Math, quiet books, and a pause for the mommy we lost too soon

I always thought I wasn’t good at math. That’s why I didn’t stress about getting B’s in my math classes during high school. I’m just not good at it, I thought.

In reality, I just never did my math homework. In college, where I cared more about my GPA, I always did my math homework and magically got A's in the two math classes I had to take. Math, it turns out is all about what you put into it.

So, I decided to take the same approach when it comes to Pinterest. I recently joined a Quiet Book Page Exchange group. I didn’t even know what a quiet book was until my friend Betsy posted about the group on Facebook. It turns out a quiet book is the mother of all Pinterest toddler projects. 

One of the many examples of quiet 

books on Pinterest.

I decided to join the Quiet Book Group, despite my lack of craftiness, because, you know, YOLO, right?

Yesterday I headed to Pinterest to “research” just exactly what I had gotten myself into. I typically only Pin on my phone, but yesterday I decided to hop on at my desktop. This might have been a mistake. The Pins are bigger on the desktop and there are so many more of them. Minutes turned into hours.

I noticed at the left of the page Pinterest offered suggestions on other pinners I should follow. I started clicking yes to those suggestions, mostly crafty people who I am friends with on Facebook. Then all of the sudden I paused as a familiar face popped up on my suggested follow list. It was my friend, Terry.

Terry died April 2013. Authorities ruled her death a homicide/suicide, her husband being the perpetrator.

I think of Terry often, even though we hadn’t hung out in years before her death. It’s as though her smiling face and compassionate spirit are embedded on my heart. When I hear stories about domestic violence homicides, she’s the one I think of. When I hear about the lack of mental health resources for veterans I think of her husband. I think, and wonder, and wish that things could have ended differently.

Terry hadn’t created very many boards on her Pinterest page before she died. I clicked and looked through her sparse pins. It looked as though she died before she even got started really pinning. Her Pinterest just another reminded that she died too soon.

Even though I can do math, it’s still not my thing. Maybe because I know that life, unlike math, isn’t an equation we can always solve. No matter how many times you go over the circumstances, some situations don’t make sense. They will never be solved.

This the point where I would normally go into a tirade about public policies that protect women from domestic violence, or legislation that would ensure veterans get the mental health care that they need, or societal attitudes that would eliminate the stigma of mental illness. But not today. Today I’m just going to pause.

You see, in real life, loss isn't the punch line to an argument. In real life, loss is a void that has no end. 

Life, like math is what you put into it. And I’m going to put everything I have in mine to honor my friend Terry, a mother who left us too soon.