Cat feet grief

Grief has a way of sneaking up on quiet cat feet, sinking its claws into your heart when you least expect it, leaving you for a moment back where you started in tears and sorrow.

On my drive home after choir practice Tuesday night, I began naming and praying for my women friends. One is newly separated and her husband just moved out. Another younger friend is struggling to find balance in work, family and self. One friend I haven’t seen in awhile, my age, is on my lunch list. Four friends are living with husbands who are experiencing a slow slide into infirmity. I gave thanks for one who is building a new home, excited to see it coming up out of the ground, looking forward to a fresh start. As I prayed through my list, tears began to flow, surprising me, catching me unawares.

As I sorted through my feelings, examined my heart, I named the source of those tears. I was missing my sister, wishing I could call her, put her on my lunch list. Even now, thirty two years later, I yearn for a place in time for the two of us as old sisters, sharing laughter and stories about growing up with Tommy and Shirley Calhoun. Perhaps if Gayle had lived, we could have worked out our differences, become friends, cared for each other as my mother and her sister do. In this season of the year, the time of year when she died, I remember and mourn the loss of possibilities for her life.

I also give thanks for her presence in my life. She was my little sister, blonde, curly haired little sister. A thorn in my flesh who taught me how to live with my opposites, she was a bundle of stubborn determination, quicksilver laughter and a faithful friend to many. Thoughtful of others, she sent cards and letters to those she loved, remembering them in writing. She, like my mother, could take my daddy on in a battle of wills and win. I was a wuss who knuckled under.

Grief is a forgiving teacher. It returns to help you learn new lessons as the years pass. There is never an end to the wisdom that can be gleaned from the grief experience. Sometimes the lessons we learn result in action. One friend whose son died has channeled her grief and anger into a new organization. Uninsured, he received inadequate medical attention for his cancer and died as a result. She now campaigns for all those who are unable to access good medical care, working through her grief to save others from death. Sometimes the lessons learned are the ones that help us open up to the suffering of others, to be more in touch with the universal grief we all experience sooner or later. I have learned the language of grief and am grateful for the lesson.

The twenty second Psalm describes one broken by sorrow… heart melted like wax… a beautiful image for grief. Once your heart is melted, a new heart can come to be, one that is filled with gratitude for the gift of life however long or short it may be. If we listen and learn from grief, we can savor life, taste its sweetness while we mourn its losses. With grace and perseverance we can place our feet on level ground, the Ground of All our Being, while we are being redeemed. Thanks be to God who continues to relieve the troubles of my heart and restores my dancing feet. Amen.