SEPTEMBER 27 To keep a lamp burning we have to keep putting oil in it —MOTHER TERESA At first we are almost immobilized We what we have to and are grateful for the customs and rituals that guide us through those first days There are many to care for us—other loved ones, friends, members of our community of faith But then that wave of support recedes and we must learn to assume care of ourselves How to that? We may cultivate new interests Do we have a talent for painting? For music? Artistic ventures are wonderful ways to lose oneself in work—and also, often, to express one’s grief Some people seek out grief recovery groups, in which you can share what is in your heart without wondering whether you’re imposing on friends who may not understand your need to tell your story again and again Some join service networks like Foster Grandparents or Alive Hospice, which helps the dying and their families The important thing is that, like a lamp that needs oil, we, too, need to keep our sources of healing and energy fed I have the power—and responsibility—to keep my life moving SEPTEMBER 28 For now we see in a mirror, dimly, but then we will see face to face Now I know only in part; then I will know fully, even as I have been fully known And now faith, hope, and love abide, these three; and the greatest of these is love —I CORINTHIANS 13:12-13 How we long to be known to one another Or we? For many of us there persists the suspicion: if you really knew me, you wouldn’t like me But in therapy groups and sharing groups across the land comes the astonishing discovery: to really know me is to love me Not because I am perfect—far from it—but because in sharing my vulnerability and pain and weakness, I become understood and accepted In the strength of that gift, I can grow and change Like newly tilled earth, I am ready for fresh seeds, for new growth The “now” and “then” in the passage from Paul’s letter to the church at Corinth describe the clouded and imperfect knowledge and love we experience in life, and the state of full enlightenment and love we will know on the other side of death When burdened with feelings of self-doubt and anxiety about unresolved conflict, I will try to imagine a truly forgiving world SEPTEMBER 29 Haste, haste, has no blessing —SWAHILI PROVERB At first we are so busy—so much to do, people to talk with, arrangements to make Then come the quiet times, and in some ways they are harder to bear Our loneliness stares out at us from the mirror All the places we used to go to together, we go to alone Even if we go with someone else, the gap is still there In defense, we may start to hurry about, hoping that by keeping ourselves so busy, maybe we won’t notice how much it hurts It’s good to be active, of course We need other people, and activities in which to involve ourselves But don’t make the mistake of doing this to hide from grief It will find us in the end and demand its hearing To inhabit the province of grief for a while is, oddly enough, its own comfort It is, for a period, our home; it is where we belong, and we need to rest there in quiet and at leisure until we understand its spaces and its meaning Then we can move on Without hurry or panic I will dwell in the house of my grief SEPTEMBER 30 All that we Is touched with ocean, yet we remain On the shore of what we know —RICHARD WILBUR We who stand close to the mystery of death yearn to know more What is it like to make that crossing? Is it a crossing, or is this the end? In the power of faith and hope, we believe that our loved ones have gone on to greater glory But what is that like? The old images of palaces and golden streets don’t work for us anymore What, then? Do the dead know our lives? Do they know how we love and miss them? People who report near-death experiences tell of hovering above their bodies watching efforts to resuscitate them—and report moving toward images of light and love so inviting that it is almost difficult to come back And when they—or any of us—die, our spirits stay around for a while and then move on? Do our loved ones come to meet us when we go? We can’t know the answers to these questions, but we play with them from time to time, and trust that we will learn what we need to know when we need to know it So we stand at the edges, and wonder I trust that what is unknown to me is for my good and my ultimate peace and joy OCTOBER They that sow in tears shall reap in joy He that goeth forth and weepeth, bearing precious seed, shall doubtless come again with rejoicing, bringing his sheaves with him —PSALM 126 This reference in the Bible is for a people far from home, anticipating their return It can also be a metaphor for following the grief process courageously, confident that after a season of winnowing and growing, we will come back to our state of equilibrium, even joy, enriched and made strong and productive by our difficult passage through grief Had we not ventured forth into this strange and new terrain—had we stayed back, unwilling to move—we would not return in joy with the riches of our difficult passage We carry these riches not only for ourselves, but for others who will need our help as they in turn venture into their own journeys of recovery May we be brave to set forth, brave to continue when we reach lands that are new and strange to us, brave to trust those who are there to help us, brave and compassionate as we return to help others I will set forth on this journey in hope and trust What more have I to lose? And how much to gain! ... their return It can also be a metaphor for following the grief process courageously, confident that after a season of winnowing and growing, we will come back to our state of equilibrium, even joy,