Celebrating in the Sadness

I'm not sure I have anything eloquent to say here just yet. What can I say, I'm a work in progress.

This week has been a lot. I traveled back to Texas for my brother's high school graduation. Already in a stressful fog from the state of our country, workload, and looming deadlines (even self imposed ones), I was then confronted with sadness I couldn't contain.

Graduation was hard. The valedictorian of my brother's graduating class proclaimed they were passing their first milestone in the rest of their lives. Maybe some of them were, but we weren't. This felt like our millionth milestone, most of which certainly went overlooked and uncelebrated. We weren't celebrating a new chapter bright with independence and self discovery, of career choices and options that seem ripe for the taking. We were celebrating breath in lungs and beats in hearts. We were celebrating medical defiance and a future, yes, but a future that often looks uncertain and scary. Uncharted waters.

So despite all we were celebrating, the tears came too easily.

Today a dear friend of mine joyfully announced her pregnancy; a milestone my own pregnancy never got to. Less than a week away from when I should be welcoming my own little one into my arms, I try to use them to clap and cheer for someone else. And as much as I hate to admit, that's very very hard to do.

My hope and prayer today is that I can continue to celebrate for others despite the sadness in my own heart. To fight through the grief and mourning and disappointment and make room for those whose lives, at this moment, are exciting and promising and joyful.

I'm mourning so much. Not just selfishly, not just personally, but for strangers I'll never know. For politicians who continue to dodge responsibility, for families who will never hold their loved ones close again, for those celebrating milestones most take for granted.

I want to be known as someone who will always be so quick to cheer for you, to cherish your accomplishments, to hold your desires dear to my own heart. I'm not perfect at it yet. But know that you can always bring me your grief too. Your mourning, your heartache, your injustices. I might not be able to do much, but my arms have given hugs of celebration just as often as they've given a place to cry.

So cheer on, dear friends. Regardless of celebration or sadness, my eyes will be glistening and my arms will be open.