It doesn’t get any easier

“It doesn’t get any easier.” I whisper to my half sister, while we were at the funeral. The month before she had buried her grandfather and now there we were at the funeral our grandmother; a grandmother she had never really known and me a grandmother I remembered, but was not close. We were both there to be with my father, to support him and love him. It was the right thing to do. I am in my middle thirties and I think I have seen more than my fair share of this sort of thing and she is twenty-one, young and hopeful and full of life. We are like a pair of matched book ends. Never mind the age difference. At her age I was busy watching my parent’s stormy marriage implode and learning about her existence – my Dad’s other family and at 21, she is watching members of family disappear. My mind blowing family revelations at least added people to the mix; hers just seem to be leading to empty seats around the table.

I know that these trials make you stronger and they do, surely they do. Each experience is a chance to learn and grow. Death clearly is a part of life. Each fall the flowers die and wither away, but in the spring new ones return – bright and colorful and full of life. As a loved one passes on and moves on in their journey, their story complete, each page full of life lived and experiences recorded. Somewhere a sweet lovely baby is born, a new soul, fresh and lovely. A clean slate or absorbent sponge, ready for new experiences. It still doesn’t get any easier.

My sister has much joy ahead of her, as do I, but it is the moments of sadness which I think highlight how life is fundamentally unfair. There is not necessarily a balance between good and not so good. No guaranteed balance between happy and sad. No promise of great joys to outweigh the moments of intense sorrow. Sometimes some of life’s sweetest moments go hand in hand with some of life’s saddest. I learned this lesson young, with the loss of my grandfather, who passed while I was studying abroad. When I left and he was in the hospital, I knew I would never see him again. I knew that getting on the plane would mean, I would never again hold his hand, hear his voice, or see his clear blue eyes. I got on the plane anyway. It still doesn’t get any easier.

Yet, I made some of the best friends on that trip overseas. I have some very rich and precious memories. I learned so much about myself. I was inspired by the sites and the feeling of living history. I grew into young womanhood that trip and I would not be the woman I am today, had I not taken that trip. My grandfather knew I needed to make that trip and he knew that I would trade off being there in the last days – for that experience and yet it was the right thing to do. It still doesn’t get any easier.

So as I stood in the little cemetery, with the rush of traffic along the two lane country road, the sky a collage of dark clouds, bright blue sky, white puffy clouds and short bursts of rain, the wind whipping thru my russet curls and my eyes clouded with tears, I knew that while there is sadness somewhere there is joy. While we gathered together to remember a life lived, somewhere, another point in time, we will gather to celebrate the hope of a life to come, a marriage or some other BIG and exciting moment. It still doesn’t get any easier.

My sister stood tall, in her black suit and I stood next to her in my black and white dress, her just starting on the journey and me somewhere in the middle, knowing that while it does not get any easier nor does it get any harder. Life is a balance, there is good and bad, happy and sad, bitter and sweet, rainy and sunny and sometimes it is all rolled into one.

The following weekend I was at a wedding for my husband’s cousin and I was speaking to his other younger cousin, whose mother passed away when he was barely sixteen. He was so full of life and full of enthusiasm and it hit me. If it were easy, would it really be worth doing – worth living. It does not get any easier. It just doesn’t; no amount of perspective or soul searching will make any of it make any sense. There is not a formula and no equation that will lead to a logical conclusion. There is no answer as to why as young women both my sister and I have had more than our share of sad moments. However, I do know this, even through the sadness we shine bright with joy and happiness and we are strong beautiful women, with beautiful hearts and many gifts to share. It still doesn’t get any easier – but I am pleased to say it does not seem to get much harder either.