Remember what I said about gently falling snow and writing?
It's quiet tonight. Unusual for a Tuesday.
I'm stealing these few moments with a cup of coffee and a stroopwafel, which is an amazing concoction courtesy of our dutch friends. In fact, it's best with black coffee because it's very rich, and fact is, I almost never drink black coffee. Further, I've just started to get my life in order and try to cut out and back on food consumption. Every once in awhile it's time to reign it in. And that is now. Because desk job. Holy Toledo. Desk job. Just throw the scale in the trash.
But it's snowing, so, stroopwafel treat.
I've been thinking about my Grandma. That darn social media keeps bringing up 2014. Every few days I see a new reminder of the time I waited for death. It was a precious, agonizing, tender, memory-laden, achingly sweet time as those who loved her watched her physically waste away as her spirit gained momentum for home. Eleven years prior to that I also waited for death. And my Grandma waited for me to come. It is a very, very special moment when a dying person requests your presence. You are ushered into a sacred space, where the eternal nears the mortal. Where the dying are letting go. Where hands touch yours to slip away. Where someone is waiting. Just for you.
It means you are beloved.
It is quiet. It is sacred. Jesus is coming. And we're waiting. Here with you. We're waiting for you to release our hand and we will know that in that moment you have taken another. It is exquisite and painful.
It feels. Final. And it can choke the life right out of you. I've mentioned how I hate crying in front of people. This is why: I cannot fully expel my emotions in the presence of others. It is a physical need I have to release stress, sadness, pain; but I cannot feel the freedom to let it go, let it goooo, with an audience. That completely goes out the window in this scenario. Grief overwhelms me. It wraps me in a blanket of sorrow and wrings out every last tear.
I remember giving a tribute at the funeral. One of the most difficult things I've ever publicly done. Giving a speech can be difficult in general; I've given many; but, delivering during emotional duress is another matter entirely. I couldn't even focus on the service until it was my turn. I am still so proud of myself for holding all of my emotions in check until my speech. It is almost a physical impossibility for me to do that. As soon as I stood at the podium and looked over the crowd, well, it kicked right in. It felt like forever until I could formulate some words. I turned toward the casket, and I knew I could do this for my Grandma. It would be my last act of service and I would not let this moment go to waste.
It was my most memorable speech. I remember everything about it. I remember the faces in the audience. I remember the reactions. I remember Ryan's face, my silent champion - "You're doing it! You are doing a phenomenal job. I'm so proud." This is what I love about him - we can have a whole conversation with just looks and nods. He knew how hard this was for me and how much I wanted to do it right. He gets me. And the crowd got me. And they understood my Grandma. And what a special lady she was.
I did absolutely lose every piece of my dignity the moment I took my seat and my brother took the podium. Absolutely. Lost. It. Sorry, Bro, I basically heard zero percent of your speech so engulfed in body shaking sobs was I. I paid tribute. And then I was finally able to let go and grieve.
It's a process, grief. No matter what we are grieving. I've recently grieved the loss of a job. I've grieved the loss of friendships. It simply means a time of loving and living has ended, and you are trying to align the change.
I'll continue to see these memories until the first week in March for that is when we laid Grandma to rest. I tend to cry a lot but my eyes were permanently puffed after that four day trip home. They might still have some remnants of the day. It's about love. Grief is about love. As long as you love, grief will always be nearby. It is a companion for your journey, though sometimes quiet.
Embrace grief for it means you have put your heart into life. You have loved hard. You have invested yourself in a task. You have done what you set out to do. Grief is there to reassure you.
Grief also has a companion named Joy. The two mix and mingle throughout time and each adds its own blessing and is a benediction for our days. These two go with you always. May they create memories that define you until the end of your days.
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