One of the many lessons from grief is that every one and every thing we have in this life is ON LOAN...that may sound harsh, but for me, it's an understood and accepted fact. Our loved ones, our cherished photographs, our homes, our material items, our clothes, all of it, ON LOAN for the time we have with them, however amount of time that is destined to be...all of it, simply, ON LOAN.
At Allison's memorial service and celebration of life, a dear man, Mr. Dickson, stood at the pulpit and read for us the poem, GOD'S LOAN, a poem written by Edgar A. Guest about the "loan" of a child. Mr. Dickson knew full well the meaning of every word, as his own Jasmine had entered the gates of heaven at ten years old. I had never run across the poem until it was time to find just the right words and tributes to express our lives with Allison. I could have never truly understood the words had Allison not left us all too soon. But, once Joe and I read it, we knew it said everything we felt and needed to say.
"I'll lend you for a little time, a child of mine, " God said....it went on to say about the child...He'll/She'll bring his/her charms to gladden you, and shall his/her stay be brief, You'll have his/her lovely memories, as solace for your grief.
I have read the poem more times than I can count in these six years since she's been gone, and every time since, when another "child" leaves his/her mother, father, sister, brother, family, friends. Whether it's the baby who was here for less than 24 hours to bring faith and hope to her parents, whether it's the son who was killed on the motorcycle, the daughter or son who felt this side of heaven was too much and took matters into her/his own hands, the soldier killed in war, or the son whose short life was taken by cancer. Every day, whether we know them personally or not, we learn of another "child" who leaves grieving people behind. And each time, for me, I hear the words of this poem ring more true and more real.
I cannot promise he/she will stay, since all from earth return,
But shall the angels call him/her, much sooner than we've planned,
We'll brave the bitter grief that comes,
And surely understand.
This brings me back to our children, our possessions, everything we know in this world being ON LOAN to us. This has never rang more true than in recent times. Losing our loved ones in circumstances none of us ever grew up in... Our homes to storms and to financial ruin... Our material items, the "things" we once thought were necessary that we now know we can live without. Our images, the ones we put on for the world we entered each day and night. Our youth...our health...our clothing, jewelry, furnishings, livelihoods, everything that surrounds us, all ON LOAN. For in one tiny little instant, life as we knew it can be gone, wiped away, destroyed, and vanished. As we know, ashes to ashes, dust to dust...everything on earth this side of heaven.
For me, the lesson comes in understanding the loans of life. Recent events in Boston have driven home the point even deeper and more soulfully. The tragedy. The pain. The unbelievable losses of limbs and lives. Yet, the resilience. The coming together of mankind and a nation to forget differences and to unite as one. Tragedy and loss can do this, and in my family, I am so proud to say, through the time God loaned us Allison, we have been able to comprehend the meaning of being ON LOAN, we have understood the definition of words like embrace, savor, persevere, love, live, hope and try. We truly know the meaning of one day at a time. We have our challenges, grief still brings us to our knees, my heart cries daily, and then more deeply when I hear of one more loss, one more child, one sweet boy who went to watch his father at the Boston Marathon, a young policeman who was basically executed in his patrol car, a beautiful young lady whose grandmother shared the thoughts that no grandmother or mother should bury the young, and the student at a local university who came to the city of Boston for all it has to offer. For those of us who call Boston "home", this is yet another reminder that the gifts and blessings ON LOAN from above are to be cherished and adored. The view of the city as I get off the plane and on the boat, I stand there each time and get chills. The bay, the ocean, the history, the people, all ON LOAN for as long as the terms stay standing. One day, as the poem says, all of us from earth will return. In the meantime, from sea to shining sea, whether we leave our hometown or homes or not, the blessings remain and we can find them, we just have to keep looking.
Sunday, April 21, 2013
Thursday, March 21, 2013
Through My Eyes
I did not realize until I opened my blog this morning that it has been a year to the day that I last posted (I began writing this on 3/15/2013). I have thought about it, attempted it, only to find that I had no words....thoughts, feelings, emotions, yes, but no words to explain them. So, I let it go, and in doing so, a part of me maneuvered the journey of life without expression, at least verbally, and without words. I have come to understand that writing was, and is, a part of my own personal therapy. It helps me grieve, release, move, grow, express, and in doing so, live.
