It's been a few weeks since I volunteered to submit this week's entry. Lots of time, you know, to write something brilliant -- or at least thoughtful. And yet here I am, at the last minute, trying to put virtual pen to virtual paper.
It's odd. The words should be flowing from my fingers. I should be able to describe this infiltrator in my life, and how it comes...
..unwanted, unwelcomed... slipping into the quiet moments, creeping into places expected and unexpected, sneaking into times reserved for working. Sometimes -- I think especially near holidays -- I feel as though I'm somehow defined by my grief. As though I am nothing more than a vessel to hold the pain and the loss. And yet, I can go whole weeks without feeling that pull at my soul.
I know that because other times, grief is more like a Jack-in-the-Box. My Dad has been gone nearly 7 years. He worked construction (union, of course) on many, many projects in a four state area. Highways, missile bases, buildings, bridges and I don't know what all. Driving through a construction zone on the highway a while back during the noon hour, I was nearly undone at the sight of the workers. They were sitting on the concrete barriers, lunch boxes open, laughing and smoking, doing whatever you do on a break from hard work. I could almost see my Daddy (still my Daddy) sitting there with them. And the Jack-in-the-Box is back as I write this, remembering.
It isn't right. We're a long-lived family, and I expected them to be here for a long time yet. I still have questions for my folks. I still need their advice. I still have things I want to tell them.
Last weekend I filled my home with family. Relatives we hadn't seen in many years were in the state and I hosted a potluck that went from 2:00PM til nearly 1:00AM. Lots of people, lots of food, lots of laughter, lots of reminiscing, lots of future plans made. The eldest was my uncle at 81 and the youngest was 5 weeks. My aunt (my Dad's sister, but my generation) shocked us all by reminding us that we are becoming the family Elders.
Where is the wisdom that comes with this position? Where is the assurance I saw in my parents and grandparents? To me, they were rocks and I don't feel nearly solid enough. I'm slowly reaching the conclusion that wisdom is born in love, but honed in pain. My grandparents were orphans, were they not? They felt the pain and the loss of their mothers and fathers. They slowly lost their brothers and sisters. They even lost children. (And that is pain that my psyche shrinks from. God grant that I am never that wise).
It's the polarity, isn't it? A child experiences happiness and wonder, but I think I didn't "grok" joy until I knew sorrow. Just as I can, without warning, be brought low by grief, I find that joy is now transcendent, and the sweetness in bittersweet is surpassing sweet.
Last weekend I filled my home with family. We've added some members, some by marriage, some newly born. I looked around at the overflowing rooms, and realized that the participants may have changed some, but the sounds of laughter and conversation and dishes clinking were oh-so-familiar. Except, alas, a little less Spanish was spoken; a subliminal reminder that we are mostly the next generation. Well, that and the fact that Dad wasn't there to say that he wanted to cry because he couldn't eat any more. My aunt didn't bring her chicken enchiladas. My Mom didn't bring her sublime cream pie... and my brother wasn't there to eat them.
It sounds like I don't appreciate what we have, but I do. Truly, I do. The thing is, I didn't appreciate what we had.
Before, I didn't understand what unconditional love was, really. I wish I could tell them I understand it better now. I wish I had bought more of my brother's art. I wish I could buy those Fritos for my Mom instead of fretting about her blood pressure. I wish I could tell my Dad that I know now that we fought so much because I am like him.
As time passes, I am building scar tissue over the manner of their passing. But there is no scar tissue in the world strong enough to bind the hole in our lives left by their absence.
Last weekend I filled my home with family -- and my heart was full. Even so, the absence of those we've lost was felt so keenly by all of us. All of us touched by loss and grief. All of us so aware of the love we have for each other and our gratitude for this moment. This time together. We shared our understandings, our memories and our plans for the future ... bringing both laughter and tears.
It was bittersweet, and it was surpassing sweet.
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Holidays can be tough, whether or not it's a "first". But we are all here on the other side of another one, and I welcome you. How did you do?