Tag Archives: grief

May 7, 1968

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…from the archives…

The lunch bell rang at 11:30. My fifth-grade teacher dismissed the class. I put my sweater on, picked up my cello and navigated my way through the crowded hallway. As I crossed from the dark interior to the bright sunshine my mind swept through the corners of the morning looking for a scrap of a story to tell my mom. Since Danny had moved up to Jr. High, I had Mom all to myself during my lunch break.

I bumped awkwardly down the sidewalk, stopping every ten paces to change the clumsy cello to the other arm.  A tune passed through my head and came out with a hum. Turning left at Elizabeth Street, I looked up and saw—my dad!—– a block ahead at the edge of the school property.  He stood still as a sentinel, shoulders slumped.

“Dad!”

I hitched the cello closer to my body and broke into an exuberant trot. Never before had I seen my dad! in the middle of the school day. One by one he had collected my six older siblings out of their classes, had broken the news to them and had brought them home. For this final breaking, he waited for me to come to him. Out of breath, I set the cello down and gave him a hug.

“How’s Mom?  Did you bring her home from the hospital?”

His face was tired granite.

“Honey, I have some bad news.”

It wasn’t his solemnity that struck me; it was the absence of any movement. I looked up with questioning eyes.

“Carol, Mommy is in heaven with Jesus.”

I stared at him, staggered — completely stunned. It was only supposed to be a “Very Minor Surgery.”

“She died very early this morning.”

He picked up the cello and we trudged the two-block trek home. We had passed two houses on the left when, looking up at him, I protested.

“Wait, Daddy. You said it was bad news. But if she’s in heaven with Jesus, that’s good news, isn’t it?”

For the first time the muscles in his face moved. He smiled down at me wordlessly. While I couldn’t comprehend that my Mom was dead, I could see the grief that had already moved into his eyes; I could sense him pulling into himself. Flitting back to my own concerns, I saw my First Problem.

“But I wanted to tell  Mom that I got an A on my spelling test.”

I didn’t ask for details. Clearly, what he said was true. I just didn’t quite know what it had to do with me.

My next impulse was to lighten his load.

“Daddy, let me carry the cello. Please, Daddy. Please…let me carry the cello for you.”

He shook his head as we continued to walk.  In silence we turned right onto Greenfield Avenue.  Our heads bowed in surrender to the heavy weight as we forced our feet forward.  Even with a dozen people inside, the house was as quiet and still as my father had been.

As we approached the porch, I bounded up the steps, remembering my good news.

“Mom!  I got an A………………”

My voice broke off as the news dangled in midair.

~     ~     ~

That night after dinner my father took up Daily Bread, a devotional book, to read that day’s entry:

Trust in Him at all times, O people;
Pour out your heart before Him.

~ Psalm 62:8

An Awesome Ancient Hymn

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To begin, you will not find the word awesome on any post I’ve written before this.  I only use the word to describe that which inspires awe.

The Lord is so kind.  The one hymn I’ve wanted for my funeral since I was 19 years old, Vaughan Williams’ For All the Saints, is now regularly sung by my loved ones and fellow worshipers.  If I were to die tonight, I have all the confidence that my wishes to have this song sung at my funeral would be fulfilled.  I could not say that ten years ago.

After we had sung Only-Begotten, Word of God Eternal during communion today, I notified my husband that he only has to remember two hymns: For All the Saints and Only-Begotten.  This Latin hymn from the ninth century is one of the most potent expressions of worship.  The music (click on MIDI for a creepy electronic sound [I’m searching for a better version], print out the music free on Adobe) has a majesty and gravitas that is unparalleled. I am never able to sing through every verse.  Lumps, great lumps, arise.  The Trinitarian benediction is glorious. 

Only-begotten, Word of God eternal,
Lord of creation, merciful and mighty:
Hear now Thy servants, when their joyful voices
Rise to Thy presence.

This is Thy temple; here Thy presence holy;
Here may Thy servants, at the mystic banquet,
Humbly adoring, take Thy body broken,
Drink of Thy chalice.

Here in our sickness, healing grace aboundeth,
Light in our blindness, in our toil refreshment:
Sin is forgiven, hope o’er fear prevaileth,
Joy over sorrow.

