It was a long time before I wanted to believe that I received any gifts worth keeping from this life I didn’t choose.
I knew I had tears, pain, agonizing sorrow, loss, heartache, dashed hopes, empty arms.
If I could give those back and regain my son, I would do it in less than a heartbeat.
I can’t, so I’m left here to ponder what else I’ve received from burying a child.
And I am learning that I have been given some gifts I truly cherish, although the price was higher than I would have willingly paid.
I call them grace gifts: heart-expanding, hope-enlarging,
I am learning compassion, which is something very different than sympathy or pity which are compassion’s paper stand-ins.
My heart is tuned to the suffering of others in a way I never knew before, even if their suffering is very different than my own.
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