Skip to main content

The Power of Words

It's been a while. Hello again.

Sometimes, I just need to write. I want to write, because I think words are beautiful. I want to write, because I want to create. I want to write, because maybe, just maybe, my thoughts can be powerful one day.

But, what happens when words fail me?
Because, sometimes that happen. Sometimes, feelings are just so powerful, so passionate, so painful, so wonderful, it becomes impossible to describe.

Feelings are quite something. They sneak up on you.
I still think about Mom, Dad, Keegs and Liam everyday, but now, it's not always as painful. They don't control my thoughts. Their memories are there, and they are beautiful. I can say things like, "Oh, Keegan and Liam would LOVE the new Wellness Center," and I won't burst into tears. I am growing up. I am moving along everyday, and it is beautiful. I have a wonderful husband, and wonderful family and friends, and life is beautiful.

And then, sometimes, all I have to do is something simple. Something as simple as playing the piano, and I remember those times when Dad would come stand next to me, studying my fingers hit the keys, perplexed at my ability to play the keys while staring at a piece of music. Sometimes, if he knew the song, he would try to sing along. The memory is so vivid, so alive, that sometimes, it's almost like I can feel him.
And it's amazing how the smallest thing like that, something so simple, makes me tear up a little. Sometimes, even a lot. And no word can describe the feeling.

I don't want to write to say "Woe is me" or "Let's look back on the past and remember how amazing they were." I don't want to continue writing about pain, because that just causes more pain and more hurt and more reminding. And I don't want that. Nobody does.

And so, I stopped. I stopped writing because I didn't know what else to write about. What do you write about when you feel like you've said it all, and nothing is really that different? What do I say?

But maybe it's ok to still write about the simple things. It's ok to write about happy things. I don't need to dwell on sadness. Yes, they are gone, and yes, sometimes, once in a while, I will still have a good cry and let it out. But, those are rare.

It's time to focus on good things. Happy things. Things that reminded me of them. Things that will bring me closer to them.

I've missed writing, because it was words that comforted me. It was words that sometimes I felt, even saved me; words from family and friends, words from the scriptures, words from blessings, words from writing.

Comments

  1. I'm so sorry for the death of your sweet family. This is the first time I'Ve ever been to your blog. I cannot imagine how you feel, but I understand the need to write your thoughts down, whatever they may be. It's part of living, learning and being. May you find peace in your journey. Thank you for sharing your thoughts, they're beautifully written. I will pray for you. God is aware of you. You are His precious child. Much love to you.

    ReplyDelete
  2. I would like to thank you for the efforts you have made in writing this article. I am hoping the same best work from you in the future as well.. jogos io
    friv 2019
    2player games

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

A New Normal

Life is unfigureoutable. One minute, it's going one way. And then the next, your life is forever changed. My name is Jensen Parrish. And my life has been changed. I was a missionary for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, serving in the Washington, Vancouver Mission, speaking American Sign Language. I had been out for a year. My brother, Ian Parrish, was also a missionary for the church, serving in the South Dakota, Rapid City Mission. Our missions meant EVERYTHING to us. The growth that we developed there has truly changed our lives. The principles that we taught became firmly rooted in us. Little did we know, that our testimonies of those very principles would be put to the test, in the most unexpected way. On February 23, 2014, just three days after my year mark of being a missionary, I received the news from my mission president and his dear wife, that my mother, my father, and 2 younger brothers had peacefully passed on from this life into the next. The ca

Little bit of Chaos

My home is a disaster. (Mom would not be happy with me right now...) Letters, cards and packages from a variety of caring people, wanting to do anything that they can to help. A basketball signed by the BYU Provo basketball team. Things that have been gathered, sitting in the living room, waiting for voyage to D.I. Things that I want to save. Chocolates. Clothes. Chaos. A little bit how I feel about life. These past two weeks have been the slowest and yet the fastest that I've ever experienced in my life. There are 5 steps in the grief: Denial Anger Bargaining Depression Acceptance Simple. Yet complicated. Or, my favorite word... Unfigureoutable. Why? Because we all grieve differently. Some people take control of the situation. Some people handle things well. If you're like me, you go on "shut-down, don't talk to me" mode. Which may not be the best way to handle a funeral. Because I wanted nothing more than to just run away from the world and hide.

The Newest of "Normals"

I remember that night as if it were yesterday. I remember that the living room light in the apartment was off, but the kitchen light was on. I remember I was wearing an old EFY T-shirt with pink cotton pajama bottoms. I remember that whole day was a good one, a great one even- we had had dinner with an amazing family and had a great spiritual lesson. We were on a spiritual high from the day, excited and ready for our break the next day, excited to be able to check our emails, excited to talk to our families. I remember kneeling next to my bed, saying my night prayers. I remember saying, “Please bless Mom, Dad, Keegan and Liam at home. I’m grateful to be able to talk to them tomorrow.” I remember the knock at the door right at the end of my prayer. Confusion seemed to buzz throughout the apartment as the six of us girls poked our heads out of rooms, wondering, “Who is knocking at 10:30 at night?” I remember seeing my mission president and his wife, their faces sad, scared,