Grieving

                                                            Grieving

            They come into my life and then, too early, they are gone.  And I mourn and grieve, cry and moan.  I am angry at my loss, my pain, the void in my life as their sudden absence is a bleeding, infected wound that never quite seems to heal.

            Grief dances its macabre and bittersweet retinue of every emotion, taking fiendish joy in ambushing me when I least expect it, when I am least able to cope with the pain.

            Yet, deep down, I still carry their light and their love, and sense their their soul, still resounding with me, still an integral part of my life.

            Why? What was so special about that person that I am so profoundly affected by their passing? What was it about them that reached me, touched my heart, and brought them so close to me, such an essential part of my life, my own story?  What is the lesson to be learned?

            I just read that plants emit light frequencies in a part of the light spectrum that is invisible to our eyes, yet photography is now able to record those images, those vibrations, and reveal another dimension of the profound beauty and intricacies of these living beings.

            Is it that much of a stretch in thinking that people also emit vibrations and frequencies of light that is invisible to our eyes, yet sensed in a much deeper level by us, on a different, yet intuitive, level.

            “You are special.  You bring something into my life that is beautiful, meaningful for me.”

            Attraction. 

            The law of attraction teaches us that we attract to ourselves the emotions, the feelings, the vibrations that we need.  And when we open ourselves to those feelings, the presence of what we crave, then we become more complete, and more able to live the life that we deeply desire.  We come closer to fulfilling our true purpose in this life.

            And when a special person leaves us, there is a void, an emptiness, a loss.  Yet there is also the knowing, deep down, of what they have brought to us in our all too brief time together.  That memory serves us well, teaching us what we had needed and desired, to be a better, more complete person.

            In that loss, that death, there are lessons to be learned, lessons on what we have needed and taken in, and grown from.  When the class is over, only then do we fully appreciate the lessons learned, the experience gained, the real benefit of being present for the lesson, the experience.

            At the end of a particular journey, the end of that special time when a special friend has come into my life and walked with me, only then do I first realize what I have experienced, what we had set out to learn, and how I needed to grow.  I look back, and only then see from where I have come, how far I have traveled, and the name of the road I am on.

            These dear ones who have passed on, the ones whose light I have needed along my own journey, have taught me great lessons, and deeply impacted my life.  I find that when they are gone, only then do I start to fully realize the gifts they have given me, the lessons they have taught me, and the special places they have held in my life.  Only then do I fully appreciate them, and find some sense of completeness and understanding of their presence in my life.

            Somehow, their teaching to me is not complete until they are gone. Only then do I learn all the lessons they have been teaching me.

            Only then is the full spectrum of the light they have shared revealed to me.

            Only then can grief lead me to the understanding I have been led to eventually discover.

--Neal Lemery 6/16/2017

Grieving for my Sister in Law

Grieving for my Sister in Law

Last week, my sister in law died.  I have found abundant tears, yet fewer words, to sort that news out, to find my way through the wilderness of grief and loss.  I am lost in my loss.  

Pancreatic cancer is an evil thing.  It has moved swiftly into my life, at many times, taking good people, long before I would even begin to contemplate that their time had come to leave us.  Pancreatic cancer is on my short list of things to loathe. 

When I heard the sad news, weeks, yes months before I expected it, a Christmas letter from a good friend had just arrived.  The letter started off with a quote:

“What is the sum total of a man’s life? I knew the answer, and it wasn’t complicated.  At the bottom of the ninth, you count up the people you love, both friends and family, and you add their names to the fine places you’ve been and the good things you’ve done, and you have it.”

—-James Lee Burke, Light of the World.

Each day is a gift, and each moment is precious.  We need to make the most of our lives, and to do what is right, and to bring joy into the world, for ourselves and for others.  And, I am too often rudely reminded that life is short, and should be cherished, in every moment.

My sister in law’s life was rich in family and friends.  She sought joy every day, joy in the simple things, the quiet moments.  I suspect she treasured the sunrise, and the moments with my brother, doing simple things, ordinary.  Yet, in their simplicity and plainness, there was sacred beauty and peace.

She enjoyed rich, strong coffee.  She baked miraculous biscotti to go along with it, as well as a variety of homemade pastas and bread.  

I have been blessed to have her in my life.  We were buddies, friends.  We laughed, we shared jokes and stories.  

One summer’s day, we conspired against my brother to wash his pickup.  We tricked him into driving it onto the lawn, and we scampered like mischevious children, armed with hoses and sponges, even getting into a water fight with my brother.  He resisted, but ended up laughing, soaking wet. His pickup was clean.

She retired last summer, and they took a long trip to Italy, her parents’ homeland.  I trust they found long warm afternoons to drink wine and sample great food.  They bought a new house, and were settling in to a new, relaxing life when she fell ill.  And, all too quickly, she left us.

My life is poorer now, with her gone.  But, in many ways, she is still here, in my heart.  She has enriched my life and brought joy to me.  For all of that, I am grateful for the all too brief time we had together.  