Hallowed this dwelling where the Lord abideth,
This is none other than the gate of heaven;
Strangers and pilgrims, seeking homes eternal,
Pass through its portals.

Lord, we beseech Thee, as we throng Thy temple,
By Thy past blessings, by Thy present bounty,
Favor Thy children, and with tender mercy
Hear our petitions.

God in three Persons, Father everlasting,
Son co-eternal, ever-blessed Spirit,
Thine be the glory, praise, and adoration,
Now and forever. 

Gratefully,

Notes of Condolences

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“What should I say?”

Don’t we all have a hollow stomach when it comes time to write a note or make a phone call to a friend who has experienced the death of a loved one?  It is awkward and difficult and uncomfortable.  Often we try to write what makes us feel better and miss the opportunity to be a true comfort to the bereaved.  

1.  I think the most common mistake we make is to gloss over the loss and go straight to the hope of the future, i.e. “I’m so sorry you lost your son in Iraq, but what a joy that you will see him again in heaven.”  There is a time to every purpose under heaven, and that includes a time to mourn.  We need to allow time to process the loss, time to cry every tear in our body out, time to pull the blanket over our face and convulse. 

Why are we so impatient with pain? We are we so uncomfortable with grief, so anxious to sweep it up and dispose of it?  One of the most asinine things I’ve ever heard was spoken to my girlfriend whose eighteen year old daughter was killed by a drunk driver.  Three months had passed since the accident; a woman approached my girlfriend whose taut-as-a-drum face reflected her grief and asked, “Aren’t you over it yet?”

2.   An easy way to slip-up is to gloss over the loss by going straight to the explanation.  We all become accountants and won’t tolerate untidy loose strings of mystery.  Or we become a Fix-It Man who needs to fix whatever is broken.  What we say might be true…but the timing is false.  God does work all things together for good, a believer is undoubtedly happier in the presence of the Lord, the deceased is certainly spared more grief on this earth.  Expressions of faith –  “The Lord gives, the Lord takes away, Blessed be the name of the Lord” – are sometimes articulated by the bereaved.  If she says it, accept it.  If she doesn’t, don’t force it.

3.  A less common error is to discount the loss.  After my dear neighbor lost her husband to a heart attack, another neighbor shrugged and dispensed his philosophy: “Well, we’re all going to die sometime.”  There is a temptation with the loss of a young child to use the fourth grade arithmetic skill of canceling:  “You can always have another child.”  Or with the loss of an agéd parent, “At least she had a long and productive life.”

4.  Those who have experienced the death of a loved one can be tempted to say, “I know just how you feel”.  Don’t do it, even if you are convinced it is true.  Every relationship is unique. 

When I write a note, I often employ the words of wiser and more articulate people.  This post is an attempt to gather together some of those words.

~ She who was so precious to you

We are terribly saddened by the death of your cherished sister, our dear aunt; but our sorrow at losing her is as nothing compared to our concern for your sake, because your suffering will be all the greater, Sire, as truly you have no one else left in your world, now that she, who could not have been more precious to you, has parted, and therefore we can only imagine how you sustain the severity of such a sudden and completely unexpected blow… I will say no more, except that with all our hearts we fervently pray the Lord to comfort you and be with you always, and we greet you dearly with our ardent love.     

           from Galileo’s daughter to Galileo, May 10, 1623.  Quoted in Galileo’s Daughter

~ No words

My favorite story about my father relates to a time when a co-worker lost a child.  My
father went to his friend’s house and sat with him and his wife.  They cried and just sat together.  No words were ever spoken.  Dad just
soaked up some of the excess grief.  This man later told me that my
father’s silent presence was the greatest comfort during that time. Some times we can’t be bodily present; some times I write There are no words.

~ It’s hard

When my dad died, my brother Jim wrote one of the most profound notes to our step-mother.  He wrote one sentence and signed his name.  It is hard to say goodbye. 

This is what the Puritans called a ‘hard providence‘ is another way to acknowledge the loss. 

~  God support you

God bless you and support you under your heavy affliction.
    written to John Adams by Thomas Jefferson after the death of Abigail Adams

~  I’m sorry

A very simple expression of love and sympathy: I’m sorry for your loss.

~ We’re praying

Another simple sentence which hits the spot: We’re praying for you in this difficult time.

