I posted this on Facebook about a week ago. And since my thoughts lie in this direction, wanted to paste it here as well.
“I watched an interesting video on the topic of grief the other day. At the end, the man speaks of death saying “death feeds everything that lives. The recognition that that’s the case, and that it includes, not you, that’s the easy part to see, but that it includes the people that you love and the things you don’t want to end. That’s grief, and it’s not personal. But the key, the real skill to being grateful is not to be grateful for the stuff that benefits you. That’s easy. What about being grateful for the stuff that doesn’t benefit you in the least, but you’re grateful that it’s in the world anyway? Now you’re getting somewhere, now you’re seeing the big story. Now you’re willing for life to be bigger than your life span, or your childrens lifespan.
Grief is not a feeling. Grief’s not how you feel, grief’s what you do. Grief is a skill. And the twin of grief, as a skill of life, is the skill of being able to praise, or love, life. Which means wherever you find one authentically done, the other is very close at hand. Grief and the praise of life, side by side. …….. Grief and the ability to love life, they’re toasting the living.
That has proved so true in my life. When I have not allowed myself to grieve, my heart has grown cold and I have found myself unable to fully live. But when I allow myself to feel pain, to walk the painful and slow road through grieving I also find myself living new all over again. It’s Ann Voskamps “Eucharisteo” – swallowing the death and the life of Christ, thanking God for all things – the good and the ugly. Or as Bonhoeffer said, the Christian living life from the perspective of the end unto the beginning.
Take some time and think on that. Grief, hand in hand with the love of life. What do you think?”
On this day 4 years ago the man I was named after struggled one last time for breath, and breathed into the eternal glory of no more sickness. I remember blogging on valentines day that year of how I was able to Skype with my family in his hospice room, and coax a smile onto his beautiful, wrinkled face. I cherish that memory on days like today when I miss him deep down to my bones. His beautiful smile, his soft wrinkled hands, the smell of his shirts when he’d hug and not let go. My grandfather was a precious soul. It’s crazy to me to think that the things that remind me of him – his wrinkled hands and deeply lined face, the ragged sound of his breathing – those things that are included in all of my memories have nothing to do with who he is now. I don’t remember him without an oxygen tank, I never saw him run, never saw him young. But now he is free, whole and remade. I can’t imagine what it will be to see my grandfather whole. Today we grieve as we remember you Carroll, but our grief is laden with heavy hope. Hope that does not disappoint, grief that leads to truest life.