There are times in life, things in life we would all like to avoid. Death, illness, loss. Today I was thinking about my Mom, it would have been her 72nd birthday on Friday. She has been gone for almost 9 years this year and it is less hard than it was, on most days. There are moments I wish I could talk to her, just for five minutes. She could help me unpack things no one else could.

I was thinking of my Mom because I recently read a post by Carin Towne, the mother of the late Ben Towne. Ben Towne died of cancer at the age of 3 and Carin was brave enough to share about losing him and I was reminded of losing my mother. While in no way does it compare with the loss of child, it is the closest I have come to that pain. All I could think of when she wrote about the howling, scorching pain, was how sometimes there is no over, under or around, only through, the terrible through.

For the days you wake up and for a moment, have forgotten the pain, only to have it come screaming back. How only after losing my mother-in-law in December, my favorite grandfather in January and my husband’s uncle in February did it all seem like too much. So after I had to cancel something I had committed to, telling them what was going on, and got “And?” as a response I knew I needed to start saying “No.”

So I did, I started saying “No” to playdates, “No” to volunteering, “No” to time with friends, “No” to NPR because even the radio just made me mad. I kept going until all I was taking care of was me, my two boys and my marriage. Only then did I even start to heal.

And the magical gift which appeared were the people who were still there, patient and loving, waiting for me to return. What I gained from saying “No” for so long, was the power of “Yes.”

The power of “Yes” is making sure every time I say “Yes” to something I support it 100%. No regrets, no complaints, just “Yes.”

This is a lesson I would never have learned without visiting that dark place, where “No” was the only word that helped.

I do not wish a horrible loss on anyone, but that kind of pain changes you and helps clarify what is truly important, it helps you find your “Yes.” And so, for that, I miss my Mom, Nikki, Grandpa and David, but if it weren’t for them, I would have failed to know the true power of “flexing my “No” muscle.”

Without “No” there can be no room for “Yes.”

Of all the people I expected to mourn in my lifetime, I never expected it to be our dentist.

Dr. Jeffrey Files was our dentist for almost 10 years. His office was where our family visited two or more times a year from when my youngest was 4 1/2 until when he was 15. For our younger son, it was the only dentist he knew. His office was always a happy, safe place to go, no matter why we were visiting.

The dentist I grew up with, I thought he was a vampire and so I was determined to find someone my boys would not fear, the universe delivered Dr. Files. Little did I know he would become like one of those amazing teachers- never to be rivaled again.

We are grieving, for a friend, for someone who cared for our family, intimately and with so much love for over 10 years. His care saw us through many seasons of our life, little did we know we would be part of the last season of his, but not completely.

Once Dr. Files stopped treating patients he deteriorated quickly and we did not see him during his last year. Lou Gehrig’s disease is one which normally takes its time, not with Dr. Files. It seemed such a cruel diagnosis for someone who had given so much for so long.

We still cannot believe he is gone and I regularly cry with my youngest because we did not get to say goodbye and we simply miss seeing him. He loved his patients like family. How could someone who poured SO much love into his patients and his life be taken? He deserved to stay! The thought of the his kids he loved so much, say nothing of his wonderful wife, continuing without him. I can only imagine the chasm they are left with if we still grieve like this.