So, why today? I would imagine it has so much to do with Allison's upcoming "birthday", and as I read part of last year's entry, I know the birthday serves as a type of trigger we grieving parents and siblings and relatives know all too well. She would be 28 years old, yet through my eyes, she is that baby born on March 19th, she is the dawning of spring and sunshine and flowers, she is that "forever 21" young woman on the threshold of all of life, she was imperfect in this world, as are we all, but now, she is perfect. She is pure and whole and well. She is beauty in it's most natural state. She is my constant companion, my delight, my joy and my compass. She is, and always will be, my baby.
Still, through my eyes, I wonder. I experience such pain when I wonder who she'd be today. What would 28 years old mean to her, and to us? She'd be an aunt to Isaac, she'd be making decisions about a career, a life, maybe a spouse, maybe her own children. The pain often comes from seeing all of her friends make career decisions, hold baby or wedding showers, housewarmings, and such. Painful? Indeed! With the social networking available to us, I still seek her face in the pictures posted on Facebook, at the weddings, when all her friends are gathered as bridesmaids OR as the bride, at the baby showers, when everyone is congregated around the pregnant mom, OR last year, when her sister was waiting for Isaac to be born and being adorned with all sorts of festivities. I look for her face in yesterday's St. Patrick's Day celebration photos because I know she would be right there, but she is not. She is no longer there. But, through my eyes, she is, she is there. I see her when perhaps no one else does, maybe in a shadow, maybe in the eyes of others, maybe as her face would look to me now, growing and aging as her sister and friends are doing, appropriately so, and beautifully so.
Through my eyes...I look in the mirror and I see her reflection in my own eyes. I see that she continues to be in all of us. I see her in EVERY season, for she truly embraced them all. They each held excitement and wonder for her, and now, with every bloom, snowflake, ice storm, humid and hot day, there she is, through my eyes, I see her, and through my spirit, I feel her, and in my soul, I know her.
Through my eyes, I truly cannot help but see things differently. I live with one part of my being in the present, and the other, in the future, and the future being eternity. Sure, I look back, the memories DO sustain me, they aren't as painful now, they bring a smile to my soul, and an image to my mind. But, in doing so, it is still the future I look to, and not the one necessarily HERE, on this side of heaven. I suppose one cannot lose a child or a loved one without looking through the eyes of eternity. I know that I cannot! I also know that one cannot reach the physical age of nearly 60 without understanding that we are in our twilight years. I sometimes wonder if that seems morbid, but to me, through my eyes, it does not. I want the sweet assurance that Allison had that eternity would be beautiful. She knew it in her beliefs, but she also knew it as I rocked her to eternal sleep, in my arms like a baby, not a full grown woman, uttering words that came to me from someplace deeper than my self. Through my eyes, I envision that moment, often, thanking God for the wherewithal to utter the sweet words in her ear, help to calm her fears, and help her go to the place we will all someday be, forever and ever, for all of our eternal days. So, it is truly no wonder I see life after this one, through my eyes. I can't say I always give thanks for this knowledge, for I know how I attained it. Others learn it earlier than I did, and live all of their days with the eye on the life hereafter. That is what I strive to do, to learn, to read, to say NO when I must, and say YES when I can. I yearn to assure my own place in eternal glory, knowing that what we have here is temporal. I have known it since the day Allison was diagnosed and later, passed in our arms. All things can be replaced, but not time, bodies, or often, health.
Appropriately, years ago, I titled this blog, "This is the day the Lord has made, let us rejoice and be glad in it"...I do falter, I do stop, I do not know how to go on some days, I do miss so much about our Allison that I would give anything to see her again. Anything. But I don't have the option. I have choices that only I can make. I have never stopped looking for that daily miracle, the reason to keep going, getting up and making movement, growing in spirit and love. Even in my darkest hour, I came to accept that bringing Allison back, having her here to welcome Isaac into the world, celebrate her birthday, travel, join her on holidays was not going to happen, again, ever again...there are no more options. So, through my eyes, I find her, I often don't even need to seek, she is there, she is in Isaac's incessant laughter, in Jennifer's beauty as a new mother, in her friends' celebrations and life's milestones, in her father's sensitive heart, in the beauty of spring, in upcoming family weddings and future babies, and on this 28th birthday, through my eyes, I see her even more clearly, she is reflected in all of us, and as we were told most recently, "you all wear her well", I hope we do, Allison, I sure hope we do.
