Goodbye to 2016

A year is only defined by the changing seasons and numbers on a calendar, but God must have known that we needed to start things over once in a while.   As a teacher the end of August brought fresh hope for a better school year than the last. We had packed up the old year in all of our classrooms and then in two months time reopened them in anticipation. As 2016 closes I am happy to look on the number 2017 as a new start in my life even though it is only one day passing to the next.

In the past two years I have lost my father and my mother. They lived full and long lives, but sometimes that makes their absence even more painful. They were the two people in the world who were the happiest to see me when I walked through their door. No one will love me like that again. I know that now. It is a life-changing realization.

I spent most of this year dealing with their home and the possessions and memories of over sixty years—the only place that was truly home for me.  I had to empty it of every tangible item and relive my life and theirs along with each discovery.  I read their love letters. I found all my cards and letters to them. It was at once excruciating and also comforting.  I sorrowfully had to sell the home to a new young family—only the second family to ever live there. I feel unnaturally attached to them as I dream about their little boys playing in the same yard I did.

One year ago today my mother was in a rehabilitation facility—a place I despise with all my heart for its loneliness, boredom and isolation. She had clearly lost her will to live since my father had died one year before. To remember last Christmas is reliving a nightmare.  In two weeks time she would have a massive stroke and a week after that we would bring her home and wait for six days for her to die in her living room, not really sure if she knew she was there or not. It was not a peaceful ending to a well-lived life. 

All the formalities are complete; the graves, the memorial services, the sale of the house, the bills, the matters of the estate. Suddenly, I am left with a life bereft of the caregiving responsibilities. But not really....

In the month of May a new person was born to fill my heart with love. My second grandson. Two beloveds are gone and two have come from heaven to bring light back into my life. This is life. So in 2017 I will embrace the new hope that God has sent me and I will honor and treasure the losses of the past as we all must do.

Happy New Year

Grief

The Grief

is a straightjacket:

no time limits,

encumbered,

the futile struggle to be set free

awakens you with phantom voices,

burning images,

hovers, even when

others think it should be gone,

removes the things you loved,

hides them from your eyes,

crawls through the imprisoned body

with waves of lethargic pain.

No conscious control,

just a disaster of tears pushing out

of your ruined face, a craving for comfort

when the comforting time is past.

God is Good

We've been to so many funerals this past year. I have a feeling that this trend will not let up as we get older. Two of those funerals were of family members and my husband and I were the recipients of condolences. People say many things that sound like cliches or benign comments just so they have something to say. But I reminded my husband that people often say things that they truly believe. Many years ago I said something that I meant to be comforting but was distressing to the mourner. I will never forget that and try to think before I speak in those situations.

None of us can truly know the mysteries of this world. Why do some people seem to have easy lives and others suffer? Why are there wars, crime and natural disasters? If you are a person of faith you must decide what you believe God's role is in this earthly life we live. As I've written before I believe that we are given free will and the vast majority of our circumstances result from our own choices. God allows us to make our choices he doesn't cause them.

At the time of a death many people, in their desire to accept and understand, will say it was God's will. Or they may say that God needed another angel in heaven. While these notions can be comforting, they also blame God for the death. Do you believe God wants to hurt us? Make us suffer? If so, we are doomed, aren't we?

An essay in the Cleveland Plain Dealer on Saturday made excellent points. The essay was written by a well-known local pastor, Rev. Kenneth Chalker. His writings and ideas make complete sense to me and are so reasonable. He wrote on the topic of whether God is good or whether he causes disasters and suffering. You no doubt heard that God was punishing our nation with Hurricane Katrina and 9/11. Rev. Chalker writes:

There is, to be sure, a living, loving Creator of us all. God reveals God's self, not in the cause of our suffering but rather in the great mystery of good. God is in the inspiring presence that motivates discovery and encourages science and learning. God heals through the development of medicine, thrives in the hearts of first responders and long-term caregivers. Look for God there.

God is not in the earthquake and the storm. God is found among the emergency crews and those doing the best of things in the worst of times. God is the still small voice within us that brings joy. God is the presence that encourages, uplifts, transforms, does justice, resists evil, strengthens, gives hope and is the source of purpose in all our days.

My Grief Observed

I may not be able to write of anything but the grief process for awhile. I hope you don't mind and will bear with me. I hope you may be enlightened in some way. It turns out that grief is an all-consuming experience. One may return to work and smile, go to the grocery store and turn on the television again - but nothing much seems to matter. Life has been put in a stark and revealing perspective.

It has been a profound learning experience. I now know that when a friend loses a parent or sibling they are not all right just because they seem all right. After the funeral home visitation, the cards, the hugs, the funeral itself - there is a whole new life to consider. Something that may have been a singular part of you for all your life or for decades is a void now. You still need to talk, to relive the experience in order to accept it. You still need hugs.

I will now pay more attention to friends in the midst of this experience. I will not stop calling or visiting or bringing food when the funeral is over. I will continue to lift them up in sincere prayer because I have experienced the incomprehensible and indescribable sensation of being prayed for. It does not dry the tears. It does not take away the pain. But it gives an undergirding of hope and strength when you thought you were weak.

Those are my thoughts today. The only other thing on my mind seems to be all the people I would like to thank for their kindness. I will get to that soon. Otherwise, as I said, nothing else seems to matter much right now except loving my husband, who has lost more than anyone ever should.

A Grief Observed

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 keep on swallowing.

At other times it feels like being mildly drunk, or concussed. There is a sort of invisible blanket between the world and me. I find it hard to take in what anyone says. Or perhaps, hard to want to take it in. It is so uninteresting. Yet, I want the others to be about me. I dread the moments when the house is empty. If only they would talk to one another and not to me.
From A Grief Observed by C.S. Lewis

Grief

Grief is like a nightmare you can't wake up from. On Wednesday my step-son, Louie, died at the age of 27 of complications from the muscular dystrophy he struggled with all his life. Nevertheless, it was unexpected. My dear husband has been his devoted and sole caretaker all of his life. I lived with him for almost 15 years. If you ever want to donate to a cause help the Muscular Dystrophy Association help find a cure for this horrible disease. And please stop back here in a week or two when I am able to write again.