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Archive for the ‘Grief’ Category

You Picked a Fine Time to Leave Me …

Posted in Grief, life, WONDER, tagged #grief, #griefhasnoexpiry, #kennyrogers, #memories, #youpickedafinetimetoleave on March 22, 2020| 8 Comments »

… Lucille

and out of nowhere there it was again … grief.

The death of Kenny Rogers, the playing of his songs, brought grief back, in a flood of emotions and memories.

Grief does not have a lifespan, an expiry date. It does not respect the comfortability of others. It is something one learns to live with, knowing that, at any moment and for no apparent reason, it resurfaces with pent up energy and emotion … developing into tears and the loneliness for one who is gone.

At a certain stage in my dad’s life, Kenny Rogers (before Kenny’s facial plastic surgery) was his doppelganger. It just so happened that my dad also loved his music. He would sing along, attempting to duplicate Kenny’s distinctive husky voice.

My dad loved to sing. One of my memories of eye-rolling as a kid (along with the plaid shorts and the socks that went up to the knees … with the plaid shorts) was how my dad would finish our sentences with lyrics from songs.

It would go like this:

Mom: Don’t count your dirty money at the table …
Dad: They’ll be time enough for counting, when the dealings done

Mom: I was talking to Aunt Ruby this morning …
Dad: Ruby, don’t take your love to town

I have a sweet colleague at work who does this too … I think she might think I am making fun of her when she does it and I point it out, but I love that she does it for it always makes me think of my dad, makes me smile fondly.

It was hearing Roger’s song Lucille that really brought grief to the forefront. It was the words, you picked a fine to leave me, Lucille that did it.

Those of us who loved him are probably all feeling like you picked a fine to leave … We have stuff in our lives that … make us miss him more, lately. We miss him all over again.

At his funeral was a slideshow of photos from his life, our lives. One of the songs that played was Kenny Roger’s singing I will remember you …

Dad, I know I am not alone in saying you picked a fine to leave … I miss you all over again …

You decorated my life
Created a world
Where dreams are a part
And you decorated my life
By paintin’ your love
All over my heart
You decorated my life

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“Don’t Cry”

Posted in GOD, Grief, life, WONDER, tagged #dontcry, #grieving, #mourning on March 3, 2020| 3 Comments »

What would you think if you were crying and someone said to you, “don’t cry?”

Luke 7:11-13
Soon afterward, Jesus went to a town called Nain, and his disciples and a large crowd went along with him. As he approached the town gate, a dead person was being carried out—the only son of his mother, and she was a widow. And a large crowd from the town was with her. When the Lord saw her, his heart went out to her and he said, “Don’t cry.””

In this story of Jesus meeting up with a funeral procession, Jesus said to the mother, “don’t cry.”

It is so easy to simply focus on just those two words, but, there is more revealed in the story to give us understanding of what Jesus was thinking when he said those words.

Verse 13 says, “When the Lord saw her, his heart went out to her and he said, “Don’t cry.””

Jesus was all God, all man. He could laugh, and cry. He could celebrate, and mourn (after all this was not the only person who Jesus raised from the dead. When he heard of Lazarus’ death, he wept, then raised a four-days dead man!). Jesus humanly understood the sorrow that the young man’s mother was suffering, and her suffering tugged at his human heart … as well as at his divine being. Maybe he not only saw, but also felt the heartache that the mother was feeling (Romans 12:15 “rejoice with them that do rejoice, and weep with them that weep.”).

As ‘his heart went out to her,’ Jesus saw the heartbreak, the agony, the loss, and the hopelessness in the countenance of the widowed mother of a dead young man. Her son that was to be her only hope for a future in that society.

Jesus also knew that he, a son, was the only hope of a future for us. Perhaps the mourning that Jesus saw in that woman was a foreshadowing of what Jesus, the Son of God, would experience when he would be separated by death, from his Father.