Any suggestions?  I plan to add to this post as I come across other notes.

Friends for the Journey

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Friends always have a lingering, lasting effect on us.  Their kindnesses remain with us long after they have departed.  Their example inspires us.  Their words continue to impact our thinking. They intrude upon our daily concourse with a gentle but certain regularity. Remembrance has thus always been an essential element of the friendships of great men and women, a kind of eternal trophy of a gracious endearment.  
~ George and Karen Grant in Best Friends


We have lost a friend this week in the passing of Madeleine L’Engle.  She was eloquent.  Provocative. Challenging.  Perceptive.  We will remember her.  Her words will continue to impact our thinking.  I’m often uncomfortable with her theology, but I press on because she got the essence of life right and she could express it with magnificent grace.  When something reminds me of Madeleine, I call it L’English.  It’s one of the most delightful words in my personal lexicon.  

One of my favorite L’Engle books is her collaboration with Luci Shaw on Friends for the Journey.  In this book they explore together the topography of friendship. 

“Our contact was never superficial;
it started out, as it has continued,
with God talk and book talk,
the elements of the kind of friendship
we both find most satisfying.” 

You may or may not be familiar with Luci Shaw.  I’ve had a fondness for Luci Shaw since my childhood, because she was one of my dad’s favorite poets.  He stopped me one day to listen to one of her poems from her first collection, Listen to the Green.

The book is a quilt of many colors, shapes and textures of mystic, sweet communion.  Some chapters are written by Madeleine, some by Luci.  Interspersed throughout the book are poems of both writers.  A few chapters are transcripts of conversations between Madeleine and Luci.  It is such a gift to get a glimpse of the inner workings of their friendship.  I’ve read several books of this sort, but this is by far the richest, fullest expression of friendship that I’ve read.   Friends for the Journey is a book to take down on a regular basis, a book to share with the friends in your life, a book that will nourish your soul.

“One of the most important things about friendship
is that we allow the friends of our heart to see us,
not as we would like to be
(none of us is what we’d like to be),
but as we really are,
with our weaknesses, flaws, and faults.”
~ Madeleine L’Engle

“In the funeral service in the Book of Common Prayer these words are said: “Remember thy servant, O Lord, according to the favor which thou bearest upon thy people, and grant that, increasing in knowledge and love of thee, he may go from strength to strength, in the life of perfect service.”


I believe that.  Our identity, our self, our soul, goes on growing to a deeper fullness in love of God, leading us toward the kind of maturity God planned for us in the first place. For now, that is all I need to know.”
         
           ~ Madeleine L’Engle  11-29-1918 – 9-6-2007

May 7, 1968

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The lunch bell rang at 11:30.  My fifth-grade teacher dismissed the class. I put my sweater on, picked up my cello and navigated my way through the crowded hallway.  As I crossed from the dark interior to the bright sunshine my mind swept through the corners of the morning looking for a scrap of a story to tell my mom. Since Danny had moved up to Jr. High, I had my mom all to myself during lunch.

I moved slowly down the sidewalk, stopping every ten paces to change the clumsy cello to the other arm.  A tune went through my head and came out with a hum. Turning left at Elizabeth Street, I looked up and saw my dad a block ahead at the edge of the school property.  He stood still as a sentinel, shoulders slumped. 

“Dad!”

I hitched the cello closer to my body and broke into an exhuberant trot.   Never before had I seen my dad in the middle of the school day.  One by one he had taken my six older siblings out of their classes, had broken the news to them and had brought them home.  For this final breaking, he waited for me to come to him. Out of breath, I set the cello down and gave him a hug. 

“How’s Mom?  Did you bring her home from the hospital?”

His face was tired granite.

“Honey, I have some bad news.”

It wasn’t his solemnity that struck me; it was the absence of any movement.  I looked up with questioning eyes.

“Carol, Mommy is in heaven with Jesus.”

I stared at him, completely stunned.

“She died very early this morning.”

He picked up the cello and we began the two block trek towards home.  We had passed two houses on the left when I protested.

“Wait, Daddy.  You said it was bad news.  But if she’s in heaven with Jesus, that’s good news, isn’t it?”

