Finding Strength Within Us All

Sometimes, I think about children – not my own grandchildren, though they are a constant joy - but all those little ones out there facing things far beyond what any child ought to bear. It makes me wonder, doesn't it? What decides who buckles under and what determines the quiet strength in others? I’ve seen it firsthand, you see. In classrooms, certainly; a child struggling with a learning difficulty, another dealing with a family upheaval…and yet, some shine through those difficulties like beacons.

It wasn’t always obvious to me, of course. When Jerry and I first married, he was the strong one. The steady hand when storms came – and they do come, don't they? Life isn't a meadow strewn with wildflowers; it's more often a rocky hillside you have to climb. But as the years passed, I realized strength wasn’t some innate quality; it was something built, bit by bit, from experience and choice. He grew stronger, yes, but so did I, in ways he might not even fully appreciate.

I remember visiting Mrs. Henderson when she first moved into the neighborhood. Her husband had recently passed away, unexpectedly, and she was…well, lost. Not angry, not despairing, just utterly adrift. We’d bring over casseroles (always chicken pot pie – her favorite, I learned quickly) and sit with her, mostly in silence. I didn't offer platitudes or advice; what good is that when a person’s heart feels like it’s been broken into shards? Slowly, painstakingly, she began to rebuild. Not the life she’d known, perhaps, but something new, something born of that loss.

Helping at the Fulton Street food pantry has shown me this repeatedly. You see people there who have faced unimaginable hardships: job losses, illnesses, displacement. Some seem utterly defeated, while others are brimming with a quiet determination to get back on their feet. It’s not about luck, I don't believe it is. It's about something deeper, something that resides within each of us and can be nurtured – or starved.

I always tell my grandchildren, when they're feeling down about a test or a lost game, that facing disappointment honestly is the first step to overcoming it. It’s not enough to simply brush things aside; you have to feel the sting, acknowledge the pain. My own mother used to say, "Tears don't weaken you, child; they cleanse." And she was right. Suppressing those feelings just makes them fester.

Going to Brooklyn after Jerry retired… that was a choice, wasn’t it? It felt more natural to go *to* Marcus and his family than wait for them to come here. They needed me then, in the way families sometimes do when life gets complicated. And being useful - helping out with the little ones, running errands – gave me something to focus on besides my own…well, my own quiet hours. It wasn’t just *them* who benefited from that trip; I certainly did. Sometimes, simply offering a hand is all it takes to rekindle a spirit.

There's been so much talk in recent years about the brain changing itself – how our experiences literally rewire us. It sounds rather scientific, but what it means, as I understand it, is that we’re not fixed. We can learn new ways of thinking, new ways of reacting to adversity. Even after all these years. It's a comfort, knowing that the older you get, the more pathways have been laid – opportunities for different perspectives and responses.

It seems to me that resilience isn't something you possess; it’s a practice. Like learning to play the piano or bake a good loaf of bread—it takes dedication, patience, and a willingness to keep trying even when you miss a note or burn the crust. And most importantly, it requires connection – reaching out to others, allowing yourself to be supported, and offering that support in return. Because we are all, ultimately, climbing that rocky hillside together.