Then he said, “young man, I say to you, get up!” The dead man sat up and began to talk, and Jesus gave him back to his mother. They were all filled with awe and praised God. “A great prophet has appeared among us,” they said. “God has come to help his people.” (v. 14-16)

And, as the people were all in awe that “God has come to help his people,” those same people knew nothing of the sorrow that He would bare in order to help them, in the very near future. But, He knew.

Jesus said to her, “I am the resurrection and the life.
Anyone who believes in Me will live, even if he dies.
And those who live and believe in Me will never die.
Do you believe this?”
John 11:25-26

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Muddled and Unmoored

Posted in Grief, life, WONDER, tagged #memorygoneadrift, #muddledandunmoored, #muddledbrain, Grief on February 18, 2020| 6 Comments »

Muddled … that’s been the problem.

Awhile back I couldn’t, for the life of me, find my way out of a (small) parking garage. My family, colleagues and students have laughed with (I’m pretty sure it’s with, not at) me and my inability to focus, to remember. I start one task and get so easily diverted to another, forgetting the first one completely.

It all started the day I got the call from across the country, when packing a suitcase seemed the hardest thing in the world (mostly noted when I arrived to see what I had forgotten to pack).

Since that day in late November I have had times of sitting at my computer, oblivious to the unknown minutes that have past since I last tapped a letter on the keyboard. It is as if my brain takes an unexpected hiatus from the body where it is contained … I wonder where it has gone.

I will be helping a student with their math (an area where the pathways in my brain are still firing on all cylinders), the bell will ring and I have no idea whether that was the first or last bell of the day.

I’ll walk determinedly into a room and have no idea why I am there … actually, I am fifty and that is unchanged.

It is said, of some, that the death of a loved one can leave you feeling as if you have lost a part of yourself. I have felt as though I have lost an anchor and am like a boat adrift, moving aimlessly at the discretion of the waves, while, at the same time, looking unchanged, normal, capable.

Most days I function just fine, then my brain simply goes on vacation and I am left with a momentary void. Or I am left struggling to conjure up where my sentence was going. Or, I sit at the computer and cannot, for the life of me come up with anything to write about.

This muddled brain leaves me feeling confusion and insecurity like a boat, unmoored, drifting out to sea, directionless.

Then I read the following words:

Grief, in its excruciating form, is love that no longer has a place to belong.

This muddled mind, this brain adrift … symptoms of a love that has lost it’s mark, it’s destined port. So, it drifts, taking ones senses with it, searching for that which is gone … it’s gone …

he’s gone

and there is no coming back.

“To him who is able to keep you from stumbling …
to the only God our Savior … ”
Jude 1:24

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Just Do It

Posted in Grief, life, WONDER, tagged #condolences, #flowersandfunerals, #grief, #justdoit, #supportingrief on February 2, 2020| Leave a Comment »

Grief is awkward … grieving is hard work.

Something that I have never felt that I have done well is to support people when someone dies. Sure I have delivered a casserole, muffins or cookies. I have sent a greeting card (okay … I have thought about it … e v e r y time, but rarely done it). I have gone to the funeral home. I attended celebrations of life and funerals. I have whispered and messaged that I am praying (and, if I said it, I really did do it).

But, I never felt like any of that made a bit of difference …

… then my dad died

and the messages poured in through social media, text and email.

Each note and message were read and received with heart-felt appreciation. This may seem to be the easy way out, but they are not … those short communications (even the emojis) can be the reminders that you do not walk death’s valley alone.

and people showed up at my mum’s house, with meals, hugs and listening ears

Each knock at the door brought someone with something … even those whose hands were empty, for their physical presence brought support and they left carrying part of our burden. The meals erased a need to sustain ourselves, the meals that arrived ready for the freezer alleviated the need to think of tomorrow … for the day at hand had enough to fill a muddled brain.

and people poured into the funeral home to pay respects to our family and to honor the memory of our father, husband, grandfather, friend.

We spent an afternoon and evening receiving guests who shared in our loss, our sorrow. Honestly, at times it felt like a family reunion and there was more laughter than tears. Apparently a saying of ancient Egyptians is “to speak the name of the dead is to make him live again” and those who came to the visiting hours or wake, at the funeral home spoke his name and reminded us that the living and life of our loved one had an impact and that impact lives on, even in the face of death.

and people gathered with us at the funeral, supporting us as we came face to face with the reality of the finality of death.

