NOVEMBER 16 …And I knew… That when the sea comes calling you stop being good neighbors, Well acquainted, friendly from a distance neighbors, And you give your house for a coral castle, And you learn to breathe under water —CAROL BIALOCK We’ve known that death is a part of life We’ve been present to grieving friends—maybe passed through other grief experiences ourselves But each experience of grief is new, always asks its own questions, demands its own answers Even when the loss of a loved one comes after a long illness, so that we are “prepared,” and surely when death comes suddenly, without warning, we must step over into a new country The colors are different, the air has a different feel, and the sounds have a different echo from what they had before There is, now, nothing academic, philosophically removed and comfortable about it “Of course I know everyone has to die” becomes a sudden intake of breath, a casting about for “What I now? What I next?” And we learn the colors and sounds of this new world, and after a while it becomes our world Somewhere deep in my being is the seed of peace NOVEMBER 17 Everything in life that we really accept undergoes a change So suffering must become love That is the mystery —KATHERINE MANSFIELD It doesn’t happen right away We are too preoccupied with our own deprivation and sadness And we need time to mull over our lives, to go over and over what we have lost, what we are going to do, what the future may hold And it probably doesn’t happen—that suffering becomes love—because we will it so But all the time we are struggling with our grief and its meaning, the seeds of a new compassion are germinating in our psyches Because we have suffered, we are tenderhearted toward others Because our own defenses have been peeled away, we have a new perspective on what it means to be vulnerable, and we recognize the vulnerability of others Because we recognize how closely we are all connected to one another, in a way we become porous, transparent—people whom the light shines through And the light, which is love illuminated, reaches those around us and perhaps they, too, become able to take the risk of loving Together we realize that “no man [or woman] is an island.” We know that, while we are still sad, we are not alone, and that love, often forged out of sadness, is life’s greatest gift to us all Love is a mystery in which I dwell, grateful and unafraid NOVEMBER 18 I don’t really remember the day I first felt that all was not irremediably lost Was it a child’s smile that awoke me, or a sign of sadness exposed in a place I didn’t want it seen? Or a sense of responsibility? Or had I finally given up on despair? Perhaps I was simply caught up again in the game of life —ANNE PHILIPE It comes as a surprise to us Almost, we never thought it would happen But one day we realize we are taking pleasure in the world once more It is doubly a gift—this rediscovery of the joy of life—because we thought it was gone from us forever And there it is—like early spring flowers, pushing their way through March’s lingering snow They are an unexpected gift and their beauty calls our attention to new life all around us My step quickens, my heart leaps in gratitude, for the surprising return of the beauty in the world NOVEMBER 19 We are, perhaps uniquely among the world’s creatures, the worrying animal We worry away our lives, fearing the future, discontent with the present, unable to take in the idea of dying, unable to sit still —LEWIS THOMAS Easier said than done, to get rid of all that But we recognize its wisdom—the futility of worrying, the danger of being so agitated toward life that we can’t savor the wonders of the moment, can’t even sit still! Fred Buechner has written about “the family worrier”—the one who takes on the worries about money and health and schedules and the durability of the family car, thereby freeing the others for more spontaneous and joyous pursuits Perhaps, for a breather—anytime, but maybe particularly when we feel burdened with heavy grief—we can make a conscious decision to “give it over,” as the early believers used to say—give to God (or the air, or some strong, stalwart tree) the whole swirling current of our grief and our agonizing about the meaning of life and death, and just drink in the moment! Worry has been described as the ultimate self-indulgence I don’t need it! NOVEMBER 20 Take time to plan your future…If it is financially possible for you, stay in your own home, with the familiar things around you Later, if you go away, if you travel, even if you decide to make your home elsewhere, the spirit of tenderness, of love, will not desert you You will find that it has become part of you, rising from within yourself; and because of it you are no longer fearful of loneliness, of the dark, because death, the last enemy, has been overcome —DAPHNE DU MAURIER The painter Andrew Wyeth, when asked why he didn’t travel around more, is reputed to have said, “The familiar frees me.” Perhaps the familiar also frees us to grieve, even as it wraps around us with memory and its own comfort Or it may keep us in bondage After her husband’s death, a friend removed from her house almost immediately the old brown chair he most often sat in It was one way of acknowledging that he was gone, that her life had entered a new chapter For someone else, it might have been a comfort to sit in that chair We each have to find our own way I will be careful, knowing the familiar can free me or imprison me ... grieve, even as it wraps around us with memory and its own comfort Or it may keep us in bondage After her husband’s death, a friend removed from her house almost immediately the old brown chair