Again, I am reminded of the shortness of life, and the sweetness of life.  All we really have is this moment, and we should enjoy it.  

—Neal Lemery 12/9/2014

Precious and Painful

Life is precious and wonderful.  

I learned that lesson again this week, a week of turmoil, grief, and new beginnings.  

A good friend, suffering from a deadly, debilitating disease, moved on out of this world, taking charge of his life, and saying his good byes, and teaching us about life, its joys, and the wonderment of each day.  His final days offered new lessons to me about courage, and what one person can achieve in their life, about relationships, and the sacredness of a simple act of kindness.

I never got to express everything I feel about him, but then, we never do.  Life is like that, never having enough time to really fully communicate what another person means to us, how precious is our relationship with someone.  Too often, we live in the moment, and dance around the profound, the universal truth of the gifts others bring into our lives.  

A family member ended their life, leaving us with deep questions, and the pain of sudden grief, paradoxes, and the reopening of old wounds, and old questions about life.  Pain wracked my heart, bringing me closer to family, and reminding me of the importance of how we all need to care for and parent the survivors.  Two young children now don’t have a mother, but they do have our family, and we have a deeper appreciation of the time that we have with each other.

I helped a young man being released from prison.  I walked with him out of the prison gate, having him hear that metal slam behind him, and I drove him into the rest of his life.  Five years behind bars, ten years of foster care, two failed adoptions, the emptiness of no one visiting him these last five years. 

We loaded up all of his worldly possessions into my car, and drove off into the early morning gloam, the heavy rain attempting to drown our joy of that moment, and the prospects of a bright life ahead for this young man.  

We greeted the dawn at the beach, his first view of the ocean in five years, his first hour of only the sound of the wind and the waves, not sharing the dawn with twenty five other inmates in a prison dorm.  

There was ice cream with breakfast, and buying a new book by his favorite author, and a long drive through the forest, where each turn in the road offered yet another view of the world, without bars and fences.  

We dealt with bureaucracy, mind-numbing forms and questionnaires, more waiting, and more interviews.  Yet, in all that, I witnessed his courage, his determination to move ahead, and begin his new life.  He knew where he was going, and he was prepared to forge ahead, on his own at last.

Through his eyes, I saw the world anew, and got a glimpse of what opportunity and hope can mean for one’s soul.  When all things are possible, and when you now have freedom to move ahead, and to take your first steps into a new world, to create your life, and move towards your dreams, then life is sweet and amazing.  

I walked with him, sitting in the dank waiting rooms of the probation office, transitional housing, the world of food stamps and public assistance.  I felt the cold stares of the security guards and the bureaucrats, their unfeeling hands as they searched me, judging me as a suspicious troublemaker, labeling me without knowing me.  This was just another day of institutional life for my young friend, and he flashed me a grin, letting me know that you can endure the labeling, the indifferent bureaucrats, and mind-numbing waiting, because today was his first day of freedom.  

At dinner, we toasted his freedom, and the future that he now held in his hand.  He chatted with the waitress about looking for work, about being young and moving to the big city.   He laughed and grinned at the idea of a menu, and a linen table cloth, and a candle on the table, real silverware and real plates.  And, when the giant piece of chocolate cake was too much for him to eat, he laughed at the idea of taking the rest home to his new room, a midnight snack just for him, to eat it all by himself, his first night sleeping alone in five long years.  

This week offered me many lessons, and many voices on how life is precious, and wonderful, and not to be taken for granted.  In all of this, I played many roles, and was called upon to be the best of friends, the best of uncles, and the best of the driver and companion of a young man whose world was opening up, his life ready to fully bloom in the glories of the coming spring.  

Neal Lemery 3/30/2014

Dealing With Suicide and the Loss of A Friend

I don’t know what to say, or even think.  A friend of mine has gone, at a time and place and manner of his own choosing.  He left, not saying good bye, not asking for help with his pain, his choices.  But, then again, maybe he did, and we did not listen, or did not respond to what he asked.  At least, I did not hear him asking for a hand, or my ear, or even considering other choices.  Or, maybe I did.  And now, I do not know.  I am, at the least, confused and lost, and stumbling around in my grief, my impotence.  

Now, there is an emptiness, and a great unknowing.  The “what ifs” keep multiplying, and I am left with wonder, with sadness, and guilt.  “What if?”  “What if?”  

And, in the silence that follows my asking, there are no answers, only more questions.  

Friends of mine, closer to him that I was, are left empty, unknowing, wandering in the wilderness of uncertainty, of deeper questions which have no answers today.  My pain today is enough; I cannot imagine theirs.  

I search for answers that are not there.  I search for so much, for reasons, for explanations, for understandings, knowing that there is now only a cold wind blowing around my heart.  

Raw craziness, that is what is running amuck in my life now.  No answers, just more questions.  Not much solace, yet knowing that my friend was, at least for a second, at peace with himself and what he was doing.  