No one ever wants to go to a funeral, fewer want to participate in a funeral (pallbearers, music leaders, participants), fewer still want to be bidding a loved one adieu at a funeral. To a family member or loved one of a deceased, such participation does not go ignored, unappreciated. They know you don’t want to be there … believe me, their wish to not having to be there is even greater.

and people gave cards and made donations to charities in honor of our loved one.

The day after the funeral my mom and I read through the number of greeting cards and donations made to charities. Some to the one we suggested, some to other organizations. It truly did feel good that our loss could bring gain to organizations and charities, through donations made by others.

and then there were flowers.

Flowers were delivered from workplaces, brightening the foreboding funeral box, centered on the far wall of the funeral home room. When I returned home they arrived from near and far, with short notes offering love, prayers and support. Their beauty and the thoughtfulness they represented provided a gentle home for weary eyes, reminders that beauty still exists, even in the darkness of grief.

and it continues.

Still, messages arrive in the inbox, sometimes from friends, but also from family, who have learned (the hard way) that to hold each other up is to keep our own heads above the tides of grief. My mom has a neighbor who faithfully prows and shovels her driveway and walk. Her brother picks up her mail, takes her to appointments, drops by, regularly, for tea. Visits and calls still happen, offers of drives to church, errands. Whispers of “you are in my prayers.”

Death is so awkward, because it and the grieving of it can take so many forms. Death is so awkward, because it will visit each one of us … un-welcomed, unplanned and life-changing. But, through this recent visit, I have learned that any efforts made by others to cheer, sustain and support those grieving do not go unnoticed or unappreciated. As a matter of fact they are the oxygen masks for those gasping for the breath of life.

So, if you’re ever unsure if what you might offer someone in the midst of grief is valuable … just do it.

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Quiet Pauses

Posted in Grief, life, WONDER, tagged #missingdad, #quietpauses, #snowdays, #thepausebutton, #timechangesnothing, Grief on January 26, 2020| Leave a Comment »

It was quiet … too quiet … something was missing.

I love a snow day … alway have, always will. The buzz of colleagues and friends texting, listening to weather reports, watching for emails, scrolling through social media for posts declaring that Mother Nature, local meteorologists, school administrators … God himself has hit the pause button for the day.

This particular day, though sweet, was quiet.

I spent time writing, shovelled snow, bid hubby farewell as he ventured off to work. It was so quiet … I started a jigsaw puzzle, listened to an online sermon, the news, music.

Then I saw it,

and I knew what was missing.

My dad.

He loved snow. When they would have snow days at the school in his community, he would email, message or post weather reports to me (always along with an invitation to move back to the East Coast, from the West). When I would have snow days, he would send celebratory messages as well.

This particular day, I felt the disquieting quiet of his absence from life … another loss that follows death.

So I rose from my seat and sought my recipe book.

Just a week prior I found a cherished poem from my dad to one of my own kids, along with his (famous) biscuit recipe.

He wrote poems, my dad. Little story-telling rhyming verses … just like his mom did. They were so common throughout my life … now I wish I had kept them all, so that I could pour over them, laugh and weep through them.

you never know what gift is precious until the one who gave it is gone

I gathered the ingredients that he always used (including the terribly unhealthy Fluffo shortening that he said was imperative) and set myself to work, following each direction, hearing his advice between each line of the recipe … throwing in a few tears for good measure.

I rolled out the dough, careful not to handle it too much. I cut out each biscuit, the final bit of dough formed into the coveted ‘hot dog’ (that everyone fought for, because it was the biggest). Then, into the preheated oven they went, until the tops were starting to brown, but only just a bit.

I took a picture to share with my family, who would fully understand …

Then I ate one … and whispered,

happy snow day, dad.

Snow days and the changes that follow death … they are part of life, a life that was so good it leaves quiet pauses.

