grief

Grief and Stories

bravery, courage, Faith, grace, grief, mercy, Prayer, rest, Salvation, Vulnerability


If you asked me the favorite story of my daddy, it wouldn’t be the times I rested my head on his lap as he drove us all home from my grandma’s in the dark night, on a dark empty highway. 

It would be the one my aunt tells.  Weak and frail, he’d visit her, my mama’s only sister. 

Her telling of the way he was then would light up her face, she beams with the comfort of their time together. 

He’d visit her, pull up in his little truck for as long as he was able to drive. 

He’d talk long and longingly with her about the wrongs he’d done, the longing he had to undo some days and do it all untouched by mistake and struggle. 

Mostly, he made known his love.

 It was his daily task, a calling. 

Yesterday, I had a chance to think of my daddy, how he beat cancer; but, a tiny germ took root in his feeble lungs and it just grew fertilized by the lack of immune system. 

And the doctors took forever trying to figure it out, what on earth is this tiny bacteria that is ravaging him?

They discovered a rare thing, it had come from the dirt. We were all confounded, defeated and distraught over deciding to let him go.

And I thought, dirt somehow got in there, maybe he’d walked towards my house, drove with windows down through the lane cutting through the cornfields, dirt, the earth had infected his lungs. 

Oh, the tragic irony! 

But, time and grace came and over time 

Changed my reading of the story. 

Became a fitting comfort because of the annual garden, the potatoes we dug up, my children dressed in overalls, their hineys resting at the end of a row, my daughter clutching her baby brother. 

I have a picture of the scene, my daddy’s feet planted in the cool autumn dirt, my babies in the foreground. 

I know some people now with news of illness and some, I know in places marked by faithful  and powerful prayer and responses from God less than hopeful. 

And God has placed on my path someone whose father has cancer. She can’t visit now, his immune system not allowing.

 I listened and remembered and I did my best, although, not surely enough to comfort. 

When words aren’t there, or the listener not strong enough to hear them,  listening is a comfort. 

And is enough, more than sometimes. 

Because I understand, almost twenty years later, I understand and I think we get all out of sorts when we see another facing diagnosis or bleak prognosis. 

We look for right words or we avoid, afraid to let our recall of fear be reflected on our faces. 

When comfort, I believe, is no more than simply saying I have been where you are and here I am now. 

To comfort another is to open our book on grief and share the story the reader might be longing to hear. 

One of a similar tragic time and one or two or so many more of the stories time used to refine them 

And us. 

“Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our affliction, so that we may be able to comfort those who are in any affliction, with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God.”

‭‭2 Corinthians‬ ‭1:3-4‬ ‭ESV

Through the Woods: the Place where They are at Rest

bravery, Children, courage, Faith, family, grace, grief, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability

The only way I’d ever know would be to take off through the woods, haphazard but determined. 

There’s an open field between two county lines and I slow down and submit to its calling. 

Every single time. 

There are not many cars, I press the button, lower the window and randomly, but with intention, I hope to capture this place. 

There are photos on my phone.

Today, I decided the sky more magnificent here, the red tipped wild spreading weeds that convince me of flower, they are more special here too. 

This place that sits in the middle of two county lines, Bulloch and Jenkins and Screven, a border, I realized on the other side of the field that turns my head. 

Because I drove on towards the turn towards Rocky Ford, thinking I should go, travel about seven or so minutes then turn right then another right and then a left to the place at the bottom of the clay slick road. 

The Hendrix Cemetary, where my mama and my daddy lay and rest. 

I don’t turn. I don’t know why or I do know; but, I feel horrible to say I don’t. 

They are not there. To visit the stones marked by name and date, I suppose feels obligatory, an act expected.

So, I consider the turn, plenty of time; yet, I decide it is better to go home. 

So, I go on, for only a bit feeling disloyal or unfit and hours later, I’ve decided, the field that causes me to look, I believe it leads to that place. 

If I might set out one day, I believe it would be true. The open field that slows my travel is the one that sits in the shadow of the high hill and the tall cedars that shade the graves of the ones who made me, me. 

Yes, this is why the sky seems more ready to meet me, the field more inviting and the road less long and never ending. 

Because of the nearness, the nearness of them. 

I prefer to notice the clouds, full to the point of bursting and the wide open field beneath that beckons me every single time I travel on my path from Georgia back to Carolina 

And underneath what  I’ve decided now is just a walk through the woods that makes and has made sense all along. 

I felt them; yes, I felt them near and I paused to be sure. 

To be sure. 

Roosters and Angels and New Things

Children, Faith, family, grief, Trust, Uncategorized

 

 

When it’s your mama’s birthday and you set out thoughtfully for days… to write something profound about blue feathers and her blue eyes, your blue eyes and the blues of wishing she had lived a little longer, and instead…you paint and feel free.

