Every once in a while it seems a window opens that blows fresh air into my soul on a deeper than normal level. I never expected the emotional journey of grief to be one of those windows.
Two weeks ago Margaret and I spent the day in a hospital cafeteria while our son had surgery to repair his heart. We sat there with family and friends waiting for the phone to ring, with news about Ryan, but also awaiting news on Margaret’s father. Just two days earlier Jesse had fallen and broken his pelvis. The injury was more than his declining health could handle and his systems were shutting down rapidly.
We sat there in the hospital waiting at the edge of life for news about two of the men I respect most. We were unprepared to lose Margaret’s Dad on the day Ryan’s heart found “new life.” The two strands of uncertainty turned that day into a moment at the seam between life and death that puts a whole lot of stuff into perspective.
In a poetic way, both Ryan and Jesse went home at the same time the next day. Ryan’s surgery was successful, so he was released mid-day sent home to recover. At that very moment, while driving Ryan home, Jesse was released to go home as well… home to the Savior that he loved. Both men stepped into a new chapter of life together.
That week and the one that followed were more emotionally draining than I would have guessed. They were days of memories and sorrow and letting go and loving one another and loving Jesus. They were days of in-your-face reminder that life is fragile and because of that truly sacred. They were days where grieving reminded us that the mosaic of people and moments that fill our days are worth celebrating.
It has caused me to do a lot of thinking about the relationship between grief and the well-being of my soul. It is amazing how much the grieving process accesses and cleanses out the accumulated clutter in the deep recesses of the soul. In moments like this, you cannot escape the fact that real life happens on a much deeper level than most daily activity.
There is something about living in a soul-deep way that awakens the senses of the spirit and unleashes true peace in spite of the torrent around us.
[fyi: this is the bookend essay to one from last March on life being fragile and sacred.]
I can relate and understand the waiting in hospital.
My daughter has cerebral palsy and has had many, many surgeries over her hearly 22 years.
Life is sometimes hard, but God IS good.
God is always good. And I cannot imagine what it has been like as a mother to sit in those scarry moments. It seems that our children have direct and pointed access to the deepest most-tender pieces of our heart. When they hurt we hurt, every time.
And, I am amazed at the way God joins us in all of it — literally sits/walks with us in every facet of life. Ps 116… “he literally bends his ear down to hear the whispers of our lips.” Quite stunning.