Cry a Little and Give Thanks

The worst thing and the best thing a grieving person can do, is drive alone in a car listening to the radio. 
Maybe this sounds ridiculous, maybe this sounds completely reasonable, I'm conflicted.
But here's the deal.

When you are a grieving person (in my case a grieving parent), the worst (aka hardest) thing to do is face your grief and allow it to envelop you.  You may (I have) live in constant fear that if given into, it may hold you in a death grip of it's own that you will never escape from.
At the same time, we walk a fine balance act.  Because, if you never make yourself vulnerable, and never allow yourself to be 'sad' to grieve, you will never move forward. You will never have a reasonable standard of 'quality of life'.   You will inevitably become consumed with avoiding your grief.

Today I had one of these moments- driving to work I was listening to CBC radio (OK I am now sounding officially old) and usually they have interesting and sometimes uplifting/funny stories.  Today wasn't one of those days.  I had been reminded the day before that today would be the 7th Anniversary of the disappearance of Tamra Keepness, the little girl from Regina, that vanished from her home.  A story that I would imagine kept most parents glued to newscasts for at least a year or so afterwards, waiting for updates and possible clues. However as time moves on, I know all too well, people forget.
Although there was brief mention of her, the story they discussed instead was the tragic tale of another little girl from Regina, now in Calgary. A little girl who beat the odds once, by having a heart transplant at the age of only 4 months. However, now she has cancer, a rare form affecting the soft tissues, which does not respond well to current treatments. Listening to her mother was literally gut-wrenching.  And I so desperately wanted to pull over and call every person I knew and get them to run to their radios, so they too could hear her talk about her daughter. 
She too is a grieving mother.  Although her daughter is still here physically, she knows her time is limited.  She sounded so hopeless and terrified and yet so brave and full of love.
I don't know this woman, but I can still hear her voice.  It had a desperation that only a grieving mother can know.  I wished so badly, that I could be there with her, offer some sort of comfort or encouragement.
Instead I've decided to write this, and encourage everyone I know to listen to her story and to hopefully appreciate their own circumstances a bit more.  And if you are grieving, to encourage you to spend a little time alone (not necessarily in  a vehicle) somewhere and allow yourself to grieve. Allow yourself to remember the one you lost.