A new experience. But with the deep grief comes unequaled gratitude

The last 10 days have been unlike anything I’ve ever experienced.

My first introduction to overwhelming grief was when my mother died several decades ago. Like Evelyn’s death, my mother’s came without warning.

I was told of Evelyn’s death over the phone, and that’s how I learned about my mother.

My mother’s family was all long distance, and so is mine. In a series of wrenching calls, I told my mother’s family members that she was gone. It was a similar scene last Monday, and I still have one or two distant friends I want to reach.

Not the same

But this time was different.

We weren’t expecting my mother to die, but we did know Evelyn could not get well.

It had been weeks or months since I’d seen my mother. But I was with Evelyn less than 12 hours before she passed. We were celebrating her birthday, and nothing in her behavior that day indicated it would be her last.

We loved my mother, but she could be a challenge. And we were pulled into helping her cope with problems beyond her control: health questions, marriage and family turmoil, financial shortfalls.

But nothing about Evelyn was problematic. She was gentle but strong, gracious and generous, the hardest worker I know, and the prettiest. She turned 80 10 days ago, and even though she was diminished, she didn’t look it.

I look at the pictures of my mother and sigh. I look at Evelyn’s pictures and weep.

Nothing like this

I cried when my mother died, too, of course. But it was nothing like this.

Never then did I feel fragile and unable to cope the way I felt one afternoon last week. Never then did I seek a friend and ask him to sit patiently while I dumped my grief on him.

But David made time for me, listening to me blubber and babble for almost two hours, reflecting on what I said with brief, quiet reassurance.

That afternoon was a turning point for me. Since then, I’ve found the reserve to get stuff done and the willingness to sit and stop doing instead of pedaling on a treadmill of distraction.

That leads me to what I want to say this week. I don’t feel equipped to say much. Next week, several days after Evelyn’s service tonight, I may be ready to say more.

Grief and gratitude

But this week, I want to share a quote that providentially popped up on Facebook this week. Francis Weller offers great insight and instruction for me, reassurance that I’m on a good path:

“The work of the mature person is to carry grief in one hand and gratitude in the other and to be stretched large by them. How much sorrow can I hold? That’s how much gratitude I can give. If I carry only grief, I’ll bend toward cynicism and despair. If I have only gratitude, I’ll become saccharine and won’t develop much compassion for other people’s suffering. Grief keeps the heart fluid and soft, which helps make compassion possible.”

Along with my grief this week, I’ve been filled with gratitude. I have so many reasons to be thankful.

Thoughtful feedback I’ve received in person and on Facebook.
So many kind gestures: friends who sit with me and feed me and laugh with me while displaying no discomfort with my tears.
Phone calls and messages.
Food, so much food!
The warm readiness to serve displayed by staff members of our church.
The unflagging support of my kids.
The memories, so many memories, of someone whose commitment to me kept me on track.

I’m definitely being stretched by this experience. Like the stretches a physical therapist once taught me, stretching this week has been challenging and uncomfortable. But when the muscle relaxes and performs, and when the soul finds reassurance and the will to keep going, the satisfaction is great.

I’m deciding how much longer to keep this blog going. In one way the journey is finished, and as one friend told me, in some ways it’s only beginning. I’ll think more about that next week. I know I’ll be posting at least once more as I process how this experience is affecting me.

The service of remembrance we’ve planned for this evening will be another turning point. I’m anticipating the nurture and strength we’ll receive from the hugs and the tributes and the love. I hope to share more about that next week, too.