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Left Behind

Posted in Grief, life, WONDER, tagged #grief, #leftbehind, #movingthroughgrief, #newyearwithoutyou, #sayinggoodbyeforever, #theroadtolife on January 2, 2020| Leave a Comment »

As this new year approached, my heart grew heavy.

The close of 2019 reminded me that it is the final year my family and I will have lived with our dad, husband, grandfather, friend. 2020 (and the years to come) will not be shared with him … his story ended in 2019, last year.

For some reason this turn of the calendar made the finality of his passing more real than those last moments at his hospital bed, the wake and funeral, even more real than the committal service at the graveside.

It leaves me and us lonely for his presence, his life. It makes a new year, without him, unimaginable. The life that he brought to our lives has left an empty space … a silent pause in a song, an ellipsis (…) at the end of a sentence.

Happy New Year …

We can struggle to say those words, but their message is lost on those trying to imagine a new year, a new day, without one they loved … love. To move into this new year, to own and accept it, to write it on paper or speak it from our lips … well it’s another acknowledgement that it’s really real … that he is gone … and he isn’t coming back.

It is as if accepting the arrival of this new year relegates our loved one into history. As if, while we move forward into the new year, into the future,

his life, he has been left behind, in the past … by us.

It is interesting to me how little comfort faith can be when such grief weighs one down. It is not that I question the existence of God, or heaven or eternity … it is that the loneliness is such that none of that matters, for the selfishness of loss and grief is temporal … now.

It is not, I want the best for you, dearly departed … it is purely that I want you back … selfishly, for me.

For, you see, in reality, my grief is not that my father has been left behind in the years past, but that I, we have been left behind, by him. He, who has always been there for me, for us … he, who had never abandoned us, who would never abandon us … he has gone on, and left us behind … to move forward without him, without the security and direction and unconditional love that he always represented.

We walk forward into this new year, this new future, knowing that we are leaving him behind, that we have been left behind, by him.

Forward is the only way through grief, but lifting ones feet over the starting line is agony.

“Recovery can seem like a betrayal. Passionately, you desire a way back to the lost object (person), but the only possible road, the road to life, leads away.” Hilary Mantel

“He heals the broken hearts and binds up their sorrows.”
Psalm 147:3

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The Difficulty of Death and Christmas

Posted in christmas, Grief, WONDER, tagged #christmasmourning, #christthesavior, #deathleadstolife, #griefandfear, #thedifficultyofdeathandchristmas on December 19, 2019| 2 Comments »

“No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear. I am not afraid, but the sensation is like being afraid. The same fluttering in the stomach, the same restlessness, the yawning.”

I have read those words of C.S. Lewis many times over the years, now I have lived them, breathed them, groaned them. I would add to Lewis’ description the feeling that my heart is not beating properly, that it has lost it’s physical rhythm, by the shock of death.

Death and Christmas …

I have been pondering these two this advent season. They both occur, despite our being ready. They affect us all, whether we choose them or not. They settle into our souls, bringing memories from the past. They each affect us well beyond their seasons, for their seasons impact the rest of the calendar year.

… they are difficult to celebrate simultaneously.

Yet …

Death and Christmas came together in the life of this babe, who came at Christmas. Our Joy to the World was birthed out of our need of a redeemer, a saviour. Our Silent Night, so calm and bright, ended at the Old Rugged Cross. Peace on the earth, goodwill to men came at the cost of Nothing but the Blood of Jesus.

There cannot be a more specific, more momentous illustration of death and Christmas than in Jesus’ final conversation with a person, as he hung on the cross.

In Luke 23:38-43 Jesus is hanging between two criminals. One of them is yelling insults at Jesus and asks, “aren’t you the Messiah? Save yourself and us!” The other responds, “we are punished justly, for we are getting what our deeds deserve. But this man has done nothing wrong.”

Two men, similar criminal activity, similar guilt level. They are, humanly, of the same sin-condition … both guilty of the sin of birth and the sins of life. At this point in the story, they are both condemned to die, physically, eternally.

Then, in his final act, his only hope, that second criminal speaks to Jesus, himself …

“Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.”

