Strength of mind that allows one to endure pain or adversity with courage.
Today at the gym a man felt short of breath. So much so that paramedics were called. As I left with the kids I saw the man being rolled into the ambulance. My imagination kicked in transporting me to the afternoon that my father died. Paramedics came and firemen came from the station that my father helped build. Policemen came. We all know that despite their efforts, my father could not be saved. I wasn't there, but just the sight of a man with gray hair being wheeled to an awaiting ambulance reminded me of his death. I had to gather the children and quickly get to the van. If I had lingered a moment longer I would have been crying.
This morning I looked at the phone beside our bed and relived that horrid conversation with my mother. Sadly, that occurs more days than it does not. I usually have a short cry of quiet moment before the three bundles of joy that live with me push me off into happiness.
I don't know how my mother makes it day to day. She has to live and eat in the kitchen where he died. I know she relives this. Each time she does grief begins anew. She let me know that much. "He died so hard, Sarabeth. He died so hard." I've watched her wracked with pain and tears. I don't know how to take it away.
How do soldiers who have watched their fellow brothers die get through life each day? How do they return to the battlefield? My father did it in Vietnam. And, I really never saw a glimmer of emotional angst in his eyes. He was tough that way.
I want to fill my mother with the fortitude necessary to go on with life. I need the right words and time. Time supposedly heals all wounds. I just hope my mother hasn't been dealt a mortal blow.