New pieces tonight:

Today, my mama would have been 77 and on Saturday, it was year 7 since she died.

So, I painted a rooster because she loved them. I painted a cow because it’s harder than I thought and at first it was horrible. I decided not to give up, so I painted a cow and I’ll name her Pearl. Then I finished up the “Gather at the River” painting, three angels, mama, me, my girl.

img_5066

Birthday Boy

img_5069

Pearl

img_5068

Gather at the River

I thought of writing about finding feathers. I’d been finding them all along the way. But, I stopped. Stopped seeing them when glancing down, I guess because I’d become so diligent and longing in my search, forcing the finding of them.

Today, almost sundown, no feather found. I meandered through dead hydrangea, the crisp, dry  and crinkly straw from pines.  It was dusk. I looked down for a feather, found not one.

But, the bright forsythia are beginning to bloom on the barren charcoal branches.

If there’s a color of hope, I’m sure it’s bright yellow.

So, I painted tonight, lulled by bluegrass sonnets and happy rhythm of time passing quickly and contentedly unaware.

I thought of my morning tribute to her. We love you. We miss you. We are all just fine.

So, happy birthday in heaven mama. I painted your rooster, most beautiful ever I believe, your presence close by.

I love you. I miss you. I’m doing just fine.

Peace, Strength, Bright Hope Tomorrow

Children, courage, Faith, grief, praise, Trust, Uncategorized

I’ve resorted to setting my alarm again. There was a time it wasn’t necessary, I’d wake cause my body knew it was time and moved, alert and following my mind.

But, lately I linger in the place I’ve come to rest.  The place where the light comes in, I linger here, a chorus has stirred me slowly.

It’s a funny thing, I hesitate to tell.

Ive been waking with a song. I’ll remember an old hymn or new praise and I suppose God is setting a tone. On Monday, it was “leaning , leaning, safe secure from all alarm.”

I reached for a cup realizing I’d postponed putting the dishes away. All the plain ones in the front, like a song upon waking, I look for a vessel for my coffee. I’m mapping my day.

Oh.  I see it, pushed to the back.

img_4947img_4945img_4918

A gift from my daughter, one of the many.

Thoughts and little gifts, sparking a recognition of my need, subtle sayings that say, “Get over yourself or get through this, you can.”

There are three funerals of good people who lived long, good lives this week, the week of the day remembering of my mama’s passing.

I get word of a young man who gave up and tragically died and I read the obituary of a mother without hope.

Both, only a quarter of a century of life lived thus far, that far.

” It’s happening a lot.”  she said, meaning family members and older people.

I agreed, “Yes.” thinking, more by suicide. This is work; still it is my life,  life.

It is morning again, the one after I woke to drink from the cup of peace and I feel as if I’ve toiled all night, I wake early for fear of sleeping too late. Today’s cup,  paisley pink and purple swirls, a gift from my son.

The message, even more subtle, a boy on a trip with his buddies, used his spending money and thought of his mama, “Got something for you.”

And I sing a song for the day as I turn towards work, thinking yesterday I cherished quiet and I was thoughtful and trusting.

“Blessed assurance, Jesus is mine!”

Today, more celebratory in early morning blue sky, suddenly bright with joy and tomorrow…

Tomorrow  is yet to see and be seen, to be partaken of.

I’ve  got the coffee ready for my rising.

Great is Thy faithfulness!
Great is Thy faithfulness!
Morning by morning new mercies I see.
All I have needed Thy hand hath provided,
Great is Thy faithfulness, Lord, unto me!

Pardon for sin and a peace that endureth
Thine own dear presence to cheer and to guide,
Strength for today and bright hope for tomorrow,
Blessings all mine, with ten thousand beside!

Linking up with Jennifer Dukes Lee to “Tell His Story”

http://jenniferdukeslee.com/learned-life-beautiful-bumpy-road-faraway-island/

Longing Ponds

Children, courage, family, grief, Motherhood, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder

” So, come to the pond, or the river of your imagination, or the harbor of your longing. And put your lip to the world. And live your life.” Mary Oliver

img_4782_kindlephoto-50280822

 

I’ve plenty of time now to talk to myself.  Empty morning house and moving slowly through the rooms.

My thoughts, an exchange with my soul, so true it’s a wonder the dogs don’t hear and

Tilt their heads towards me as if to say, “Oh, it’ll be okay.”

Today, I woke and made plans as if my day was free. Like a silly survey to guess my type or temperament, I saw myself answering,

What would you do today if you could do anything?

I saw myself, assuredly, giving voice to my wish.

“Well, I’d drive to Georgia and my mama would be there. We’d sit on her dock after eating good fattening food somewhere, havin’ gone to town and to K Mart, buying stuff we didn’t need.”

That is what I’d do.  I can’t say why; but, I’m missing her more this time, this coming back to the day she died just before her birthday time.

