I have a love hate relationship with Facebook memories. They seem orchestrated to remind you of the memories that aren't so great and even if the memory for the day is a good one, often times I find myself wondering what the hell have I been doing for the year or even several that have passed.
Well, I am glad to report that a memory came up today and I cried tears of joy. Here it goes:
" I have been dreading this month all year! 7 days from today, I found my grandfather unresponsive and there was nothing I could do for him. I ask that you all keep me and MY thoughts in YOUR prayers. I carry so much guilt, and hurt around since then and it's feels enhanced the closer the date gets! 🙏 Always remember, you DON'T know ME, you know my FB!"
Some may wonder how something so seemingly sad would bring me even an ounce of joy so, allow me to explain.
Nearly three years ago, I showed up to take my grandfather to the hospital because he was not feeling well the night before. When I arrived, rather than going into panic mode I chose to be heroic and set my emotions and fear of death to the side and help my grandfather fight for his life. I cleared space for the paramedics being as though I was thinking logically enough to immediately call 911. I had never performed CPR on a dummy, let alone a human which might I mention is no easy feat. But, I remained calm enough to take instructions from the dispatcher and perform to the best of my ability under the circumstances.
Once he was stabilized, I made some calls and sent some text messages to a few family members and close friends. When I reached out to my Mother, it was a natural instinct for me to protect her so I was very selective with what I shared about his condition. I didn't want to alarm her, especially not over the phone. From there, I got in my car to meet the ambulance at the hospital following all of the rules of the road.
When all of the family arrived and things took a turn, as a family we came together and decided that it was time to let Papa go to Glory! We prayed, we sang, and did everything that our Baptist upbringing instilled in us.
Now, compare the initial memory to the story that I just told. I'm learning that in life we have choices. To be constantly self victimized or to paint yourself strong and heroic. It's all in how you perceive the situation. Now, this isn't to dismiss anyone who is grieving and dealing with adversities in their own way but a testimony to what I am doing to improve my quality of life. I still have bad days or low times but I am consciously working on being bigger and better. There's a saying that goes, " Some people don't want to be fixed because being broken gets them attention " and I found that I was using my pessimistic, my grandfather died and all men are dogs stories as a way to pardon me from my responsibility to live abundantly.
So, let's make a pact to work consciously on dumping our resentment towards the cards life deal us and start beating our own hand!
P.S. You still don't KNOW me, yet!
