The Bucket

For all of the non-early-voting Americans (myself included), the election is truly upon us. We have to vote tomorrow. I have never cared so little about an election in my life. Who cares who our president is when babies die? When Weston died? Why do I care about what is going on in this country when I just want to disappear?

But, I can't disappear. So I have to vote. And I hate politics. I am not apathetic, mind you; far from it. But I hate the partisan division that has crippled this country. I am not an idiot, but how do I really know what is best for America's bottom line? Everyone seems to have a different answer to that question.

I am discovering yet another side effect to grief: greatly diminished brain capacity. Now I struggle to find words, lose my train of thought, forget things, and am often paralyzed by indecision. Grief is hard work, and apparently my brain is filled to capacity by grieving to the point that it does not have room for higher cognitive functioning.

So, tonight, on the eve of the election, I find myself reading position statements on the various propositions. As a lawyer, this should be easy-breezy and right up my alley. But I am struggling. I slogged my way through them and did actually decide how I am going to vote on all but one of them, but it was a major chore.

And the presidential candidates? I have become a cynic. I am certain that partisan politics will continue to paralyze this country no matter who is in office, so what does it matter?

Politically, I am pretty moderate, so I have to think hard about which candidates to support every election (although I have consistently voted for one party over the other for the past three presidential elections). I finally made up my mind regarding the presidential election after reading about The Bucket.

This is a blog that I follow. Ann Voskamp, the author, is a talented and authentic writer. Admittedly, I haven't been reading it as much lately, because I do not feel God's presence throughout my days right now (and that is the main subject matter of her blog). But I did happen to read her post about The Bucket (capitalization mine) recently.

We all know about the Bucket List: that list of things we want to do, see, eat, experience, etc. before we die. I have one myself. But Weston did not even live long enough to know that The Bucket exists.

Voskamp turned the whole idea of the Bucket List on its head...literally. What if, instead of focusing on amassing things, experiences, filling up our buckets, etc., we sought to EMPTY our buckets? What good is a full bucket at the end of our lives anyway? Wouldn't you rather reach the end of your life and be able to talk about how much of yourself you gave away: your love, your attention, your time, your talents, your gifts, your encouragement, your efforts, your affection, your advocacy...I have been the beneficiary of emptied buckets over the past several months. I literally do not know if I would still be here otherwise.

I have been a lifelong realist. But losing Weston has turned me into more of an idealist. Perhaps my "conversion" occurred because it is too difficult to grasp the unfathomably awful reality that my son is dead, that I will NEVER see him again in this lifetime, that he has been robbed of an entire lifetime. In an ideal world, babies do not die. My baby would not have died.

So, as realistic or unrealistic as their execution would be, I am voting in line with my "bucket-emptying" ideals. They might make the economy crash and burn. (For the record, I care deeply about many more issues than the economy; the economy just happens to be the issue at the forefront of this election) But I don't care. I am still voting for the candidates and the propositions that are consistent with the bucket-emptiers.

Although Weston didn't know anything about buckets, he had one, and I am sure that it was empty when he reached heaven. He inspired love, trust, and prayer like no one I have ever known in only three weeks (plus a pregnancy cut short). I am so proud to be his mother. And I hope that, the next time we meet, I am carrying an empty bucket.