Grieving after a long time is even more a secret sorrow now. It’s not a heavy grief, more a wish kept secret for the sake of its sacredness.

So, I’d have gone to sit by the pond with my mama, maybe walk around the dam, see if the beavers had clogged up the “run around” and listen for the geese in the distance

Just so I could hear her say, ” Here they come.”

I went to the country today, to my daughter’s. Later than I had planned, I was rushed and annoyed.

“It’s okay if you don’t have time to walk.”  I said.

img_4779_kindlephoto-50171596

“Oh, we’re going on an adventure.” she answered.

We walked on curving paths through fields and red moist clay.  The dogs ran ahead, turned back to catch up and chased after a rustling in the woods, just a little ways, we’d call and they’d come right back.

We turned a sharp turn, she asked her dog, “Eli, you know where we’re going?” and said to me, “This way.”

” A pond? ” I asked.

“”Yeah.” she said and we made our way through the briars and branches to the place under the pines where the water rushed through.

She couldn’t have known. My soul, I suppose led us all there, my daughter, the dogs, my mama and me.

img_4754_kindlephoto-50064842

 

I’m linking up with Jennifer Dukes Lee at Tell His Story. This week’s post is about grief? What I’ve come to know as my sacred secret as I move through the month of January, finding feathers everywhere.

http://jenniferdukeslee.com/grief-becomes-gratitude-giveaway/

 

Eighteen Years Today

Children, courage, family, grief, Uncategorized, Vulnerability
image

Daddy and I

Yesterday I uttered, “Grief is insidious and mean.” when my cousin told me about her loss, her husband’s loss of his mother.

Grief is insidious.

It’s sneaky and mean. It lingers long.

It slips away quietly and comes back without invitation.

Today, eighteen years ago, my daddy died.

18 years is a long time. It’s a span that allows little boy to become a man,  little girl to become beautiful wife and a daughter to become more brave.

We shouldn’t be surprised by grief over people of such significance, our mamas our daddies, sisters, brothers, sons, daughters, cousins or friends.

Our immeasurable love and connection deserve nothing less than a significant remembering, even if hard, heavy and solemn.

So, today I grieve my daddy well and with significance in my gaze towards the world around me.

I look for him. See him in my children and in me. Know him in my thoughts, reactions and stubborn mindset.

Grief is onerously huge; but, I won’t sink into its miry isolation.

I’ll let it be big today…as big as it wants.

A heaping measure equivalent to my love.

Big but not scary…just big enough to never forget.

My cousin texted me just now. Today’s her mama’s birthday. She really misses her, she added. I texted her back, in awe of God’s timing, both of us grieving over a parent.

“I have had grief on my mind since we talked yesterday and today, 18 years ago, daddy died. My thoughts were, grief is huge…how on earth can we expect any different when we are flesh of their flesh and after all, love is so big!? It’s bigger than fear and I will choose to make it bigger than grief. Happy Birthday in Heaven, Aunt Birdie!!!”

Grief, be big today.

As big as love and its lessons.

Lessons like never lie, quiet people are thinking people and words aren’t always necessary just for the sake of talking.

My daddy was a quiet man.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sweet Remembering

Faith, family, grace, grief, Prayer, rest, Uncategorized, Vulnerability

img_2344

It was late, almost dark.

The clouds were enormously ominous, a bunch of ’em all gathered up together and I could hear my mama saying,

“Looks like there might be a cloud makin’ up over there.”

The geese were holding a meeting in the grassy field. I brought the leash closer and said quietly, “Good boy.”

We hadn’t meant to scare them, we were just strolling lazily, Colt and I.

But, they congregated and flew up and away together with loud flaps and a chorus of harmonious fly alway song.

I was glad to see them because I heard my mama say,

“There they go.”

I remembered my morning prayer written in my journal, “Lord, send a little reminder today, that all is well and help me to see it clearly.”

And I heard my mama saying now, “It’ll all be fine.”

Lightning in the distance, I turn uphill towards home, cutting short our walk.

I’m content…under heaven.

Geese, storm clouds, and memories of mama.

Thank you, God.

That which was bitter to endure

may be sweet to remember.

a proverb

Linking up with Jennifer Dukes Lee as we think about loved ones and heaven.

if you fear death, are puzzled by heaven, or wonder if you’ll live forever – #tellhisstory

God like you

courage, Faith, grace, grief, Trust, Uncategorized

img_1701_kindlephoto-17074621

Having noticed the birds singing as the morning on cue unfolded, I questioned my surprise.

It made no sense to me that birds would sing, butterflies congregate and the sky open so vastly midday.

Had they not heard of loss? Had they a resolve tougher than ours, more able to shake off the sorrows and sadnesses of life, of death?

I paused to listen again, to notice

Without fail, a God who like you.

Causing me to see, to hear, to know.

To be still. To trust both the beauty and the not so beautiful.