It’s been 15 and a half years since Spencer’s death, and
this past Sunday I cried while listening to a song that reminded me of him.
They are gift—these tears all these years later. And I realize that much of my
grief is now connected to how Spencer’s life continues in my children, and he
isn’t here to cherish that reality. Their big brown eyes, hearty laugh,
encouraging words and angry words, and their courage and strength in adversity
bless me over and over and fill me with gratitude for the life and love I had
with their father.
Today I went with my Dad to the cemetery where my mother’s
buried. As he carefully scraped lichen off the stone, we reminisced. Not
perfect, my mom and dad did have a great marriage. They enjoyed each other and
told each other so. We had fun together,
Dad said. I’m happy, but I miss her.
We perched on the grave stone that faced mother’s and sang several songs. As we
started Amazing Grace, Dad reached
his arm around my waist and patted me throughout the song. I pulled a few weeds
around the base of mother’s stone, and then we slowly walked back to the car. I
believe mother’s presence in her children, is a comfort to my dad.
As I have moved into my second half of life, my capacity for
love has burst wide open. As I reflect on my grief and the grief of my dad, I
feel an immense love for my family, my children and my husband; but most of
all, I feel an almost inexpressible love for my Heavenly Father. It’s visceral
and physical, and it springs from deep within. The mystery of here and there,
of heaven and earth, of love and loss continues. With open heart and arms, I
embrace it as gift.
