A grief observed

Flowers from a friend


Last Sunday our family traveled the backroads of Northern California to join with my husband's extended family. We gathered to grieve the loss of a marvelous woman, and to celebrate the incredibly vivacious life that she had lived. (I have spoken of our aunt here and here.) I don't know what grief is like for you, but I think it is a disorienting and unpredictable experience. My brain has been on the edge of foggy since we visited Aunt Nathana in March, as my mind and heart have tried to comprehend the enormity of the loss her death would mean, especially to her husband and her children and grandchildren. For whatever reason, it can make me cranky, or sleepless (like tonight) or just fill me with an insatiable desire to clean out closets and toss out junk. A need to control things amidst the biggies we can't control? I dare not head down the road of personal analysis at this hour or I may never sleep, but suffice it to say, grief makes me a little crazy.

But, amidst it all, life goes on. The day before the service, my husband had piles of papers to grade (as he often does) and the Saturday chore monster still had to be satisfied. Chickens needed to eat (as did children), dirty clothes needed cleaning, and routines needed to be maintained for everyone's sanity. Saturday was the day we had to push aside any incapacitating emotions and work. We turned up the volume on our Saturday soundtrack, and I think in some way we were attempting to drown out the sadness we were feeling.


Bruce Hornsby: Hot House
Saxophone, Pat Metheny, great, great, great piano music, and even Jerry Garcia and Chaka Khan - if you want to drown something out, this is just what the doctor ordered. Plus, Bruce always makes us think of my sister-in-law, and we wished we could be together last weekend.

Come Sunday morning, though, there was no need to push it aside. Having a longish car ride was just what our family needed. The rolling green hills are familiar; we have traveled these roads countless times since moving to the foothills in 1988, and we found comfort in the cows and broken fences, curves and bumps that we have passed over on happier days. The music for our drive was:


Steve Bell's Beyond A Shadow.

"As we hope in the Lord we will gain our strength,
We will run for miles, we will stand up straight,
We will not grow weary, we will not grow faint,
On the wings of an eagle we will rise.
On the wings of an eagle we will rise."

Our hope and prayer for our time together was that we could serve and care for our family; we came away filled to overflowing with their love and care. I was struck, again, with what a remarkable family my husband has. Not only his parents, three siblings and their families, but the extended crowd of aunts, uncles, cousins and beyond. We had conversation after conversation with people in whose eyes you could see warmth and vitality. Sure, the eyes were reddened with the tears we all cried, and many were beyond words most of the time, but I am so happy they are my family.

The message over and over during the memorial service was of Nathana's ability to make you feel like you were the most important person in the world. The nieces and nephews even staged a little, "No, I was her favorite!" moment during the sharing. The world stopped when she was talking to you, which we all know makes the heart tingle with excitement. We came home more than a little in awe of this quality. We acknowledged to each other that too often the harsh word, the critical comment, the picky attitude is what we share, rather than being positive and encouraging. This is the life-changing message we have taken into our hearts; this is how we want Nathana's legacy to live on in our family. We have a long way to go, bad habits can take awhile to break, but this is worth it.

Sometimes difficult news comes in waves. Well, such was our week. My husband's dear uncle, the man he was named in honor of and who was chosen as his god-father, has been battling amyotrophic lateral sclerosis (Lou Gehrig's disease) and died yesterday morning. Uncle John and Aunt Juanita live in Seattle, but we are grateful that we were able to see them last summer, introducing them to our two oldest children. It was a visit we will never forget. Uncle John knew he was dying (there is no known cure for ALS) but his face radiated joy and kindness. He was confident of his destination in eternity, and was concerned only for the well-being of his wife. He ladled on us his praise, he rejoiced in our family and expressed much appreciation and pride in the man my husband has become. In the brief hour we were with him, I learned volumes on how to live and die with joy and grace. He was a godly, loving man and we are sad to say good-bye, but he would want us to remember that we will see him again, and to rejoice in that. So, we are contemplating a flight to Seattle, especially to be with my mother-in-law and her husband. She has lost a younger sister and a brother-in-law within ten days so it is a good time to be together and to affirm the gift we are in each other's lives. I hope it works out for us to go.

Early Monday morning, my husband clicked on Wittingshire for some inspiration and was greeted with Longfellow's A Psalm of Life. Divine intervention at its finest! As a result, this poem was read to his classes on Monday, and I have kept it close to me throughout the week.

A Psalm of Life
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807-1882)

(What the heart of the young man said to the psalmist)

Tell me not, in mournful numbers,
"Life is but an empty dream!"
For the soul is dead that slumbers,
And things are not what they seem.

Life is real! Life is earnest!
And the grave is not its goal;
"Dust thou art, to dust returnest,"
Was not spoken of the soul.

Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,
Is our destined end or way;
But to act, that each tomorrow
Finds us farther than today.

Art is long, and Time is fleeting,
And our hearts, though stout and brave,
Still, like muffled drums, are beating
Funeral marches to the grave.

In the world's broad field of battle,
In the bivouac of Life,
Be not like dumb, driven cattle!
Be a hero in the strife!

Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant!
Let the dead Past bury its dead!
Act, --act in the living Present!
Heart within, and God o'erhead!

Lives of great men all remind us
We can make our lives sublime,
And, departing, leave behind us
Footprints on the sands of time;

Footprints, that perhaps another,
Sailing o'er life's solemn main,
A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,
Seeing, shall take heart again.

Let us, then, be up and doing,
With a heart for any fate;
Still achieving, still pursuing,
Learn to labour and to wait.

The triumph and vigor in this poem cuts through the fog, replacing it with purpose for the future. It doesn't give me a manic, "searching for control" feeling, but more of a calm resolve and focused passion. Thanks, Amanda. Your timing could not have been more perfect.

Well, hopefully I can get some sleep and tomorrow use this energy to get the garage cleaned (at last.) Maybe we will put on Bruce again, let him pound those ivories until order is restored, and then we can stop to heap some praise on the heads of our remarkable offspring. Serve some ice cream, read some Narnia, live the good life! Sounds like a great Saturday.


Son and grandson