For the first time the muscles in his face moved.  He smiled down at me wordlessly.  While I couldn’t comprehend that my Mom was dead, I could see the grief that had already moved into his eyes; I could sense him pulling into himself.   Flitting back to my own concerns, my mind reminded me of a problem.

“But I wanted to tell  Mom that I got an A on my spelling test.”

I didn’t ask for details.  There was something in his demeanor which spoke the truth.  My next impulse was to lighten his load. 

“Daddy, let me carry the cello.  Please, Daddy.  Please…let me carry the cello for you.”

He shook his head as we continued to walk.  We turned right onto Greenfield Avenue in silence.  Our heads bowed in surrender to the heavy weight as we trudged the rest of the way home.  The house was as quiet and still as my father had been. 

As we approached the porch, I bounded up the steps, remembering my news.

“Mom!  I got an A………………”  My voice broke off as the news dangled in midair. 

God Be At Mine End

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One of my octogenarian friends, a dear friend’s mom, has been sick this week.  Yesterday brought news that her body is shutting down and her time left is measured in days and hours.  I drove out to see her, to tell her one last time that I loved her, and to say goodbye.  She was awake and even told me about The Mapmaker’s Wife, the book she’s in the middle of reading.

I chose selected music of John Rutter’s Gloria CD to bathe me during the twenty minute car drive. The  last four selections are superlative, beyond-the-beyonds-good.  If you click on the link you can hear all but the last line of this lovely blending of words and music.

God Be In My Head

God be in my head and in my understanding.
God be in mine eyes and in my looking.
God be in my mouth and in my speaking.
God be in my heart and in my thinking.
God be at mine end and in my departing.

                    from the Sarum Primer, 1545

Funeral Music

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Thanks to many who prayed for the service for my friends’ son.

Here’s a list of prelude and postlude music I played. I tried to choose a mix between hymns, Celtic-sounding “mournful” music, and popular songs, keeping in mind that the group wasn’t a highbrow audience.  For All the Saints and Softly and Tenderly wouldn’t have been good choices this time.  I had intended to play What A Friend We Have in Jesus and regret forgetting it.

Untitled Hymn (Come to Jesus) by Chris Rice
Homeward Bound by Marta Keen as heard played by William Joseph
Ashokan Farewell by Jay Ungar
Come, Ye Sinners, Poor and Needy
Grace by David Foster and William Joseph
I Will Remember You by Sarah McLachlan
Give Me Jesus, arranged by Fernando Ortega
There Is a Fountain
I Am a Poor Wayfaring Stranger
People Get Ready, Eva Cassidy rendition

Eva Cassidy is a new find – oh, mama, that girl could sing!! Sad story: she died (1996) at age 33 of cancer, an unknown singer.  One of her recordings got some air time in the UK and they went wacko-wild over her.  That popularity bounced back to the states.  Listen!!  If you have three and 1/2 minutes this is well worth your time. Have any of you heard her?

The samples (# 7 and #11) of William Joseph are also excellent.   I would like to thank my sister and sister-in-law for their incredible help with song selections.  For you musicians out there, musicnotes.com was a lifesaver.  I could buy the music, download and print it in five minutes.  They also allow you to print the first page for free so you get an idea on the arrangement.  Bookmark that page!

Do you have a song you would really like at your funeral or memorial service?

Clean Grief

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It’s been a one-two punch week.

I reconnected with an old friend after 25 years of silence.  We talked on the phone this week.  At one time we were very close, a mutual love of the Lord Jesus bonding us together.  Since then she has rejected what we once shared and switched to a different, wider path, enlightened thought and new allegiances.

The next day brought news that our friend’s son had taken his life.  There are no words.

These are times of trouble; it’s time to read Ecclesiastes.

Sorrow can be such a complicated thing.  It easily gets muddied with regrets, splattered with the wrong actions of the deceased, splotched with omissions, and speckled with questions.  More than one friend has found evidence of gross immorality on his father’s computer after his death.

One of the gifts we can give to those we leave behind is the gift of clean grief.  The difference between clean and mucked-up grief is the difference between the cut of a surgeon’s sterilized knife and the  puncture of a rusty nail.   Both are incredibly painful, both require a time of healing, and both leave scars; but the puncture requires much cleansing in order to heal.

