Seasons of Loss

        This last year seems to have focused an inordinate amount on loss for us.
        As a congregation we read the book Being Mortal by Atul Gawande (New York: Metropolitan Books, 2014) which discusses end of life decisions and questions that are important for us to name and explore with our family members BEFORE the time comes for those decisions to be made.  It is an amazing book full of relevant stories and one I would recommend to everyone, regardless of your life situation, your age, your circumstances, or even your beliefs.  Death is a part of life and the sooner we recognize and plan for what we really want at the end, the better prepared we, and our loved ones who will walk us through the endings, will all be.
        This was followed by our Faith and Film night movie being If I Stay, which tells the story of a young girl caught between life and death and needing to make a decision about whether to live or not since her nuclear family has all been lost to the same accident that placed her in this limbo state.  This was a very thoughtful movie, bringing up questions of agency in our own endings but also family roles, what ultimately matters to each of us, and what decisions we make that either mirror our true values or act against them.
        In the midst of all of this my brother in law died, at the age of 52, from a stroke.  There was no warning, and no way to prepare. It just happened, leaving my husband and his family reeling, grieving, confused, and lost. 
        A few months later, the priest at the local Catholic Church died, at the age of 61, in a car accident.  He was a man I worked with and served with (I am one of the church's pianists) and who left behind a deeply grieving congregation.
       Then at the end of November my uncle, age 69, died of a heart attack.  Also an unexpected, unanticipated, very sudden, and very big loss for us.  That was the third unexpected, tragic death in the course of six months.
        Finally a friend I care about very much is dying of cancer.  This is now imminent.  She is a solo parent, and she leaves behind two teens.  And while cancer at some level leaves more time for loved ones to prepare, it is still devastating.  She is young, her children need her, and the loss around this feels huge. 
       All of these losses are in addition to those I usually face as the pastor of an older, aging congregation.  The deaths of older persons are still not easy, even though they may be more expected. 
       As I said, it has been a year of loss.
        I have found myself saying repeatedly to my family as they have walked through this year of loss, "Well, people aren't meant to live forever."  And that's true.  Reality is that we are all walking towards death.  None of us get out of the this life alive.  Our own deaths may seem more distant, but we walk towards them just the same, and as most of our losses this year show, "distant" could mean just around the corner.  Things happen, life happens, suddenly at times.  
        As I said above, death is a part of life: a natural, expected-at-any-moment, other side of the coin that is living.  While I will be the first to admit that I don't have a clue what death really means for those who leave this life, while I find that scripture really doesn't have a lot to say about after-life (though there have been many misinterpretations that say otherwise), still I have a sense of some kind of continuance. I believe strongly that whatever death looks like, we are loved through it just as we are loved through life. Additionally, I have never felt that my relationship with someone is over once they've died.  I still talk to those who've died.  I still imagine, and sometimes feel, I might actually hear their responses.  I still feel their presence or spirit as something that continues within my memories of our times together, in the retelling of their stories and in the ways I have learned, grown, and changed because of them.  I still meet them in the ways that those around me also have been changed and the ways their lives reflect the values and lives that those who passed have led.
        But still, with all of this, grief is real.  Our relationships with those who have died are different now.  We can no longer call them, or check in with them, or see what they are doing in the same way.  Sharing a meal or going for a walk together, having a good laugh, hugging and connecting with a touch or smile - these things are no longer possibilities.  It's no longer possible to make new memories with them, to have experiences together in the same way, to physically be in the same space, sharing, working, playing, being together.  And that changes everything in a day to day way.
       So I'm left with the same questions I always have - what do we do with this?  What are the lessons for us in times like this, and where do we take our grief when it can be overwhelming?
        First, grief is different for every person.  Even within those differences though, it isn't something we can avoid or put off or ignore.  It has to be walked through in order to move us to a new place.  This is never comfortable, but it must be done.  Trying to not feel our grief means it will erupt in other, potentially harmful ways.  We are given these feelings as a pathway to healing and feeling them is the only way through.
       Second, we don't walk this alone.  God is there with us experiencing this as well.  We have a companion in this who sees beyond us and is there to love us through it all.  But also, all of us experience loss.  All of us experience grief.  We've been given community to walk with us and to care for us.  Finding people to share your grief and feelings of loss is so important during these times.  Standing with one another, supporting one another - these are essential.
      Finally, I believe our grief, our sense of loss, our devastation sometimes, is a sign of just how deeply we care.  It is a reminder of something absolutely beautiful and that is the love we have for one another.  Grief can also remind us not to take for granted what we have this day, this moment, in this place.  It can be a gentle push to honor those with whom we travel THIS day knowing that tomorrow is not a guarantee.
        Be good to one another, because we do not know when is the last time we will see someone.  We do not know when will be the last chance we have to tell a person we love them, value them, see them as a beautiful person.  Apologies, expressions of gratitude, kindnesses, words of love and grace - all of these cannot be offered too often, or too soon.