Tag Archives: grief

Waning

Look at the moon!

Husband beckons me to look out the car window on our late-night drive home from a weekend wedding. I scroll my phone looking for music to play, or maybe escape, and glance skyward.

Is that really the moon?

An orange orb dances behind a mountain ridge, peeking out occasionally. I catch a glimpse before it disappears again. I have been known to mistake a Burger King sign for this wonder of nature and am unsure whether to get excited about the glow.

Then it appears in full glory. Hanging from the sky as if about to be dropped to earth, larger than life, Mars twinkling by its side, the deep-orange, waning gibbous moon.

waning: the act of decreasing gradually in size, strength, power, etc. . .

I oohhhhh and ahhhhh appropriately, for I love the moon in whatever phase it shows up, but this one is stunning. It is comforting and kind and sad. That seems to be the way I hold life these days, comfort and kindness in the sadness.

Date saved since January, this eagerly anticipated wedding comes with unlikely surprises. We witness outdoors with masks and eat charcuterie from individual plastic cups and drink lemonade as we wait for dinner. It feels a lifetime ago that I sat poolside drinking a margarita on a work trip with my husband that same month.

Steve and I sit around a table with the Big Boss (not to be confused with the immediate boss whose wedding it was) and co-workers and their wives. We talk and wait for our table to be called. I do well managing the small talk.

Until I don’t.

I lose my steady, and my brain goes offline just long enough to float away.

What?

It is Steve’s Big Boss who looks at me quizzically.

Shoot. I just did the thing I don’t mean to do but sometimes happens. My kids say What? Why are you looking at me like that? or Mom, you’re dissociating. depending on who notices when this happens at home.

It’s my How can I be here doing this when my mom is home dying and family is in town visitng? face, and it has just come out at the wrong time, and I panic and have to be real.

I’m sorry.

I explain, and everyone is gracious and kind, and I am just sad. How can I rejoice and grieve simultaneously? This is my lesson in this season. The both, and.

Usually I keep the right feeling in the right place, but tonight sadness dumps out and lands in the middle of joy and the eyes that bear witness to the beginning of new life together hold me as ! grieve the end of another.

And the moon shines down on us all.

Waning.

Preamble to a Grief

It’s Friday morning. I set a 20 minute timer to write here, just for myself, to share with those who care to read. By the time you see this it will be afternoon. Or days, weeks, months later.

I feel a need to preamble, which I do now. This is important, because it lays ground rules and understanding and expectation, so I do not have to keep clarifying or explaining myself in the future.

Often when working with a client I will say, Let’s just write up (or simply name and pretend to write) the preamble of all of the good things and all the ways you are thankful and all the ways your parents loved you and all of the ways God is good (if they are a person of faith), etc….Now let’s talk about how there are still hard things and there is grief and your parents were human and we don’t always understand God and you were still harmed.

That helps us to jump right in with the basic assumptions that we don’t have to rehash every time something new surfaces.

I do that here with my current situation.

I am grateful. My parents loved me. Real Jesus is present. For reasons I can’t understand, I still have faith.

AND

I am grieving. My parents failed me. False Jesus was presented as judging me.

AND

I am seeing the goodness of God in the land of the living even as death lurks in the shadows. Redemption is near, close, beautiful. The hope of glory makes this present suffering bearable.

It is from this place that I write and remember and process.

I have deep support in the form of loving siblings, extended family, and friends.

We have laid such a deep foundation of healing work together, that in the midst of the ache and the grief we also find laughter and hope. Even in dying there is deep life.

I know it sounds strange, but it’s true.

As I write and share my experience here on the blog, it is from a place of deep grief and heartache, yet not from despair.

Infrastructure has been built and put into place over this past decade of my life specifically to carry me through this season. It is both brutal and beautiful to behold.

To understand more, I invite you to read this post that I wrote two summers ago for Red Tent Living.

This is the preamble for what is to come, however it looks. You don’t have to agree with or understand me. You don’t have to believe the same way I do to listen, lean in, and learn from my story.

I do ask for kindness.

Always kindness.

To my story and to yours.

Costco Run Grief

My Costco membership renews the same day I feel a burst of grief while shopping there. September 1. Yesterday. A deduction is listed in the banking app on my phone. Renewal fee. Has one year passed already?

It’s a quick run in with my husband for a bottle of wine and some beer.

Date night provisions.

I don’t grab a cart, because we are there for two things, and if I grab a cart I will fill it with extras. This is why we stopped our membership for a season. (You can read about that here, if you’re curious.)