No pleading, no excuses. Just a simple question asked as a last hope … but it is more than that … for in his simple question comes the heart-level acknowledgement in who is beside him. His question shouts out, in his quiet, shaking voice …

I know who you are … my eyes and soul see that you are He who can save me.

And, in his last words spoken to man, to all of humanity who acknowledges him as our Saviour, Redeemer and Lord, Jesus replies …

“Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in paradise.”

In the midst of the death of the Christ, is the hope born in the Christmas babe … for a criminal on a cross …

for my dad, for me … for you.

Death and Christmas … they are difficult to celebrate simultaneously. Yet, the sadness I feel over the death of my dad, is born out of the happy memories I have of him. And my (our … for I am not alone in feeling this) earthly great loss will one day be eclipsed by the joy of eternity … an eternity that began with birth of the saviour of the world, at Christmas.

“The pain I feel now
is the happiness I had before.
That’s the deal.”
C.S. Lewis from A Grief Observed

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Homesick

Posted in christmas, Grief, WONDER, tagged #griefatchristmas, #homesick, #illbehomeforchristmas, #memories on December 17, 2019| Leave a Comment »

If I hear it, I turn off the CD, the radio … and I seem to hear it so very often this Christmas season.

“I’ll be home for Christmas …. “

Having lived away from ‘home’ for most of my life, I have had years that I long for that childhood home for the holidays more than other years. This year is a bit different, for what I long for is not so much place, but time.

Seasons, such as Christmas, have triggers that can instantly thrust us into memories of the past.

Snow falling can take me back to snowy memories at Christmas time, when new toboggans, skates, hats and boots would be used. A clear, starry night can take me back to the wonder of searching the night sky for reindeer and Santa. Chocolates can take me back to the thrill of when the Ganong red box was brought out of the closet, signalling that Christmas truly had arrived. The concerts of the season put me back on a stage, as a child, reciting lines, singing Gloria in Excelsis Deo. The trees, the presents, the food, the events … all symbols of the season, all triggers in the mind to another time and place.

My favorite memories of Christmas’ past involve Christmas Eve at the my Gram Smith’s house. The meal, the family, the gifts that Santa had dropped off earlier that day 😉 … such sweet memories. Then there was the drive home, my eyes fixed to the skies for the light from Rudolf’s nose. Early on Christmas morning, when the sky was still ebony, we would be awakened by my dad, NOT trying to be quiet, as he moved through the house, hoping to awaken just one of us so that we could get the day started. The stockings, gifts, laughter … such sweet memories. After the gifts were opened the turkey would be prepared for the oven, but also that big red box of chocolates would come out, filling the plastic tree candy holder … and we would study the ‘map’ from the box to plan our one chocolate selection well (there was nothing worse than making a mistake and biting into a vanilla cream one). Then the gifts that were not toys would be organized back under the tree, in a different form of decoration. Later we would eat that traditional turkey dinner, complete with mashed potato (not bread stuffing) dressing, flavored with summer savory. Once filled to the gills, we would play games, make puzzles, enjoy our toys with family.

My memories of childhood Christmas’ have a rhythm, patterns of rituals that cemented the joys of tradition, family and celebration within my being. And I am so thankful to look back and be so thankful.

But, as I ponder and write about those traditions from the place and people I love, knowing that I will only be home for Christmas in my dreams …

I am also feeling rather ‘homesick’ of another kind, missing one of the heartbeats of my childhood Christmas memories. His absence makes me homesick for that place and time, but also for the Christmas celebration in eternity.

I really hope Saint Peter is a morning soul, for he will be awakened raucously this Christmas.

I close my eyes and I see your face
If home’s where my heart is then I’m out of place
Lord, won’t you give me strength to make it through somehow
I’ve never been more homesick than now

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To Infinity and Beyond

Posted in Grief, Love, WONDER, tagged #boundless, #hummingbirds, #infinityandbeyond, #infinitysymbol, #limitless on December 12, 2019| Leave a Comment »

To infinity and beyond … how can one go beyond infinity?

