The funeral was a little over a month ago. I didn't get to grieve at the funeral because one has to be "on" at a funeral. One must be strong and carry others through the process. Family members must play hostess to all the mourners. And that's fine. It really helps carry a person through a very difficult and shocking time. But it's all surreal. You know it's real, but your body and your mind cannot wrap around it all. It's impossible to really understand what has happened. It is impossible to understand that the person who has left the earth won't be coming back. It is why you try to call them on the phone. It's why you drive in your car looking for them and then realize you are going a little bit crazy and should turn around and go home. It's why you jump up at their house when you imagine that they are at the door.
So, I floated around in that surreal experience for a while, catching glimpses here and there at random times of the depth of my sorrow. But my tears were coming from some place just on the surface.....until this weekend.
We celebrated at Relay for Life. My mother, sisters, brothers in law, my niece and nephew, my husband and children were on my father's office's team. We were there raising money to fight cancer in such a unique and creative way. It's cool to see a whole community gather together to be able to participate on so many levels to fight cancer. It's something special to see all those cancer survivors wearing their purple shirts having a really good time dancing, walking, socializing, laughing.... I certainly remember last year watching Daddy in his purple shirt carry the banner for cancer survivors and having a really good time celebrating life!
And then, at 10:00 pm, silence is called. It is amazing and powerful to be in the presence of 12,000 people falling reverently silent. The luminaries are lit.....thousands of luminaries. Some in honor of someone who is fighting cancer and others in memory of someone who passed away. Lights are shut off and the whole field, track, and stadium is twinkling.
Then I see Mama, holding Daddy's torch so proudly. She has entered the track along with another person and a bag piper. The bag piper begins to play a solemn song and Mama, fragile and small, walks a lap in silence around the entire track. Then, over head, there is a huge screen. Names are shown on the screen one by one in alphabetical to honor the memory of those who have lost their lives to cancer. After seeing Mama pass by me, and hearing the heartbreaking song of the bag pipes slowly move away, I see my father's name on the screen.
It was at that very moment in time that it all became real to me. It was more defining for me than the funeral or the ceremony in the garden.
My heart then shattered into a million pieces. I miss him so much.
1 comment:
I find myself looking to tools Dad used such as Hazelden's Thoughts for Today... makes me feel closer to him and gives me "purpose" of carrying on his legacy and His will. Love, yws
Being Is Enough
We are not always clear about what we are experiencing, or why.
In the midst of grief, transition, transformation, learning, healing, or discipline - it's difficult to have perspective.
That's because we have not learned the lesson yet. We are in the midst of it. The gift of clarity has not yet arrived.
Our need to control can manifest itself as a need to know exactly what's going on. We cannot always know. Sometimes, we need to let ourselves be and trust that clarity will come later, in retrospect.
If we are confused, that is what we are supposed to be. The confusion is temporary. We shall see. The lesson, the purpose, shall reveal itself - in time, in its own time.
It will all make perfect sense - later.
Today, I will stop straining to know what I don't know, to see what I can't see, to understand what I don't yet understand. I will trust that being is sufficient, and let go of my need to figure things out.
From The Language of Letting Go by Melody Beattie ©1990, Hazelden Foundation. All rights reserved. No portion of this publication may be reproduced in any manner without the written permission of the publisher.
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