Grief and Love

Today would have been my Grandaddy's 96th birthday, and as my Facebook memories from five years ago remind me of his last birthday on Earth, I am feeling lots of happy and sad emotions rise to the surface. We also laid my Granny to rest last week, and while we are glad she is finally free of pain, there is a pain we feel in her passing knowing we will not have the benefit of her physical presence in our lives anymore. I have so many wonderful memories with these amazing people, and I suspect the gap left by their passing will never really be filled. 

Granny's very recent illness and death have prompted some difficult conversations with my kids, and many tears have been shed in my household in the last few weeks. My youngest guy was hit especially hard by the news, and as I tried to comfort him, I heard myself saying, "When we love someone deeply, we grieve their absence deeply. So, that sadness you feel is really just the love that you have for Granny." It was then I understood that grief and love are the same thing. We only grieve deeply what and who we have loved deeply. Grief is evidence of love. I don't think any of us would want to give up the beautiful, amazing, magical feelings that come from giving and receiving love, but we often tend to try to hide from grief. We seem to think of grief as "bad" because it comes with tears and snot and wrecked mascara and an ache inside of us that doesn't feel comfortable in any way. But in this season of grief, I am realizing that love is also present, and for that I am so incredibly thankful. 

When I was with the family last week sorting through the things death forces a person to leave behind, we came across a journal where my grandmother had jotted down thoughts and quotes. None of the entries were dated, but from the pages, in her own handwriting, she was able to encourage me in my grief about her death and let me know I wasn't the first to realize the connection between grief and love. I didn't read every page of her journals, but those things that were most needed were the things that presented themselves. I will not be ashamed of my grieving or try to stop myself from experiencing it, for it only means that my heart has had the opportunity to know great love. 

Here is what I discovered in my Granny's journal, with the acknowledgement that I do not know whether she was quoting from other sources or if they were her original thoughts:

No life without death

Imagine:

The wind blows--maybe gently or maybe violently--enough to shake a seed free from it's parent plant, which may be a small, insignificant weed or a majestic, towering tree. Depending on the weight of that seed, it either sails along on the breeze until the wind loses its breath and sets it down in some far-flung location, or it plummets swiftly to the hard earth with a thud. It may sit on the ground neglected for years. Or it may be snapped up by the sharp, unforgiving beak of a passing bird and deposited far away and left bruised. Eventually, though, it sinks into the dirt, moving further and further into the darkness. It is isolated and apparently cut off completely from the world it once knew. It settles into the isolation and seems to disappear completely. But above the surface of that never ending night, the sun keeps coming up every day. Water from unknown sources finds its way to the seed and offers whatever nourishment it can give. And after the appropriate amount of time, something strange begins to happen inside the seed. Something from within reaches for the light that isn't even visible. Some instinct demands that it take in the water as it flows all around. The seed does not remain the same. In fact, it is ultimately destroyed. Its shell is shattered, and it can no longer even be called a seed. But in its place a new, beautiful, life-giving entity emerges. And when it has left the darkness behind for good, it continues to move toward the light, becoming a more beautiful, more perfect version of what it was all along. 

It's interesting that the process of growth and life can feel so much like death and destruction. It's fascinating that something so beautiful can come from such difficult circumstances. Truly, it is the only way. The seed was always meant to become something amazing. But it never could have done so without the process that seemed like death. 

As it is with plants, so it is with people. Let us not resist the process that makes us who we are meant to be, even if it feels like death at times. And when we find ourselves buried in the darkness, let us not be overwhelmed by fear. Rather, let us keep reaching for those things and people who nourish us. Parts of us will surely be destroyed in the process, but that is okay. That's how growth works. The beautiful, life-giving parts of us will remain, and that is our gift to the world.