Purpose is something I have struggled with for a very long time, and I'm not sure why because really I should be able to just look around and find a sense of purpose somewhere in my life. I mean, I have purpose as a mom. That should be enough, right? I think maybe the problem there is that it has become so passive. Rearing my son has reached an almost automatic pilot stage because even though he is just fourteen, there is very little I have to do for him. In fact, that child is more mature than me on various occasions, and while the nagging and reprimanding are still part of the repertoire to his adolescent chagrin, he is pretty darn self-sufficient.
Of course, when Emilie was at St. Jude, our days were filled with appointments and medicine schedules. One of the most fulfilling moments of my role as her caretaker came when we retreated to our room, and it was just the two of us. With KT Tunstall crooning in the background, I helped her craft purple bat wreaths while simultaneously working on an impossible puzzle. Another time our whole family spent the afternoon making sidewalk creations with chalk, and there were countless moments of family games involving cards or dice. Creating that oasis away from needles and the manic start and stop of appointments was so satisfying because I knew that I was making a safe space for her. When those moments ceased to exist, to some degree I felt like (and still do sometimes) a soldier returning from war (albeit a different kind of war). I know you've probably heard countless stories of vets who lost their sense of purpose once they came back home. My purpose became elusive after Emilie died. Not only did my daily chores of keeping her healthy and sane disappear, but I also found myself out of a job and the passions that once held my attention were lackluster.
I woke up one day thinking, "Who in the hell am I now?"
There are moments when I see what kind of effect I could have on the world around me, usually during the times I crawl out of my pit of despair and actually take note that other people actually exist. My purpose is presently ghostly and shapeless, but I think it's there waiting for me to give it life. I know it lies somewhere in helping others because when I give someone the confidence to make an "A" on an English paper, the contacts to make a balloon ride happen, or just the physical ability to make it through the door, I feel a certain swell of contented satisfaction. All of these little tidbits or morsels of purpose trickle in, but the impatient part of me wants the whole cake and wants it now even though I might not be ready for that kind of responsibility or maybe the stars haven't aligned like they should just yet. I sometimes forget that I'm still healing from some pretty significant wounds and that that kind of healing takes serious time. In those moments I tell myself over and over again to give myself a break and to stop being my own worst critic (Yes, you've guessed it, I totally have detailed conversations with myself, and half of the time they are out loud). It's like breaking a bone and wanting it to heal over night and then cursing yourself when you still can't walk the next day because the bone is still broken. It's out of your control, and it's maddening, BUT I guess the takeaway from this is that the bone will heal. I will always feel the pain of Emilie's loss, but from what I understand, it just becomes a part of the life and love that will grow around it. My purpose on this planet will just be an added bonus that binds it all together.
So for those of you seeking some kind of purpose in your life, I have a feeling that clues have revealed themselves to you, and generally those around you see your strengths before you do. I guess it's just up to us to be vigilant, to take note, and to keep moving forward until our purpose fully develops from potential into a beautifully tangible fulfilling moment. I'm going to have faith that it will.
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