June 8th was a normal day until 2010. Five long
years ago that sometimes feels like only a few days ago. A few of our family
and friends prayed around my grandma’s hospital bed. As I told her that I loved
her, she squeezed my hand. This would be her last communication with anyone. A
few hours later she slipped peacefully into the arms of her Lord after a brief
battle with cancer. She was the woman I wanted to be when I grew up and I still
look to her example. Strong, patient, kind and everything good. The glue that
held our family together. Always willing to fill a need, even when that meant
helping to raise her granddaughter. Even now, there are days when I pick up the
phone to share exciting news or ask her advice, forgetting that she won’t
answer.
Little did I know that June 8th would strike again just as
hard. This time, it was my dad. The dad I never really knew. We met several
years ago but the relationship didn’t last long. Birthday text messages and Christmas cards
continued through the years, but nothing more. Through that brief relationship
I was blessed with several siblings and a large extended family who embraced me
like I always belonged to them. Ironically, I was with one of those cousins and
her family when I got the news that my dad had passed, also of cancer. That was
the day he became the dad I would never really know.
Such different pains but both hurt so deeply. One longing
for a relationship that I was able to fully experience and therefore know what
I would be missing and the other sadness for a relationship I never really had
and now never would experience. Two completely different people who had nothing
in common until June 8th.
So today, as tears roll down my face and knots fill my
stomach, I hope that people will give me a little extra grace if I snap at them
or stare off into space. My head is full before my day even begins. I think
back to a lady that our family cared for and her hatred for April 27th
(my birthday). To her, it was the worst day of the year because her husband
died on that day. And now I understand. I probably have a little more
compassion for the cashier who may be grumpy or the waitress who may seem
distracted because the day I encounter them may be their June 8th.
