Grief is like the ocean

 A few days ago, a dear friend of mine asked me to meet her at the cemetery. She was going to view her dearly departed husband's headstone for the first time since his death in August. I didn't really want to go because my own grief was so heavy. I'd lost my brother in July and hadn't been able to completely process the loss yet. Visiting the military cemetery where my sweet friend's husband was buried was going to be hard for several reasons. My parents were both buried there and my brother could have been buried there too since he'd served in the Army, but his wife had chosen to have him cremated. Without going into detail about that, I'll just say there is a lot of unresolved hurt in our family over the way his death was handled. Anyway, back to my friend's request. 

My husband and I drove 2 hours to get to the cemetery. It was important for us to be there to offer moral support to my friend, Janice. We didn't know it at the time, but she had asked some of her aunts, her brother, and sister in law to join her. I was thankful she wasn't going to be there alone, but when we got to her, the tears began to flow. 

I watched as she clung to Jack's headstone. As I went over to her, she told me she didn't want to leave, that she wanted to stay there forever. I did my best to console her and tell her that she'd see Jack again one day when she got to heaven, but I could tell the words weren't much comfort. 

As we all stood in front of Jack's gravesite, I did my best to remember his sweet smile and his hearty laugh. He was always so jovial and optimistic. I missed him terribly and wished he'd never been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. Though he'd done everything the doctors had suggested to prolong his life, he didn't even make it a year past diagnosis. 

When Janice was ready, we left the cemetery and headed for a nearby barbecue joint for lunch. We all reminisced about Jack while there and as we were about to leave, Janice reached into her purse and pulled out a sandwich bag. I knew what it was without her telling me. She'd mentioned a special request to me at his funeral - she wanted me to make some sort of keepsake for her that would include clippings she'd taken from his beard his last week on Earth. Discreetly, she passed the bag to me and I nodded my head. She knew I'd do my best to make something meaningful and that I'd treat his beard with respect. I didn't want to take it but I did. I'd promised and I would keep my word. 

On the way home, I cried. Phil asked what was wrong and I told him. That bag of beard trimmings in my purse was a tangible reminder of my sweet friend. I didn't want to open the bag and touch his beard. I knew it would be too much. 

When we got home, I took the baggie out of my purse and put it in my craft room. I couldn't bear to look at it and I needed time to think of something to make for Janice. 

I wracked my brain trying to think of something I could make with his beard and the only thing I could think of was a keepsake pillow. I'd put the beard trimmings inside the pillow but somehow I'd have to make them accessible to Janice, too. 

Making the pillow was easy. I took some muslin and printed a photo of Jack onto it. It was one of Janice's favorite photos - one of Jack as Santa Claus. He used to work as Santa every year at Christmas for a department store in Florida. They requested him because of his "real" white beard and his happy spirit. After printing the photo of Jack on it, I used my Cricut machine to cut some iron on vinyl into a saying, "I'll hold you in my heart until I can hold you again in Heaven." I ironed that in place and then embroidered a heart in the center of the photo and the wording. I took the muslin and a pretty floral piece of fabric, some ball fringe trim, and made a pillow then stuffed it with poly-fiberfill. Next came the part I dreaded - incorporating the beard hair. I had to think of a way to do it that would keep the beard trimmings together and yet allow Janice to touch them whenever she wanted. I prayed about it and asked God what I could do. He gave me the idea of making a small heart and stuffing it with the beard hairs to place inside the pillow permanently. 

I made the heart out of 2 pieces of muslin and embroidered the edges with a blanket stitch of maroon embroidery thread. When it came time to stuff it with Jack's hair, I wept. I did not want to open the bag. I didn't not want to smell the sickness of cancer on his beard and I did not want to touch the hair. I know it will sound callous and unkind, but I'm being truthful. I'm embarrassed to admit it but I put on an N-95 mask and some nitrile gloves before removing the beard hair from the bag. 

Through the gloves I could feel the coarseness of Jack's beard and I couldn't contain my sadness. The tears came quickly and overwhelmed me, but somehow, I managed to push all of the hair into the small heart and sew it shut. 

Gently, I place the heart inside the pillow so Janice could see the outline of it through the muslin. I centered it directly under the embroidered heart I'd sewn between Jack's photo and the wording. When I was done, I showed the completed work to my husband and asked what he thought about it. He said he was sure she'd like it. 

In the next week or so, I'll meet up with Janice to give her the pillow. I pray it touches her heart. 