Infinity is without limits, boundless, it is eternal. So how could one imagine going beyond limitlessness?

Perhaps the answer is in the hummingbird.

I saw one the other day, as I was scraping off my vehicle windows at -1ºC temperature and heard a noise above and behind me. Up on the deck of my neighbor’s house was a petite but quickly moving hummingbird, near a feeder. I paused, watching it’s movements, as my mind slipped to the ones that my father fed at his front window.

Later I did a little research on these small but mighty birds. Their wing movements are quite amazing, moving back and forth fifty to eighty times every second. Their wings move so quickly that they can only be seen with the use of special cameras. Their movements are not simply forward, up and down, but they can fly backwards as well.

The movement of the hummingbird wings is in a figure eight … which really is the same shape as an infinity symbol. This seems rather perfect, as the speed of the hummingbird’s wings is almost limitless, their energy seemingly boundless.

Infinity and beyond … that’s also how far love can go. It does not end, but always keeps moving. Even after death, the love continues to go on, to infinity and beyond.

What we Leave Behind

After the ending, never regretting
Never forgetting, what we had between us
And when it’s over, it’s never over
Cause of those moments, never really leave us

What we take with us is love, love, love
Labrinth

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When our Heart is Filled with Sorrow

Posted in christmas, Grief, WONDER, tagged #advent, #griefandchristmas, #joy, #whenourheartisfilledwithsorrow on December 8, 2019| 4 Comments »

It rained … five out of our first seven days home. We returned to work, dealt with jet lag, exhaustion. The schedule was still too packed to do what, humanly, was most needed … mourn.

Saturday morning arrived like cool balm on a hot burn. The schedule open, the pace relaxed. Then it happened … the emotional processing of what the mind had been containing.

The sadness that is very real. The recognition of what I lost when my dad died. The acknowledgement of the earthly permanence of death.

How do we prepare for the Christmas season, when our heart is filled with sorrow?

On my way to work one day this week, I turned on the CD in my vehicle. It is my only Christmas music CD. As I reached to push play, I paused, specifically negotiating whether or not I was ready … prepared for Christmas music, or if it might ignite a teary downpour, leaving me to enter work looking like Tammy Faye Baker (I know, it’s a dated comparison). I was specifically fearful that Joy to World might be on the CD. Thankfully, Josh Groban’s, Noël was safe for my emotions on the edge.

But that song, Joy to the World, had already infested my thoughts, causing my memory to sing it, over and over, like the song that never ends.

Joy to the World, written by Isaac Watts, was printed in 1719 … three hundred years ago! It is a song which tells of the redemption of the world, through the blood and sacrifice of Jesus.

As I write this I wonder how it came to be a Christmas song, as opposed to an Easter one.

Yet, we cannot have one without the other. For the babe in the manger grows up to become the sacrifice on the cross.

And it is in this juxtaposition of images … newborn babe sleeping, man bloodied and dying that allows us to both mourn and celebrate at the same time.

It reminds me of our time at the funeral home (not two weeks ago), when we would feel the sadness of what we were doing one moment, and laughing to the point of belly ache the next.

Psalm 69:29-32 (Message) also speaks to such juxtaposition:

I’m hurt and in pain;
Give me space for healing, and mountain air.
Let me shout God’s name with a praising song,
Let me tell his greatness in a prayer of thanks.
For God, this is better than oxen on the altar,
Far better than blue-ribbon bulls.
The poor in spirit see and are glad—
Oh, you God-seekers, take heart!

How the Psalmist starts out speaking of their pain, their need for healing, then goes on to shouting praises, thanks to God … this praise in the pain is better than “blue-ribbon bulls”, or as Amy Grant sings, Better than a Hallelujah to the ears of God.

How do we prepare for the Christmas season, when our heart is filled with sorrow?

We sing through the sorrow, we celebrate through the sadness, we praise through the pain.

Joy to the world, the Lord is come!
Let earth receive her King!
Let ev’ry heart prepare Him room,
and heav’n and nature sing,
and heav’n and nature sing,
and heav’n, and heav’n and nature sing.

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