What brings clean grief?  Clean living – living by the law of God.  Regular confession, repentance, courage to confront the secret sins, honest evaluation, transparent friendships, the fear of God, trusting in Christ alone to cleanse.  

What about when things go south?  When there is a murky mess left?  The first response should be, “there, but for the grace of God, go I”.  Look for instruction, what can I learn from this?  Be silent. Finally, there is no viable option but to trust our Creator and leave it in His hands.  Read Ecclesiastes.

The conclusion, when all has been heard, is:
fear God and keep His commandments,
because this applies to every person.
Because God will bring every act to judgment,
everything which is hidden, whether it is good or evil.
Ecclesiastes 12:13-14

Nothing in my hand I bring,
simply to thy cross I cling;
naked, come to thee for dress,
helpless, look to thee for grace;
foul, I to the Fountain fly;
wash me, Savior, or I die.

  from Rock of Ages,
Augustus Toplady

Poetry of Grief

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One of my newer online friends, Lynne, has been quiet on her blog for a while.

She and her family are going through hard times; a heavy, private grief.  I don’t know the trial, but I can hear the hurt.

Lynne is a poet, a very good poet.

Her Opus #11 is a must read, a beautiful expression of her heart.  The photographs on her blog are also her own. 

The Shape of Grief

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It is a singular truth that the shape of grief is more circular than linear.

After sorrow has settled into your soul, it loops off for a while until it reconnects itself for reasons both random and predictable.  Predictably, there are times when the calendar is not a friend.  Significant days are given over to grieving until, one year, you find yourself sighing instead of crying.

Random outbursts of grief can accompany a smell, a song, a smile, a photo, a familiar gesture, or some momento that revives a dormant memory.  The most perplexing experience is when sorrows, like sea-billows, roll right over you for no reason at all.  

I have learned that grief relative to my mom’s death touches down during major life transitions.  (She died almost 40 years ago when I was 10.)  The life transition taking place is the impending  marriage of my second son.  Recently I awoke in tears, disoriented and disheveled.   I lay in bed and wondered why I felt so sad. The reason was simple: I missed  my mom. 

I yearn for one moment with my mom on the glorious day of my son’s wedding.  I long to stand shoulder to shoulder with her, my arm linked with hers, our hands clasped together, as we watch “our boy” make his marriage vows.

A Jewish proverb says
that you are training your grandchildren
when you are training your children.

In that sense, my mom had a part in raising this child of mine, this son whom I thought of as my “sandpaper” child. Of course, I was his “sandpaper” mom.  Friction racked up frequent flyer miles in the flights of words that traveled between us.  At one point it took faith to look forward to a future relationship between us which would be characterized by friendship.

At some undefined period, four or five years ago, the Spirit of God leaned down and blew off the grit, the grime, the crumbs — all the residue from years of sandpaper rubbing.  He licked His finger, as it were, and polished the surfaces.  He gave us repentance, for we both needed it.  To our surprise there was a smoothness of affection, an ease between us, a fellowship that grew as he became more independent.

On Carson’s wedding day we will rejoice in the love between husband and wife; we will give thanks to the Giver of all good gifts; we will praise God for a son and a (new) daughter who both love the Lord.  At some point I will whisper a personal prayer of thanksgiving for this son of mine, for the reconciliation between us, for the growing love and friendship we share.

My new daughter-in-law has thought of a wonderful way to give thanks for the heritage they have received.  She is setting up a table at the reception with six framed photos: pictures of the parents of the bride and groom on their wedding day, and wedding photos of all four sets of grandparents.  In an age of rugged individuality, it is refreshing to see the respect and honor given to parents and grandparents.

The Apostle’s Creed says:  I believe in the resurrection of the body; and the life everlasting.

I do believe there will be a day, one fine day, when my mom, my son and I will embrace, squeeze each other and throw our heads back and laugh the kind of laughter that begins down deep and emerges in a glorious melody. Sorrow won’t exist, even as a distant memory.  We will beckon others to join us: the beautiful grandma my son has grown up with, the wife of his youth, my husband, the grandfather I never knew, my son’s grandchildren, and their children’s children.  Together we will dance and sing and celebrate the greatness of God.

O give thanks unto the Lord, for He is good,
and His covenant faithfulness endures forever.