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Wednesday, October 20, 2010

The price of healing...

“Money often costs too much.” ~Ralph Waldo Emerson

The other day while sitting at the lake and having a few minutes to myself I was reflecting on all the things Andie and I had dreamed about: buying a boat, having a lake house, building our dream home on our 2.5 acres, traveling, getting him a new truck, etc. They were all things we couldn’t afford to do, or felt would be irresponsible to do when there were things like retirement and college funds that needed more immediate attention. We always thought we would “get to it” later….it occurred to me that the irony of my situation is that now, thanks to life insurance, I have the money to actually afford those things but I don’t want them. I could go out and buy a boat, or a lake house, or both…but I don’t want to because there is no joy in it without Andie to share it with.

So there it sits in an account earning interest (I am nothing if not responsible and practical, afterall) becoming an ever larger, looming, burden…and I have NO desire to spend it. Whatever I bought with it would seem tainted to me, like I would always know in the back of my mind I traded Andie for this house, or boat, or whatever…

The joy of spending money comes from working hard to earn it. I didn’t rightfully earn the money I now have- I sacrificed my most precious gift for it. I lost my husband, my life, my everything, and got several big checks in return…how messed up is that? I have apathy towards the money, a hatred for it, a denial that it even exists because it represents my husband’s life and puts a value on something that is priceless. To put a numerical value on what a person is worth is impossible, and absurd. He deserves so much more, I deserve so much more, my kids deserve so much more. Not more money- more time, more hugs, more intimate moments, more laughs, more life! Whoever said money doesn’t buy happiness was right on- I can’t buy my way out of this pain. There is no price on healing.

So, yeah, the money I have did cost me too much…and it so wasn’t worth it.


  1. A couple of years ago I wouldn't have understand what you were saying. Our point of view can change in a hurry.

    God bless you Brook; you are loved by many.

  2. Wow, very poignant... I wish (so many times) that I had something equally as impactive to say to you to help with your pain, but I know that others' words can only do so much anyway. I'm so glad you're writing and reflecting. Love you