Currently Browsing: Grief

Christmas in Dark Decembers

Christmas in Dark Decembers
I awoke this morning to bad news in a voicemail message: The fiancé of a widow who was to be married today died suddenly last night.     How do you digest news like that? And in light of God’s sovereignty, how do you explain it?   December is supposed to be a month of joyful Christmas celebration. But there are many, including this dear lady, whose tears are not of joy. The media tells us of countless others weeping with sorrow this Christmas season: mothers whose sons were killed by police. Parents whose children were shot by angry gunmen. Loved ones of hostages murdered by terrorists. Families of...
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This Time of Year

This Time of Year
This time of year I miss her even more than usual—my mom.     It was this month in 2009 that I took leave to be with her. It was this week in 2009 that we shared our last Thanksgiving holiday, the one when she requested we sing the Doxology before eating our dinner. It was this weekend that I took my last day trip with her and my dad together, a venture to Brooklyn, NY.   We ate dinner in a restaurant that floated beneath the Brooklyn Bridge. We stood on a pier and watched the sun sinking toward the waters of the East River, the Statue of Liberty raising her torch in the distance.   I’m thankful for...
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Marking Four Years

Marking Four Years
On a cold Sunday two weeks ago, my sisters and I stood under an overcast sky near our mother’s grave, each with a different bouquet of flowers to lay beside it. We were there to mark the day when, four years ago, she slept her last sleep and awoke in heaven.   Earlier that morning, when the sun was still shining and melting sparkling rivulets into the streets, I had the unexpected privilege of attending my childhood church with my mother’s parents. Filled with old family memories, I sat on the wooden pew next to my grandmother. The tone of her silvery voice singing Holy, holy, holy floated through the...
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What Happened Three Years Ago

What Happened Three Years Ago
It is blue-sky cold, sun-soaked clouds cold, on again, off again snow flurries cold. It is a beautiful day.       And it is windy.   The blue and white balloons in my hand whip forward, eager for flight. Eager to be carried away toward the blue and white horizon.   It is the third anniversary of my mother’s death, another day forever cold in my memory. But it occurs to me, as I stand on a high ledge overlooking my town, that my mom’s spirit flew forward eagerly toward a horizon I couldn’t see, the moment her breath left her body.   I let go of the strings.   The balloons swiftly fly, farther and...
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On the Second Anniversary of My Mother’s Death

On the Second Anniversary of My Mother’s Death
Today, the sun came out, after a stint of gray weather. It brightened the office later morning. This afternoon it sparkled on the little pond outside my window. It took its time settling into twilight, stretching a pink, then salmon, then deep magenta band over the horizon.     Today, I remembered the long, dark night my mother lay dying in her room and that awful, final exhale just before sunrise two years ago.   Yet, I could feel the wonder of tonight’s lovely sunset, something I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to do again.   And today I felt joy. Something I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to grasp...
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