"Death changes everything, but unlike what you may have seen or read, it doesn't offer profundities or epiphanies on its own. There's no time for that. It's only later, after the fact, while you're doing something normal -- cleaning the litter box or buying stamps -- that its power arrives. Because it is only life still going on in the present that makes what you've lost become part of the past."
-- Kristopher Jansma, reflecting on his sister's untimely death from oral cancer
I read this last week in the middle of everything involving my father-in-law's death and funeral. There is so much truth in this statement and it has really stuck with me over the last few days.
Family events can be the best and the worst when it comes to grief. Over the past few weeks, I have watched as a relative (no pun intended) outsider while my husband's family came together to grieve the passing of Robert Reynolds.
First of all, there's the simple act of showing up. Of course, you expect the spouse, siblings, and children of the deceased to be there. But seeing cousins who traveled long distances as well as friends and acquaintances fill the church and reception hall was heartwarming. It is a true sign of your impact on the world when you see those who show up to mourn your passing. Through the sadness of last weekend's events, there was also laughter and sharing and the best parts of family togetherness.
Events such as these can spark memories of the past that can bring both joy and pain. During the weekend of his funeral, I heard people recount happy memories of travels with and visits from Bob as well as his wedding celebration with Juanita in 2008 (probably the last time so much family was in the same place at the same time). A wonderful slide show of pictures was assembled for viewing during the service. Photos spanning the last seven decades were shared, showing Bob in his life and travels as well as his many children, grandchildren, and even a few great-grandchildren. Inevitably, several pictures of Charlotte came up in the mix. Every time one of those photos came across the screen, I felt this crazy mixture of emotions.
This happens at every family event now. It may be a funeral, a wedding, or just a holiday gathering with some family members. Most of the time, I can be happy in the moment and enjoy the fellowship. At some point, however, the absence of Charlotte makes its presence known in my brain. I feel the unfairness of her death in that moment and it stings. All of those thoughts around what her short life missed bowl me over momentarily and it takes a bit to recover and come back to the present, grounded in the comfort of family.
If you know anything about my grief journey, you know that I hate the words, "At least..." When people use those words to discuss a tragic event
At least he didn't suffer.
At least you have other children.
At least he had a good life of almost 80 years
It minimizes the sadness and forces an artificial optimism. There is a time for everything and it is not only understandable but essential to sit in that sadness, even if it's for a brief period of time.
 |
| To everything there is a season Photo credit: Keith Hall |
"To everything, there is a season." (Ecclesiastes 3:1)
This scripture, spoken at my wedding, is one of the most meaningful words of wisdom for me. I come back to it so often, it's become a sort of mantra for my life. It is hard to know that we must feel the sadness in order to appreciate the joy and happiness that eventually follows. It is even harder to know that, after a loss, joy is often tinged with sadness, regardless of how much time passes.