Grief is so hard to process. It comes in waves like the ocean. Sometimes the feelings are mild and gentle ebbing and flowing. Other times, they're rough and relentless pounding hard against the inside of your heart. 

Jack as Santa

I don't ever want to make a keepsake like that again. I know the custom of keeping a deceased loved one's hair has been around for a very long time, but to be the one to touch and hold it after the person has passed is so very difficult. 

Christmas will be coming soon and I've got a picture of Jack in his Santa suit on a table in my living room. I prefer to remember him doing something he loved and I can just bet he was a great encouragement to all of those dear little ones as they visited him at the mall. 

This year has been tragic in so many ways, but I can't dwell on all the negatives associated with it. I know God wants me to focus on the good things. Jack was a good friend and a jolly soul. Janice still needs my love and support and I'll do my best to give it to her. Friendship is a wonderful gift and one I'll always treasure, but sometimes, a broken heart reminds us of the brevity of life. We should never take a day for granted.

The keepsake pillow I made

A big day in history

Well, today's the day. We choose a new president and the fate of our country will forever change. I won't lie. I'm concerned. I've been praying, asking God for His perfect will to be done, but I can't help but wonder if He's going to allow us to reap what we've sown. We deserve that. 

People are hurting. They're angry and upset. Our world has become chaotic and evil. And the Bible said it would be that way in the last days. 

Relationships have been broken, irretrievably broken, and wounded souls mourn. 

I'm one of those. My heart aches every day because our family is disjointed. I tell God how much it hurts every day and how there's nothing I can do to fix it. 

What does one do when a child decides to cut a parent out of her life? And how does the parent cope with the shock of not knowing the reason behind the shunning? 

It seems like yesterday I was diapering her, holding her, kissing her, teaching her, loving her.

We played games and made messes. We giggled and laughed. 

 

I remember bathing her every night and reading and saying prayers with her every evening. And then, before I knew it, she had grown up, married, and moved away. 

 

Now she has littles of her own. She loves them the way I love her. 

I pray she remembers but my only consolation in all of this was...I took every chance.I didn’t hold back one ounce of love or give away my time to more “important“ pursuits. I was her mother and I took every. single. chance. to be one.

Hopefully she'll come to her senses soon, before it's too late. Maybe she'll hear the longing of my heart to be close to hers again. 

Then again, maybe she won't. And life will go on- normally for her, while I grieve.

Grey, grey, go away

These grey rainy days are getting to be a real drag! It's no wonder people suffer from seasonal affective disorder (S.A.D.) when the winter days are cold and bleak. There's a certain type of heaviness that comes with these types of days, like a shroud of emotional baggage. It can get heavy very quickly and too much to bear especially when grief is involved. I'm still processing my mother's recent death and it's been hard.

Grief is a strange thing. It slides in unexpectedly and oozes out orifices without permission. Processing it takes time and energy that I just don't seem to want to expend right now. But there will come a time when I can no longer ignore it. Someone said once that grief demands to be felt but grief is not linear. One moment you may feel you've moved past it and the next minute, it's right in your face. Grief never says, "I’ve been here long enough, I think it’s time for me to leave.” No. Grief crowds the heart, eats up all your energy, and chronically imposes upon your peace. But grief isn't some evil force that's only there to cause pain, grief is escorting deeper feelings, truth about your life, what you value and what you need. Grief conveys how deeply you cared about someone. Grief is almost always painful to come degree. As Mark Nepo so beautifully puts it, "The pain was necessary to know the truth, but we don't have to keep the pain alive to keep the truth alive."

The Oil of Joy For Mourning

The past few days have been difficult. Although the New Year has come and it should be a time of celebration and renewal, I've been in a season of mourning. My mother died on December 23. We'd been expecting her death but losing a loved one is never easy. I do take solace in knowing she was a believer and now that she's absent from the body, she's present with the Lord. That gives me great comfort and I know I'll see her again one day but in the meantime, the grief of losing her has come. Try as I might, I never know when it's going to overpower me. Everywhere I look, I see her. In my children's mannerisms, in photographs, in nature. Even though she's no longer here in bodily form, she'll always be with me. 

