The Unspoken Blessing of Parenthood
Today, my heart traversed a tumultuous landscape of profound reflections. Although my daughter is a grown woman, in my eyes, she remains forever my youngest, my baby. Her journey, mere hours from our home to hers, stirred unease in my soul, harking back to a harrowing memory.
A Shrill Ring of a Phone
It began unexpectedly one quiet evening when the shrill ring of the phone pierced the silence. Despite it merely being a wrong number, as I approached the phone, my heart was arrested by a chilling recollection: once, long ago, late-night calls were harbingers of grievous news. I was paralyzed by a sudden, icy dread at the mere possibility of harm befalling her. That moment marked my first brush with a panic attack.
Preciousness of Children
Ever since, every six months or so, the ghost of that fear resurfaces, uninvited, leaving me to grapple with the immeasurable weight of such a loss. These episodes, though devoid of clear triggers, act as stark reminders of the preciousness of the children we're blessed with. Many parents endure the agonizing reality of outliving their children, and my heart grieves for them.
Too Deep of a Sorrow
I was once told an insightful anecdote: When a man loses his wife, he becomes a "widower"; when a woman loses her husband, she's a "widow". A child without family is an "orphan." But there exists no word for a parent who's lost a child, for perhaps no language can adequately capture the depth of that sorrow.
Lets Thank God
In light of this, let us never take for granted the cherished moments with our children. As we bow our heads in prayer, may we express gratitude for their presence and extend our heartfelt thoughts to those parents who bear the unbearable. In our thanksgivings, let us remember to cherish every fleeting moment and hold our loved ones close, for life's tapestry is woven with threads both fragile and profound.