Grief is a continuation of love. I did not originate this phrase nor do I know whom to credit.
But I have found the words to be wise.
Yesterday, my uncle died. He was a good man. As I conversed with my daughters over his loss, several confirmations of his goodness came to mind. He married a woman with two young sons. He became their beloved father. When his wife's brother died, without hesitation, they drove to Illinois to pick up his three teenage children to give them a permanent home. These are memories I lived as a little girl and well-remember as an adult.
When his wife ran a day care, there was one little boy's mom who always came late to pick him up. He was delayed in all his motor skills from neglect. It didn't take long for the mother to give her son up for adoption to my uncle and aunt.
When I was around Uncle Doug, he was kind and attentive. I only held one grudge because he once tried to give my daughter a puppy. The grudge lasted less than a minute.
In his last days, he cared for his Alzheimers inflicted wife. He cared for a daughter in a wheelchair. He didn't stop caring until the day he died, and I'm sure his caring won't stop there.
My mom and her siblings are sad. I am sad. But grief is a continuation of love; it's requisite to grieve as it is how we show and continue our love.
The same day I heard the news, I had also found a palliative care nurse on social media who spoke of her experiences with death. Almost always, terminal ill people begin seeing in the weeks or months before death--angels, loved ones already departed, and even pets. People who saw her post, left hundreds of comments confirming the same experiences.
I am also in the company of a dear friend who lost her daughter in a tragic accident. She continues to mourn and will do so for the rest of her life. It is sacred to mourn with those who mourn and who long for the company of a beloved daughter.
I am thankful when we talk about her, remember her. She was my student. Yesterday we talked about her amazing diagramming ability. In class, she once diagramed a complicated sentence on the white board. Her mother told me yesterday that she could diagram the preamble to the Constitution.
Our grief will continue. Grief is proof that love never dies.
Blake Dying
By Mary Oliver
He lay
with the pearl of his life under the pillow.
Space shone, cool and silvery,
in the empty cupboards
while he heard in the distance, he said,
the angels singing.
Now and again his white wrists
rose a little above the white sheet.
When death is about to happen
does the body grow heavier or lighter?
He felt himself growing heavier.
He felt himself growing lighter.
When a man says he hears angels singing,
he hears angels singing.
When a man says he hears angels singing,
he hears angels singing.
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