Sadness...continued

5 years old is too young to die. She didn't even get a chance to start school. Her parents won't get to gush over artwork for the fridge let alone watch her grow up to be a young woman, wife, mother, successful business person, dancer; whatever dreams they may have had for her. She leaves behind a faithful, loving family that deserved a little girl to raise and love. Her little brother will barely remember her. She is survived by great-grandparents, grandparents, all her aunts and uncles, and by her parents. That just doesn't seem right, or fair.

What a weekend...we spent Saturday morning at a funeral for a brave little girl who has had cancer most of her life. You wouldn't think a child that young would have lived much, but judging by the size of the crowd that showed up for the celebration of her life, that kid lived a lot. She had the heart of a lion, with steely courage rarely shown in adults let alone a 5 year old. She accepted her fate without anger, self-pity, or tears. She only knew how to give love and acceptance. Her last week was spent reassuring her parents that she was ready...not only was she ready to see Jesus in Heaven, but she asked her parents to give her letters to take with her. That was how she let her parents know she was ready to go.

Sadness? Check out the parents. Compassion? No words can comfort them right now or ever. Stumble over something vague and meaningless, hug them and move on through the receiving line.

If I go back a couple of weeks to my first blog entry and read about how underrated I think sadness is, I feel stupid right about now. I do not know what to do about Jenna's death, and Chris and Michele's sadness. How can I show the kind of compassion I blogged about? How do I take on that kind of burden? Did I cry my guts out at that funeral? Yes. Did my hugs and awkwardness help them at all? Not a chance. So what do I do to honor her and help them?

I spent the rest of the weekend thinking about it. This is what I came up with. I will let Jenna's life inspire me. One of the profound things the minister said during the eulogy; and was confirmed by the nurses and volunteers who ministered to Jenna, was that Jenna had great parents, the best in the world. I cannot say that I am a good parent let alone the best parent. I will use the sadness and compassion I feel right now to become a better parent to my kids, their friends, youngsters I know and do not know. That is how her life can be celebrated by me. She knew she was loved, and had that love to give her confidence to love others. I need to let the younger generation know that I love them unconditionally, that I am there to help, not judge them, and that my love isn't going to be based on how well they perform.

Not very concrete, but it is a start for me.

God, I do not understand your need for Jenna right now, but I have to accept that you know better than I do. Amen.

Chow!