Grieve.

We all manage and process grief differently.

Lately, I feel that I have been surrounded by grief.

There is the grief that I wrestle with in my soul: a grief triggered by exhaustion and the loss of joy. It is a daily and perpetual grief that is hard to validate and few will understand but is there nonetheless.

Then there is corporate grief. I planned to write on grief for the week of Good Friday but life got in the way. Good Friday is the day that the Church grieves the death of Christ. And yet, within that grief is the knowledge that in three days, we will celebrate Christ’s resurrection. There will be songs and rejoicing, Easter dresses, flower covered crosses, and an empty tomb. The reason for which we grieve becomes obsolete.

And then there is the increasingly individualized grief that comes with the death of a loved one. This year, Good Friday came two days after another anniversary of grief. Five years ago, my husband lost his mother. That is such a funny term. She isn’t really lost – we know exactly where she is, but we don’t want to say that she died. This is reflective of just how poor we are in North America at grieving. We hide it away as if it is something to be ashamed of. Some might mock the tradition and pageantry of the British culture and especially that of the Royal Family but as I watched the funeral of Prince Phillip yesterday, it reminded me of how important it is to mark these things, these occasions, this grief. This is one thing, in my opinion, the traditional Anglican Church and other seemingly outdated institutions do well and I value. There is reverence, solemnity, and a putting aside of regular programming, attire, and timetables to grieve and to the celebrate. While some may disagree, it seems to me that we have become all too accustom to treating death as any other day and once the day is past, we file it away along with all of the other digitalised moments and photos that will sit unseen and unspoken of on the hidden hard drives of life.

My husband is a man of few words but on this anniversary of grief I was so grateful for his words, his gentle reminder that it is okay to grieve, even five years later, and that there is hope within that grief. He has given me permission to share them here.

Usually thoughts about Mom come with a lot of grace, gratefulness, humour and joy, remembering that light she shone everywhere. But this day brings back smells, sights and sounds of hospital rooms and drives in the dark and a heavy feeling of the weight of loss. 

 Keep me as the apple of your eye.

Hide me under the shadow of your wings

Save us, O Lord, while waking, and guard us while sleeping,

that awake we may watch with Christ

and asleep may rest in peace.

So I wanted to tell a little bit about my day and some of the beautiful things I saw that reminded me that God makes and will make everything new (Rev 21:5). This morning I went on a long walk with Byron on Winter Hill, close to the place that inspired the Wind in the Willows. The buds in the trees are just about to burst out but on some trees the blossoms are in full bloom. The smell was intoxicating and always a reminder of how beauty comes out apparent barrenness. Later in the day we had our first meet up with another family in several months in their back garden near St Alban’s. They have a large backyard with many flowers and trees, all in various stages of beginning to bloom. The magnolia tree was my favourite, with its silky full leaves, pink and white and vibrant. Another new creation reminder. Finally, after we got home I headed to a service of Compline at our small country church, St Paul’s, on Hornhill. There, with a handful of regular attenders, we committed our lives and evening into God’s hands, praying:

Those prayers reminded me of Mom, the first one for obvious reasons, but also that, as the parallels are drawn between sleep and death, it speaks to Mom being guarded and resting in peace in Christ until that day when: 

Comes the hour God hath appointed

to fulfil the hope of men,

then must thou*, in very fashion,

what I give, return again.

*the grave

Ok, so I’m blabbing on but I have to leave you with one more thing and that’s a song by a duo called, Mandolin Orange. To me, it’s a song about Mom and what happens in the day to day after. I’ve included the lyrics below. Have a listen here: 

Golden Embers 

Just like an old friend 
Kinder than expected 
That Cadillac came and gave our girl a ride 
Loss has no end 
It binds to our connection 
And we don’t speak of it, we don’t even try 
If you could help me to share the trouble 
that you’ve got burning in you, then you can help me 
And in our time together 
Her memory will ever shine like golden embers in the night 

I miss the old hymns 
when she used to sing 
The sparrows spread their mortal wings 
Now they’ve all lighted 
with the silence of strings 
Like notes on the pages, she breathed life into all things 

Chorus 

Just like an old friend 
Reach out to me 
Bathe me in the light of understanding 
And try to help me to share the trouble 
that you’ve got burning in you, then you can help me 
And in our time together 
Her memory will ever shine like golden embers in the night