughter date, a Christmas stroll in a quaint country town.
Only twice did anyone mention papa dying and only Todd and one kid even mentioned cancer when we talked about our bad lists. To me those aren’t necessarily things that define a year. Yes, of course we miss my dad and papa. Obviously. But I think about him more now. I savor our memories. I smile wondering what he’s doing and where he is. I remember the lessons he taught me and I wonder what he would teach me if we could grab a malt and chat for an hour. I feel closer to him, I feel like he is more integrally a part of our lives than he was watching tv in our basement. So my love for him is deeper now, I’m grateful for the glimpses we’ve had since he left, and for the years we’ve had together here. I know it’s a short time without him, and so I’m not sad. I guess it’s hard to think of his leaving us as a tragedy. I think I just filed it under transitions. And the others were tucked away in folders labeled something like learning experiences, bad luck, and just life.
I get it, real tragedies can completely shroud a year. I can’t imagine having my husband or a child die. I can’t pretend to know what a divorce or living alone is like. Or not being able to have kids. What chronic pain is all about. Parents burdened by their children’s developmental problems. No progress year after year, the trials are relentless. It breaks my heart to even skirt the edges of what that must all feel like. These are the real tragedies, so far removed from my life that I can’t wrap my head around them. I know next to nothing about real suffering. I was feeling a little down the other day, weary from mom-life, constantly cooking and cleaning and taking care of things while the others were all off doing their things. But in a quiet moment I couldn’t help but think of caretakers who never get much respite. I couldn’t help but think of modern-day slaves all over the world. The impoverished parents with no resources for their children, some forced to surrender their children. I couldn’t help but look around at my pampered life, the luxuries and comforts I bask in every day. I have so much to be grateful for. An abundance for sure. I just can't pretend that any discomfort I feel comes close to what so much of the world struggles with.
But even within a year when you may have been dealt a terrible tragedy, no one suffers a loss without Heavenly Father taking note. I’ve loved this affirmation ever since I first heard it. “Through faith and righteousness all of the inequities, injuries, and pains of this life can be fully compensated for and made right. Blessings denied in this life will be fully recompensed in the eternities. Thus our suffering in this life can be as the refining fire, purifying us for a higher purpose. Heartaches can be healed, and we can come to know a soul-satisfying joy and happiness beyond our dreams and expectations.”* So I guess that’s how I choose to frame sorrows, temporary hiccups that I will eventually recover from.
I also figure we’re blessed with rare glimpses we aren’t privy to during more placid times. Probably for most of us it takes losing someone, my dad to death and my son to college, even friends who have moved on, for instance, to appreciate the everyday interactions, the years of ordinary life we’ve shared together, helping me to be grateful for relationships even more, teaching me to love unabashedly, widely, and openly. Because I’ve felt the absence of people I’ve loved, as you have, I think it helps us with the relationships we still have. Because I can get sloppy. Complacent. And so I’m grateful for the reminder of what life is about. Even if it means an occasional heart pain. Because it brings meaningful relationships into the forefront, allowing them prominence in the hierarchy of priorities. A loss is a reminder of love shared. Sad because we loved deeply. But a powerful teacher nonetheless. I just figure we can reframe our heartbreaks, choosing to see them as a confirmation—and even a celebration—of our love. And of our faith. And so yes, a bad day for sure, perhaps even a string of them for many, stretching throughout the year. But would it be accurate to lump all the blessings with the feelings of sadness and call it an overall lousy year?
Because I just can’t pretend the good wasn’t strong enough to conquer the bad. All the hours spent cuddling in tents and on couches. The puzzles and games and ice creams on Sunday nights. And a million other nights. All the walks holding hands. Watching the stars and birds and the leaves. Cooking dinners together. Doing dishes together. All the late-night talks. Evenings and days spent with friends in each others’ houses. All the hours wound together out in God’s majesties. Cross-country road trips to be with family. Fishing and hiking. Swimming, kayaking, s’mores in the dark. Sledding and snow boarding. Waking up again and again and again, so grateful for another chance, for another day with people we love, even if we’re sick or weak. Even if some are missing. I just can’t sweep these treasured memories under the rug pretending they weren’t powerful balms that soothed even our biggest gashes. Like the various harmonies in the songs we love. The dissonance, a primary color, blending with the others. The summation of all the notes and shades—even the dark ones—fusing to create beauty, works of art. Even masterpieces.
And so, even with the inevitable vicissitudes and sorrows of a mortal experience, I can’t help but feel that in most ways we still come out ahead. Last year was no exception. Except that I just had to file it under One of My Best.
* President Faust
