As I waited for the coffee to brew this morning, I stood at the back door of my kitchen looking at the trees of the wood behind my home. While many leaves remain green, some branches were fiery red, some yellow, and a few were even brown. I opened the door and felt the coolness of the morning air. While sweet and refreshing, there was also a bit of cold in the breeze. Yes, it is autumn. The change of season holds great beauty while it also portends how all life passes away in an ever-flowing cycle.
A week ago, a friend from an earlier time in my life died. We hadn’t seen each other in a dozen years but his sudden and unexpected death brought to mind a different season of my own life. It was a time of spring for me — my young adulthood, full of energy and vigor. As I thought of my friend, I remembered many others who were alive then who have passed from life as I know it. Of course, my parents are among those I have lost, but there have been many, many friends.
Those who write about bereavement and loss, including me, generally address the experience of the first year or two when feelings which accompany loss are raw. That experience changes with time and evolves to a peculiar kind of tenderness. I find myself realizing the deep texture and richness that’s part of the losses from ten, twenty, and thirty years ago.
Christians affirm that in death, life is changed but not ended. Such a belief usually infers that the person who has died continues to live on in a different way. What I’ve come to understand is that people who have been a part of my life continue to be with me even though they have died. But they are with me today in a different way. It may take a few years after the death of a loved one to grasp this, but they are not gone. Instead, they remain present.
I recently stumbled onto this passage in one of The Letters of Caryll Houselander, Christian spiritual writer and mystic:
“I heard today of your mother’s very sudden death, and I want to tell you how very deeply I feel for you in what I know must be a great sorrow as well as a dreadful shock to you…. When this grief is a little more in the past, I am sure you, who have faith, will feel that death doesn’t part people but brings them closer…. I feel sure that over and over again you will know that your mother’s love will be helping and guiding you….”
Many times I have experienced that those who were once wonderful companions in my life continue to be companions in the present. Yes, I continue to experience my parent’s love, but also the humor of friends who have died. One of my mentors early in life remains an important guide … and so very many others.
The experience is difficult to describe because it’s somewhat different with each of them — just as my relationship with each of them was unique. Sometimes I am surprised when encountering someone’s presence in times of prayer and meditation, in dreams, or in other times of solitude. In that, I’ve come to understand the words of the Song of Songs (chapter 8) in a very meaningful way:
“Love is stronger than death, stronger even than Hades. A flash of love is a flash of fire, the flame of the Divine.”
While we each experience significant pain from grief when a loved one dies, I have found that the pain transitions to something very tender. Yes, the lives of my loved ones have changed. The love reaches back to me through the gates of death and they continue to be with me in ways that enrich my life. For that, I am very grateful.
Yes, life continues to change as we move through the seasons. So, too, does the experience of grief and loss. I’ve come to understand that while loved ones have died, love is stronger than death and their presence remains part of my life…and makes my life richer.
Photo by David Ohmer of Foster.com/CC BY