It’s fun to look around, though, so my love and I take our time meandering through the aisles, dreaming of home improvements or new dishes or furniture. We finally arrive in the back of the store and part ways to make our separate choices.

I feel it rise in my chest. Grief in the form of a squeezing tightness. My eyes fill with tears that spill down my cheeks, and I know this is the feeling of loss. Unexpected loss. Another thing in a list of many.

Costco Run Grief

How many Costco runs have Mom and I done together?

How many times has she called me, the local daughter, to say, Let’s pretend I am visiting you from out of town, and I’ll take you shopping at Costco. I always get things for your siblings when I visit them. I want to take you on a Costco run. Get whatever you want. It’s on me.

How many breakfasts or coffees at Cinnamon Bear next door did we share before making a morning or early afternoon shopping trip?

How many times during that season of the cancelled membership, because money was tight (and even a “good deal” is not a deal if you can’t afford it), did she ask for a list of things she could pick up. She always added a few extras. Just because.

How many times?

How many times did we have the conversation that it was not expected for her to purchase my items but it was always appreciated when she did, and sometimes she let me write a check without protest because we learned to communicate about things like that?

When was our last trip to Costco together?

I don’t remember.

She was gone for the month of June, and life was still normal then, and summer vacation happened for me in July when she returned. We each did our own summer-during-a- pandemic-still things, knowing that there was always tomorrow or next time, until there wasn’t.

I took my son on a Costco run the day before he left for a trip out west. It was mid-August, and he needed some food and things, and that’s what moms do.

They take their kids shopping and make sure they are fed.

I remember thinking, This is one of my mom’s legacies. I am now shopping with my kid at Costco, and of course, I will buy him all of the things.

The following morning that son sat out on a back patio and had coffee with his grandma, and she went inside and cooked him eggs and bacon, and they shared one of the best times I have had with Grandma, Mom, before saying goodbye as he headed for his next adventure.

How many tears?

Tears fall freely as I try to finish this post. What am I even trying to say?

Costco Run Grief is real. It’s a vary real reminder that nothing is as it should be anymore and that nothing is guaranteed ~ not even the next shopping trip with my mother.

Instead my sister and I go to Food Lion today and try to make choices that will comfort and be palatable for her. We laugh at what’s not really funny and bristle at who said or did what, and at the end of the day collapse into the writing of words which is where the raw and the real is exposed.

And there is grief.

Donning a Garment of Praise

I am on worship team today.

I have said it before and will hold fast to it still, it’s always the team that God has ordained for that week.

Life is full. So very full.

I sat out of a complete two-month team rotation due to our family’s fall transition and the need to be present for them and not over-extended. Singing on worship team is a life-giving love of mine, but it can’t be at the expense of my family’s well-being. That’s not love.

This cycle offered one Sunday open. Singing on team requires the commitment of a Wednesday night practice and an all-morning Sunday presence, beginning at 7am. I have to look closely at my weeks and schedule and see what I can commit to with integrity.

Thanksgiving is coming up and Christmas. This year my entire extended family of origin will be in town for Christmas. Fourth Sunday is walker nursery. That’s always out. Stephen Ministry is two Tuesdays a month. It’s difficult to do both in the same week. All of these factors added up to one possible Sunday that I could be on team. I knew it wasn’t guaranteed, but I sent that date in anyway.

That is one of many things that I LOVE about our worship team. We are available and willing but not indispensable. It’s not about who is on stage but Who we are worshiping.

I got my one date. It was the first Sunday in November. I was excited to see who was on team with me and eager to be leading with them once again.

Then Mr. Bannister died.

Last Sunday, I was sitting with my family in our usual second row as my little Roo went on stage to join the church. The Bannisters were in their usual spot not far away.

At practice Wednesday night, I kept looking out over the sea of empty chairs and picturing their faces in their usual place. Warren and Linda are always in the far left section, the right if you are looking down from the stage. Warren’s height  made him easy to spot, and he always had a smile for me as he sang and worshiped.

Yesterday, I sat in our usual row as our church body gathered to remember Mr. Bannister and say goodbye.

So today I will don a garment of praise, though my spirit feels heavy.

Raised on the KJV and NKJV what has been running through my mind this week is Isaiah 61:3

To console those who mourn in Zion,
To give them beauty for ashes,
The oil of joy for mourning,
The garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness;
That they may be called trees of righteousness,
The planting of the Lord, that He may be glorified.

Today I will once again worship through grief.

It will not be about how I feel but about Who God is.