Grief Reconciled

Yesterday I read a fellow blogger's post ("Ramblings of the Bearded One" by Kim Ayres). Entitled, "Rebuilding", it was about grief and loss. It has been on my mind.

I know about grief and loss. I have suffered grief from the loss of many and I have suffered long over the loss of one. On this given day, I am reconciled and at a peace.

I went to my first funeral at the age of eight. It was a funeral home that I would visit a dozen times in the years to come. I remember seeing a postcard stand in the family waiting area. Postcards? "Having fun, wish you were here"? I laughed and the elders laughed too. Such a paradox this death and dying. Sad of the lost; glad of the ascent into the afterlife. Grief for death; celebration for life. It was at that time that I began my journey into learning and comprehending life, death and faith. A journey into learning how to keep the memories as part of who I was and who I would become.

Grief invades our lives not just at the loss of a loved one; but at the loss of anything we hold precious: home, job, pets. Throughout our lives we learn to temper our grief by the severity of impact on our life. I think there are two kinds of simple grief: child-like grief - "it will never be alright again"; and, grown-up grief - "this too shall pass." And with that grown-up grief there is also a fear that the memories and emotion will pass as well. We will achieve full loss. Both are right.

Elizabeth Kubler-Ross identified for us the five stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance. I contend that we struggle within those stages intermittently, for years, following a loss. Some stages last longer than others. And the breath of acceptance is sometimes not permanent. We often lapses back into depression. I have.

"They will always live in our memories." C.S. Lewis, in his book A Grief Observed, called that sentiment a "pitable cant". They do not live; they do not share; they do not touch. A Grief Observed, is Lewis's account of his profound struggle with the despair that followed the loss of his wife, Joy Greshm. His bereavement is chronicled in a raw and very personal fashion. His faith is challenged. His writing must have been cathartic. Reading his writing was cathartic for me. I have read it several times over the years.

Sometimes the loss of someone proves to be the singular, most powerful force in our life. We pick up the torch that they lit and carry it forward for a new generation. We bring them with us and they become us. That light, the light they have left, invades my spirit and brightens my soul. Their wisps of remaining energy settles within me. I CAN accept this. I have no choice but to accept it. The damp fog dissipates and reveals a rainbow of new realization and faith. We are all ONE.

A smile crosses my face as I remember those that have left me. I never believed I would smile again and I can recall my heavy heart and the darkness of my soul. These memories warm me; they embrace me; the energy nourishes my spirit. And, I am at peace.