…and death is no exception.
Even when it is expected, death is a devastating event for those that are left behind. Grief is an overwhelming emotion that colors every decision and every word. For some, voices become soft and weak in an effort to comfort those around them. For others, words become sharp and cutting, knives used to exorcise pain and ease mourning. Some withdrawal like turtles, hiding in their shells in an effort to avoid facing the pain. Others push blindly forward, trying desperately to find their way out of the maze of chaos and despair. Grief can expose every one of these extremes, and reveal the entire range of feeling in between them.
Me? I try to find beauty in the things around me. Reminders that no matter how much pain I feel now, the sun will rise, the earth will spin, and life will go on. It does not have to be anything significant. The smile of a child, a glint of sun on snow, a kind word from a friend. Anything that touches my soul and reminds me of life contains astounding beauty.
Today, it is this poem.
Do not stand at my grave and weep
Do not stand at my grave and weep;
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain,
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning’s hush,
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there, I did not die.
Mary Frye, American poet (1904 – 2004)
For Buckshot, a man of quiet but fierce love, unyielding determination and unwavering beliefs. You have touched our lives in so many ways and will be greatly missed.