Memories of celebration

A former neighbor, an experienced grief counselor, said to me soon after Dianne died, "You will know your grief work is done when all your memories become memories of celebration, rather than memories of loss". Now there is a man who can speak of grief from personal experience. His first wife died. His second wife was diagnosed with MS a few years ago, and is now wheelchair bound. They have had to move out of Foxborough to a downtown condominium, with elevators.

In any case, I was permitted a glimpse of that Nirvana of celebration at lunch time today. On Wednesdays, during the summer, I get to have the privilege of granddaughter Molly's sunny company. That is a mid week ray of light, and a celebration in itself, during my lonely week. I usually try to do something special with her on Wednesdays. Today, we went to Andre's for lunch. For those not in KC, Ande's is a swiss chocolatier and dessert maker extraordinaire. It was a delight to see her enjoy the selection of the menu, and her special dessert. Andre's was a place where Dianne and I would, on occasion, go for special events or celebrations. For a brief, fleeting moment I celebrated the connection with happiness.

Waves of grief sweep over me at times, like hot flashes do to women. I am learning not to fight those waves, but to embrace them, and the wave disappears more quickly now than it did at the beginning of all this, and I am resigning myself less to tears.

Over the last two days, I have received observations from two respected people. The first is my dentist, in Lawrence, whom I have been seeing professionally for 23 years. He spoke of watching his father deal with the death of his mother, ten years ago. His father used to say that the silence was awful. Joe said it took his father at least a year to process and handle it all. Another friend, in his late forties, mourned the death of an older  male companion, lost to Alzheimer's Disease. Again that magic, rounded one year period of time came up. So, it looks as if I will have to be patient a while yet.

But I do see some improvement and decrease in  the sadness over all. I would like to quote Nicholas Wolterstorff again:

"By His wounds we are healed." In the wounds of Christ is humanity's healing.


Do our wounds also heal? This gaping wound in my chest - does it heal? What before I did not see, I now see; what before I did not feel, I now feel. But this raw bleeding cavity which needs so much healing, does it heal while waiting for healing? We are the body of Christ on earth. Does that mean that some of our wounds are his wounds, and that some of our wounds heal?


Is our suffering ever redemptive? I suppose the blood of the martyrs sometimes was. It was an instrument of God's peace. But my suffering over my son (wife), which I did not choose and would never choose: does that bring peace? How? To whom?


Is there something more to say than that death  is the mortal  enemy of peace? Can suffering over death - not living at peace with death, but suffering in the face of death - bring peace?


I leave you today to wrestle with the issue he raises, while I get ready for the proposed trip to  Denver tomorrow. Peace, love and compassion be with you all.  Geoff