Many years ago, an old friend asked me to share my wildest dream. I looked at him, uncertain. “Are you sure you want to know?” He nodded, curiosity glowing in his eyes. So I leaned in, lowered my voice, and confessed my deepest desire: to hear someone tell me that everything was going to be okay, and to actually believe it.
His face fell, revealing disappointment, but there was nothing false in my confession. The phrase “everything is going to be okay” holds a certain magic, one of my favorites. I’ve uttered it countless times to those I care about, and once I became a parent, it became a mantra for my children: everythingisokayitsokayitsokay— a soothing refrain during their moments of sadness, fear, or frustration. I even find myself mumbling it in my sleep when they stir next to me, an instinctive part of my parenting routine.
I’ve repeated those words to myself a million times through various life challenges—awkward phases, job losses, breakups, and bad hair days. However, the mantra fell flat when my mother passed away. I knew it wasn’t true. I tried whispering to myself while lying on the bathroom floor, the only place I could find solace without scaring my kids. “Everything is going to be okay,” I’d say, but the words echoed hollowly against the reality of my grief.
Grief doesn’t come with a promise of “okay.” Instead, it leaves behind a void shaped like the person we lost— a void that time cannot fill. Three years later, I still catch glimpses of my mother in passing faces, a bittersweet reminder of what was lost. The best I can hope for is that the raw edges will eventually heal, leaving a scar but no longer an open wound.
This struggle to find comforting words for someone in mourning is something many of us face. What do you say when you can’t promise that everything will be okay? How do we comfort each other in the face of life’s harsh realities and the pain that seems never-ending? Am I failing my children by assuring them that everything will always turn out alright when it may not?
Last night, my youngest—a child who will never know his grandmother yet has her eyes—ran to me with a fresh bruise on his forehead from a play mishap. I scooped him up, inhaling the familiar scent of his hair, mingled with traces of baby shampoo and yogurt. His face was flushed from crying, and he clutched my shirt tightly, seeking comfort.
“I’m here,” I said softly. It felt genuine and reassuring. “I’m here,” I repeated, louder this time, and he relaxed against me, acknowledging that he was safe and supported.
There is space within me for him, just as there is for his siblings, his father, and all those I love. We all carry burdens that can feel too heavy to bear alone. There’s a profound truth in simply being present for one another, in offering our love and support, even when we can’t promise that everything will be okay.
If anyone were to ask me about my dream now, I would say: “Just be there for me. Create a little space in your heart.” For more insights on navigating the complexities of parenting and emotional support, check out this insightful blog post. And if you’re considering at-home insemination, you can find reliable options at Make a Mom. For further information on fertility and pregnancy, Science Daily is an excellent resource.
In summary, life can be incredibly tough, and it’s important to acknowledge that everything may not always turn out okay. However, simply being present for one another and sharing our burdens can create healing connections.