However, through the words of this wise woman,
I came to see it as a bigger word.
A more encompassing word.
It became my word.
She was talking about her son and his battle with cancer.
He was victorious, but she was grieving.
This caught my attention.
She said she mourned the loss of those years
of his young life that he spent getting well.
Instead of having a "normal" life,
they lived in and out of hospitals, waiting with bated breath
as to what the latest test results would bring.
And it broke her heart.
When she gave me these words I had
just begun feeding the Prince the supplemental bottles.
And I was angry. Well, heartbroken, really.
She told me that it was grief talking.
Grief that things didn't go as planned or pictured.
When she gave me these words I was just
entering the worst stretch of time
that I have ever had with my spirited child.
And I was frustrated and exhausted.
Little did I know . . .
This time, I knew it was grief talking.
Grief that this child has such huge hang-ups,
that I am still not sure will be overcome,
about such seemingly simple things, like getting dressed.
Grief that her siblings and I had to figure out how to graciously
deal with the temperament that God had given to this child,
rather than just sit back and enjoy the ride passively.
Her wise words gave me the understanding that I needed to be free to mourn.
And with that freedom has eventually come joy!
You have turned my griefs into joy; you took off my sackcloth
and you clothed me with joy!