I was not on his road of life, and I did not know his journey.  In his departing, there is even more uncertainty in my mind as to what I might have known, might have done, might have loved him deeper, had he shared his pain, his questions, his journey.  But, he did not, and somehow I must accept that.  Yet, in that, I find myself angry, and unknowing, and uncertain.  I am confused, and enraged, yet what has been done was beyond what I could have done, and beyond what I am, and what I could have been to him.  

Old pains, and other suicides, and those still unanswered questions come back now, again reminding me of old wounds, unresolved enigmas, old doubts and tears.  I do not know.  I didn’t know then, and I still don’t know.  Old stuff, reopened, bleeding again, making new tears.  

Part of me wants answers, but I know that answers won’t ever come.  I move on, in life, yet I am left with wonderment, and enigma, and cold winds, ice in my heart that comes at unforeseen, strange times, dragging me back to old ghosts and old, unresolved times.  

The poet writes of what I feel, and points me towards forgiveness.  Yet, that word seems foreign to where I sit now, empty and alone, not knowing, not finding sanity in all of this.  The poet’s wisdom circles about me, aflame, trying to warm my cold, lonely heart.  

Perhaps, I should reach out, and accept that warmth, on this cold winter’s night.  

Forgiveness

By Marion Waterston, January 31, 2005

I guess I'll never know

All I want to know

Or understand

What can't be understood

But I believe it's time to forgive

Time to forgive you for leaving me

So abruptly and so painfully

And time to forgive myself

For talks we didn't have

Laughs we didn't share

Songs we didn't sing

Foolishly I thought that time was on our side

Can it be that time now wishes to atone for this betrayal

For tears no longer flow like endless rivers

Anger seems a wasted emotion

And dreams those dreaded night-time visitors

Can come as friends

Once again I smile at the innocence of children

The unabashed warmth of lovers

The enthusiastic affection of dogs

And although I do not see you my precious love

You are with me

So I guess I'll never know

All I want to know

Or understand

What can't be understood

But here in this quiet moment

It's time and I'm ready

To forgive.

Dealing With Death

Dealing With Death

“How do I deal with this?  a friend asked the other day, as we talked about the death of his friend, at a very young age.

And, I don’t know.  I’ve lost friends, relatives, people I work with, neighbors, people I’ve admired, so many people in my life.  After all that loss, you think I would have figured it out, and knew the answer to his question.

But, I don’t.  I explore my relationship with God, I contemplate the Universe, I search for my place in the world, who I am, where I am going, my own death.  I sometimes I think I have answers, but I also still have questions, big questions.

The questions nag me in the middle of the night, or when I have a thought reminding me of a loved one who has died.  The other day, when my friend asked me this question, his eyes tearing up with his pain and his loss, and his quest for the answer to his question. My usual full bag of advice and counsel didn’t produce a ready answer.  

Great poets, great writers, great artists, great theologians, and me and my friend keep coming back to the pain, the questions, the wondering.   

Some say there is a plan.  Yet, the work of the angel of Death seems chaotic, haphazard, completely random.  

I can have a rich, yet fleeting, conversation with someone close to me, and then next thing I know, I’m sobbing because they are suddenly gone from my life.  Or, I know they are dying, but I am still not ready for that phone call, telling me their time has come now, and not when we had thought.  What I want to be rational and reasonable is never that, not when I’m trying to understand Death.  

Death always screws up my plans.

I’m never ready for it, never ready for the news, the loss, the stumbling around that I do when someone close to me departs this world.  I’d like to think I can manage death, but I can’t.  Oh, I’m practiced in helping to plan funerals, and even saying comforting words, and helping others out.  I’ve mastered the legalities, and sometimes, I think I know the spiritual “final answer”, but not really.  

I’m really not very good at all this, and the dark void in the pit of my soul still aches, and I still cry out my laments.  

Sure, I move on.  I go forward.  That is, after all, what we have to do in this life.  And, I like to think that part of that person’s goodness and spirit lives on as a spark in my own self, and that their love and their goodness is part of the tapestry that is my life and my work in this world.  And, yes, all that is comforting.

Yet, I still don’t really know what to do, how to “handle this”, and to move on.  

I can sit with my friend, who mourns and weeps, and let him know there is love and kindness and compassion left in this world.  I can offer that and let him take what he needs now, to ease the bleeding of his own heart, and the void of his own emptiness.  

Perhaps that is enough, that empathy and compassion.  Perhaps that is the humanity I can offer, and how we can all try to deal with Death and loss, and our own sense of righteous abandonment and anger.  

I can live my own life well, with few regrets, and with passion and zeal.  Then, when it is my time to leave here, those who are left behind will have seen all that in me, and find some strange form of comfort in that, knowing I lived well and full, and that love remained strong in my heart, for all to see.

---Neal Lemery 10/26/2012