Memory
“At
times our own light goes out and is rekindled by a spark from another
person. Each of us has cause to think with deep gratitude of those
who have lighted a flame within us.”
Albert
Schweitzer
Two people among my
friend-family have lost loved ones during this Thanksgiving week. One
whose father lived a long life—93 years, and one whose father was
only 55. Two scenarios, same loss, same grief. It's never easy to
lose your father at any age. And losing them at a holiday will
forever tint that day with sadness.
I lost my nephew on
Thanksgiving day in 1974. He was five years old. I never spend a
single Thanksgiving without the memory of that day. I can tell you
this, time is a great healer. In time we remember with joy and
celebrate the life lived, however long or short it may have been.
My friend's ninety-three
year old father, whom we called Mr. Ed, was a force of
nature—bombastic, determined, hard-headed, with the eternal bearing
of a military man who did not suffer fools. The last few years his
children have done their very best to cajole and corral him. They
tried to force him to take care of himself, or allow others to help
him, all to no avail. He gave no ground, took no prisoners, lived
life entirely on his own terms. I liked him very much, and will miss his gruff
personality and determined spirit—kind of like wearing a hair-shirt
that scrapes your skin raw, but you love it anyway.
Sometimes our light is
snuffed out and we think it will never rekindle. The three young
women whose father died this week are understandably devastated. The
funeral for him was on Tuesday, and the entire town of Winfield,
Alabama showed up for it—so many people that the sheriff's
department had to organize parking in a field across the street and
ferry people to the church. He was a much loved, jovial, gracious guy
and he adored his daughters. His sudden death at such a young age
kicked the breath out of everyone who knew him. What his daughters
will remember once they've had time to mourn, is the way that little
town came together to honor him. The memory of how much people loved
him will give them the courage and stability to face the future
without him. The people of Winfield carry the spark that will
rekindle their flame.
Loss of loved ones at
the holidays leaves a lasting wound, but eventually scar tissue forms
and we are left with good memories. I wish great love and courage to
all who grieve this day, and offer this assurance—telling their
stories, remembering their lives—is the best medicine for healing.
In the Spirit,
Jane
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