Rising up...

In the spring after Javad's seizure, I began attending Portland Timbers games fairly regularly. Slowly, I found my tribe. People who accepted me for me, not forming their opinion or relationship with me in regards to Javad. I was struggling emotionally and having a distraction that I loved, soccer, was a way for me to begin to heal.

That year was a strange one. Javad and the Timbers. That was when I was writing more. I wrote about Javad, the Timbers and the MLS Cup that year. When you are desperate to find hope because you see none (or little), you begin to look for things that will keep you grounded. Providence Park became my safe place, my home, my church. It became the place where I could see myself as whole. I wasn't whole by any means and am still putting the pieces of myself together.

Now, after watching Javad, I know that healing doesn't come quickly. Watching his body struggle to heal, piece by piece, helps me to see why it is taking so long to heal. The mind, like the body, is complicated. Each piece must re-learn how to function in its full capacity and, frankly, that doesn't happen quickly. I have learned a lot over these past few years about grief, loss, and healing. I have been examining my own grief and loss and am watching my boy work hard to heal his body.

So, here I am four and one-half years later, looking at myself and recognizing that I am not the same person that I was. Deep grief and sorrow changes a person. When you experience loss and sorrow, you have two choices: crawl into a hole or rise. At the beginning, I wanted to crawl into a hole. I wanted the pain to go away, I wanted my boy back. I still hope for his body to recover but recognize his beautiful soul can never be dulled. Over the past four years, I have been working on finding myself, finding what makes me whole. This is how I rise. One moment at a time, one hour at a time, one day at a time.








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