So, why today? I would imagine it has so much to do with Allison's upcoming "birthday", and as I read part of last year's entry, I know the birthday serves as a type of trigger we grieving parents and siblings and relatives know all too well. She would be 28 years old, yet through my eyes, she is that baby born on March 19th, she is the dawning of spring and sunshine and flowers, she is that "forever 21" young woman on the threshold of all of life, she was imperfect in this world, as are we all, but now, she is perfect. She is pure and whole and well. She is beauty in it's most natural state. She is my constant companion, my delight, my joy and my compass. She is, and always will be, my baby.
Still, through my eyes, I wonder. I experience such pain when I wonder who she'd be today. What would 28 years old mean to her, and to us? She'd be an aunt to Isaac, she'd be making decisions about a career, a life, maybe a spouse, maybe her own children. The pain often comes from seeing all of her friends make career decisions, hold baby or wedding showers, housewarmings, and such. Painful? Indeed! With the social networking available to us, I still seek her face in the pictures posted on Facebook, at the weddings, when all her friends are gathered as bridesmaids OR as the bride, at the baby showers, when everyone is congregated around the pregnant mom, OR last year, when her sister was waiting for Isaac to be born and being adorned with all sorts of festivities. I look for her face in yesterday's St. Patrick's Day celebration photos because I know she would be right there, but she is not. She is no longer there. But, through my eyes, she is, she is there. I see her when perhaps no one else does, maybe in a shadow, maybe in the eyes of others, maybe as her face would look to me now, growing and aging as her sister and friends are doing, appropriately so, and beautifully so.
Through my eyes...I look in the mirror and I see her reflection in my own eyes. I see that she continues to be in all of us. I see her in EVERY season, for she truly embraced them all. They each held excitement and wonder for her, and now, with every bloom, snowflake, ice storm, humid and hot day, there she is, through my eyes, I see her, and through my spirit, I feel her, and in my soul, I know her.
Through my eyes, I truly cannot help but see things differently. I live with one part of my being in the present, and the other, in the future, and the future being eternity. Sure, I look back, the memories DO sustain me, they aren't as painful now, they bring a smile to my soul, and an image to my mind. But, in doing so, it is still the future I look to, and not the one necessarily HERE, on this side of heaven. I suppose one cannot lose a child or a loved one without looking through the eyes of eternity. I know that I cannot! I also know that one cannot reach the physical age of nearly 60 without understanding that we are in our twilight years. I sometimes wonder if that seems morbid, but to me, through my eyes, it does not. I want the sweet assurance that Allison had that eternity would be beautiful. She knew it in her beliefs, but she also knew it as I rocked her to eternal sleep, in my arms like a baby, not a full grown woman, uttering words that came to me from someplace deeper than my self. Through my eyes, I envision that moment, often, thanking God for the wherewithal to utter the sweet words in her ear, help to calm her fears, and help her go to the place we will all someday be, forever and ever, for all of our eternal days. So, it is truly no wonder I see life after this one, through my eyes. I can't say I always give thanks for this knowledge, for I know how I attained it. Others learn it earlier than I did, and live all of their days with the eye on the life hereafter. That is what I strive to do, to learn, to read, to say NO when I must, and say YES when I can. I yearn to assure my own place in eternal glory, knowing that what we have here is temporal. I have known it since the day Allison was diagnosed and later, passed in our arms. All things can be replaced, but not time, bodies, or often, health.
Appropriately, years ago, I titled this blog, "This is the day the Lord has made, let us rejoice and be glad in it"...I do falter, I do stop, I do not know how to go on some days, I do miss so much about our Allison that I would give anything to see her again. Anything. But I don't have the option. I have choices that only I can make. I have never stopped looking for that daily miracle, the reason to keep going, getting up and making movement, growing in spirit and love. Even in my darkest hour, I came to accept that bringing Allison back, having her here to welcome Isaac into the world, celebrate her birthday, travel, join her on holidays was not going to happen, again, ever again...there are no more options. So, through my eyes, I find her, I often don't even need to seek, she is there, she is in Isaac's incessant laughter, in Jennifer's beauty as a new mother, in her friends' celebrations and life's milestones, in her father's sensitive heart, in the beauty of spring, in upcoming family weddings and future babies, and on this 28th birthday, through my eyes, I see her even more clearly, she is reflected in all of us, and as we were told most recently, "you all wear her well", I hope we do, Allison, I sure hope we do.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)