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An extended grief
It started in March when Danny's mom was hospitalized with dehydration, secondary to an intenstinal upset that wouldn't stop.
Realists to the core, we know this path too well, but walking it well requires a faith that can move mountains.
The path, thankfully, evened out back in March, when after just a couple of weeks of rehabilitation, Mom was able to return to her home, where she has lived since Danny was an infant.
It grew a little steeper last month, however, when we learned that Mom had been hospitalized, again.
Another reprieve has been granted, thankfully, though we don't know how short or long a reprieve it will be. Reality.
The path is made even steeper than necessary by facts that are beyond our control, though we would change those facts in an instant, were it up to us.
A new phenomenon is afoot these days. We first became aware of it when Mom's longtime friend, Blanche, died. Apparently, she didn't want anyone to fuss over her passing with a funeral service or any organized rite of passage. Since it was her daughter who had introduced Danny and me back in 1971, we were disappointed not to have the opportunity to honor and remember Blanche, to laugh at her unique and numerous idiosyncrasis, or to grieve the hard truth that her face would be withheld from our vision for the rest of our lives.
Then, when our adopted Uncle Buck's mother died, the phenomenon was repeated. No service to mark her life or her passage into eternity.
In March, Mom announced that she too will forego any service or memorial. Excuse me? This woman has served as my mother for 37 years. We love her with an everlasting love. Our children love her with an everlasting love. What are we supposed to do with that love? Just turn it off, like water at the spigot? How do we honor her life, if at her death, we're just supposed to get up the next day like it's just any other day - even though one of the most influential people in our lives is gone, for the rest of our lives?
The phenomenon, as phenomena are, is rare hereabouts, with nearly every dearly departed honored with a final memorial.
This, I believe, is as it should be. Life is precious, short or long. Whether well-lived or squandered, life is precious. Because it is life that gives each of us the opportunity to learn, to love, to seek and to serve. And whether a life is well-lived or squandered is often in the eyes of the beholder. Only God can truly judge. An urban nomad, a "rolling stone that gathers no moss," is a squanderer to some and a hero to others. Similarly, a life lived within the same community where you were born is a squander to some and the envy of others.
Since everyone's journey is unique, who can say that the rolling stone failed to learn, to love, to seek or to serve? God reveals himself in unique ways, and only those who fail to recognize him, or in recognizing him, reject him, will find that they have truly squandered life. Even if that discovery is made late in life, or at the penultimate moment, as it was for one of two thieves executed with Jesus, the promise is the same, "Today, you shall be with me in Paradise."
Years ago, the friend of a friend died. During his life he had alienated family and friends, we never knew why. But he had, in his later years, befriended our friend during a time of need, and we sought to honor him. A veteran, he had space reserved at Fort Logan National Cemetery in Littleton. It was a blustery late winter day. We gathered at the chapel. It was the first, and thus far only, time I have been called to serve as a pall bearer. There was little choice. It was also the first time, though not the last, that I delivered a eulogy. There was no one else.
The icy wind cut like a knife. Nevertheless, as we stood together at the grave site and recited the Mourner's Kaddish, we did our best to honor Dave. The irony is striking, as one of the six mourners attending Dave's memorial, who also lent her hand as a pallbearer, was none other than our dear friend, Blanche.
Life matters to God. All life. Every life. He sees the sparrow and knows when it falls. He knows each man's day and hour. He honors each man's choice just as he honors each man's life. When Moses died, Scripture tells us that God himself buried him in Moab, in the valley opposite Beth Peor, "but to this day no one knows where his grave is." (Deuteronomy 34:1-8) and Israel mourned him for 30 days "until the time of weeping and mourning was over."
When I die, I fully expect a final, earthly acknowledgment of my life. To some, it will have seemed a life well-lived, while others no doubt, will believe it squandered. Neither opinion will matter to me, only the words of Jesus will matter then. Only the words of Jesus matter now.
However, to miss out on that final, earthly acknowledgment is to extend grief beyond its time, beyond its due. It has its season, to be sure, but it is but a season.
"There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven." Ecclesiastes 3:1 and following (NIV)
Things you won't see in heaven:
Widow's weeds
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