Our neighbors down the street have a son named Samuel, a sweet seven-year-old from Haiti they adopted through a ministry in their church. Along with the other kids on our block, Samuel rides his Spiderman bike up and down the street, battling invisible villians in wars waged on front lawns and protecting the neighborhood from alien invaders. Whenever we cross paths he gives me a huge smile and says "allo" with the most awesome french accent. Last week his family found out that because of government nonsense, Samuel's citizenship papers were never approved. He was sent back to the orphanage in Haiti, away from the parents who loved him and the life he deserved. They are fighting the decision with everything they have. His Spiderman bike is still parked in the driveway.
Yesterday I got lost in a blog written by a man whose wife died hours after giving birth to their first child. Faced with unimaginable pain, he tells the story of grieving for her loss while raising their daughter in an environment of joy and love. His posts are heartbreakingly and beautifully written. He's giving her the world, keeping her mom alive one memory at a time. One day she'll be able to look back and see that her dad didn't just curl up and cry, he fought the grief in order to give her everything he was missing.
Two stories of families struggling with the reality of their loved one disappearing. An empty hole where there was once overwhelming love. Finding the strength is takes to move forward, continue living after tragedy strikes. Got me thinking that maybe I should quit complaining about how incredibly blessed my life really is.
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