I can't believe that I made it to week 5 of the 6 week online course in Wholehearted living! 
Brené Brown, (PhD - Expert in Vulnerability, Shame and how Imperfection leads to Joy!), has been leading this course that I bravely signed up for it - and bought the required journal, art supplies (yes, of course I had stuff at home, but it's always fun to buy more!!!), and the book "The Gifts of Imperfection" (yes, also by Brené)...

On Wednesday this week, I heard that Gijs, one of my students at the HvA, had died suddenly at the age of 26. I liked Gijs; he was a likable, friendly, enthusiastic guy. All the teachers liked him. Students too. He's the kind of person who probably has had very few enemies.  At that moment, I felt like the world was slipping away, a black hole opening up, immense sadness overcome me although I have only known Gijs since September this year.
The reason for that mountain of emotion is, I think, what I refer to in the title, as the Domino Effect. When you have already experienced grief in your life, and then you are later faced with another moment of grief, you may feel as if the new grief echoes the old one. In other words, I was not only feeling sad because of Gijs, but also feeling for a while the way I felt when my own son died. So many familiar feelings welled up inside of me. It's unfair, he's too young, could I have done something to prevent this? 

As a child, my life felt void of meaning, until various external, future events would trigger a feeling of excitement and anticipation. A visit from my grandmother, who lived on the East Coast, a holiday, a party we could attend, a trip to my aunt and uncle.

As I grew older, I was still motivated by the future I would have, the career I would build, the money I’d earn, the man I’d marry, the children I would have.

Eventually, there he was, my first child, and I was swamped in the present. In the diapers and crying, rashes and tantrums, illogical demands of a baby who cannot tell me what he wants and expects. I rushed back to work, where adults spoke with words and body language I could understand, and had expectations I could meet. Arrange that event, contact that person, make a deal, earn us a profit…

And then my son fell ill; they thought he would die on that first day on the operating table… but he survived. He was riddled with cancer and yet he smiled, he laughed, he sang, danced even. Suddenly, through this child of mine, this meaningful person who I had not yet learned to fully appreciate, I learned that today is the day that is full of meaning. That if I looked only to the future - that anticipation might be of more illness, or death, so it was better to stay in the here and now.

The house filled up with visitors, my inbox with good wishes, my life suddenly overflowed with both joy and tears.

And although Yarden has moved on from this world to the next, he has left me with many gifts. Among them, an enormous feeling of gratefulness for what I do have. For the day, for the moment, my senses, health, friends and family, a good place to live, my surviving children, my ever-growing capacity to love.

“The past is history, the future a mystery, the present is a gift.” (Eleanor Roosevelt)