Friday, May 31, 2013

A Gift

As time moves on, and I meet more and more new people, I find that telling them Rip's story becomes  a gift I can choose to give someone.

When I first moved into this phase of life, this phase where I wasn't so recently "that girl who", I felt unsettled.  I could have people in my life who would never know about my first born child-but if they didn't know him then they would never truly know me.

Recently, I've realized that this choice is a gift.  I get to choose who I allow to know the most precious parts of me.  Now, some of them may think, "hey-this is the worst gift ever, I would rather have an itchy sweater than this gift!", but that's okay, it just means we won't hang out and drink wine together, which is clearly their loss.

For the most part, I've waited until I was sure I wanted to bestow my gift on the new people in my life, and they have received him graciously.  They see the gift of Rip's life as what it has always been to me, something to be treasured and loved.

3 comments:

  1. <3 Totally a gift, and I can now see the sweetness in not sharing my hurt and sadness in having lost my son. I can keep him to myself, which not all that long ago felt like I was hiding him or not sharing him... It's different now.

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  2. Being privileged to see how an amazing Christian, young Momma deals with the unthinkable, as only made my fondness for you and your family grow, as well as acknowledging the wisdom of God in knowing who has the grace, strength, and support necessary to survive the initial experience of Rip going to heaven. Reading your blog many times from beginning to end, simply to appreciate and honor Rip, has left me awash in tears, yet filled with a love I can define. You are amazing! Rip is amazing...he impacted you and many others in one week's time, than some people do in 90+ years. I'd say that is a gift. And Gracie, as well as her future siblings, will be impacted by the wisdom and appreciation of a Momma equipped to see Rip's life as a gift. Love, Debbie

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  3. I choose who i share the whole story wth. Sometimes i feel peaceful and then other times I'm keyed up inside. I try not to expect a reaction, and accept what I get. How often does one expect to hear from a relative stranger, "My son died?"

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