Some days have been harder than others. This morning, as I was having my devotional, I looked up from my Bible to see a red rose that I'd been given from her funeral service. The smell of it was heady. I took the rose in my hands and held it there. Each intricate and beautifully delicate petal reminded me of God's perfection and His handiwork in nature. Surrounding the rose was a cluster of Baby's Breath. Mama always loved Baby's Breath. We used to have it growing in a small section of yard behind our house. I'm not sure, but I think Mama said she got a start of it from my Great Uncle L.M. who often saved family heirloom plants. Beneath the Baby's Breath was another of Mama's favorites - Lily of the Valley. To this day, I can still smell the wonderful fragrant bell-shaped flowers of this plant. I even have a perfumed oil scented with Lily of the Valley. I bought it specifically to remind me of Mama. 

My heart was heavy as I continued my devotion. Thinking of the brevity of Mama's life consumed me but also helped remind me that we are all just vapors, here today and gone tomorrow. At 79 years young, she lived a full and happy life often revolving all of her time and attention on her children and grandchildren. 

I continued reading Scripture and was reminded of the verse in Isaiah where God speaks to Zion and tells the people He will comfort them their time of sadness. He promises to replace their sorrow with beauty for ashes and the oil of joy for their mourning. As I read the verse, I knew God was speaking to my heart, too. He knew my pain. He knew I missed my Mama and even though grief is part of the healing process, I felt He wanted me to focus more on the oil of joy He was pouring out to me. 

In the broken pieces of my heart, He was pouring in the healing balm of Gilead. All my hurts were being soothed by His gentle hand of comfort. As I cried out to Him in my brokenness, I felt the sweetest peace envelope me. I knew His Spirit, the Comforter, had come to minister to me. 

Sitting quietly at my kitchen table, eyes closed, I listened to the voice of the Holy Spirit. Words of love filled my mind and heart as let go of my emotions. Knowing my Heavenly Father is well acquainted with my grief, I rested. 

I'm sure there will be more days when the grief of losing Mama will be powerful but I also know God will be with me. He's promised to never leave or forsake me. And though I'm now technically an orphan by earthly means, my Everlasting Father will always be by my side to comfort, soothe and encourage me. 

Grief is painful but God wants to give us the oil of joy for our mourning. We only have to be willing to accept it. If your heart is hurting today, please turn to Him for relief. He wants to ease your pain as only He knows how to do.


"To console those who mourn in Zion,
To give them beauty for ashes,
The oil of joy for mourning,
The garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness;
That they may be called trees of righteousness,
The planting of the Lord, that He may be glorified.”

Isaiah 61:3New King James Version (NKJV)

She's gone

Mama and Daddy share the same gravesite

In a split second, her life is over. My sweet Mother has left this earth and slipped into heaven. The days have become a blur as we managed to say our last goodbyes and make funeral arrangements. So many details have gotten lost in the shuffle as our emotions ebbed and flowed.

And now that the funeral service is over, her casket placed with my Father's, we try to process everything that's transpired over the past days, weeks, months, and years.

We knew this day was coming. It wasn't a surprise, but we just weren't ready for it to be so soon. Mama was ready. She'd told us over and over that she wanted to go home to heaven, so how can we begrudge her that last request? She's gone and we celebrate knowing she's no longer in pain, no longer bound by the time constraints of this world, and no longer kept out of the presence of her Lord and Savior.

It's hard to grasp though. When you've loved someone for so long, how do you let them go? It's hard not to want to cling tightly and be selfish, but that wouldn't be the right thing to do.

Beautiful Allatoona

So in the days ahead, my brother, sisters, and I will find our own way of getting through our grief. I'm sure it will be different for each of us since we each had our very own and special relationship with our Mother. And I'm sure the grief won't be short. I'm sure it will come in waves, rolling over us when we least expect it. The memories, too, will be constant. Something we see or hear, smell or touch will remind us of Mama. And that's a good thing, I think.

Those memories will help us keep her alive. Learning how to accept the memories as they come and not be overwhelmed by the sadness that accompanies them will be the hard part, but I'm hoping I can choose to remember not only the memory but the way I felt when the memory was made. If I can do that, I'll be okay.

After her service, I spent the day at Red Top Mountain. One of Mama's favorite picnic spots. We used to go there as children with my Mother and my Aunt. It was an inexpensive day trip and we loved being out in nature.

As I sat by the lake and reflected, I could almost feel Mama's presence. Listening to the nesting birds in the trees overhead, I wished she were with me. We'd be having a heartfelt conversation, I'm sure. That's one of the things I'm going to miss the most - calling to share a bit of news with her or just hearing her voice. I sure hope I never forget the sound of her voice.