Currently Browsing: Grief

The Years in Front of Us

The Years in Front of Us
My grandfather is known for many things–the summer days fishing on the ocean, the cars he fixed, the funny songs he sang to his grandkids, the poems he’d recite to anyone who’d listen, and the sayings he quipped throughout his life: “The early morning has gold in its mouth,” and “I have more years behind me than I have in front of me.”     Tonight, my sweet, kind grandfather has only hours in front of him. Right now he sleeps an unconscious sleep, his body carrying out the process of dying. It requires neither food nor drink, only rest. Only the effort of taking in oxygen and...
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Remembering … Five Years Later

Remembering … Five Years Later
Today is heavy with cold and ice and clouds.     I’m propped up in bed, where I’ve spent most of the day due to whatever nasty ailment that’s going around, and I look out the window. The ice-encrusted seed pods on the Crepe Myrtle tree pull the branches downward, as if in sadness.   The imagery of sadness comes easy; it was this day, five years ago, that my mother left us. I had determined to make this a day of celebration in remembering her life, and I am forever blessed that she is my mother. It is hard, however, to not remember the day of her death. My sister has memorialized that...
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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....
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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....
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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...
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