Imperfect
Love
“…most
of the time, all you have is the moment, and the imperfect love of the people
around you.”
Anne
Lamott (Traveling Mercies: Some Thoughts on Faith)
Yesterday,
when my friend was taking his last breaths, one of his sons wept at the
bedside, holding his father’s hand, and praying for his soul. My friend’s ex-wife
and I sat in meditation holding the space and energetically surrounding Andy as
life left his body. Other family members stood in the hallway or sat in the
waiting room, not wanting to witness his passing. Everybody has their own way
of dealing with death, and there is no right or wrong about it. There is only
imperfect love.
In this
moment of sadness and relief, of tears and joy, of loss and freedom, we all
bring what we can to the table. One of my solaces has been the people, most of
whom I didn’t know before now—Andy’s sisters and brother, his cousins and niece
and nephew—all kind and generous of spirit toward me, a stranger. People I
never met, fed us and gave the family a place to stay. That mid-western “niceness”
was on full display even in their time of loss.
And it
has been lovely to see this part of America which is now in the latter half of
autumn. The trees are in full color and beginning to lose their leaves. The
landscape is illuminated by that clear, clean light seen only in the fall. I am
surprised by the architecture—so different from our southern red brick houses
and buildings. The sky reaches the ground for 360 degrees, and the houses are
built close to the earth, almost all are wooden, with sloping roofs and simple
lines. It reminds me a little bit of the farm country of Pennsylvania—lots of
open space. This is the edge of the prairie, the heartland.
I head
home today—we all do. Back to life as usual, only without one of our
significant others. Now the work begins for his sons of tying up loose ends, making
arrangements, and clearing out his house. The physical labor involved will help
to exhaust their grief and will generate a lifetime of memories. When all is
said and done, they will come away tired but clear-headed. Such is life. We
move from one stage to the next, from loss to gain, from joy to sorrow and back
to joy. One of the cousins I met here named his son after the father/grandfather
of all of them—Jack. What a nice way to celebrate another human being, and to keep
their memory alive. New life always comes in its season.
Thanks be to God for imperfect love, and for the life and legacy of my friend
Andy.
In
the Spirit,
Jane
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