Welcome, welcome Christmas day

Early on this Christmas morning the world is dark when I drag the comforter from my bedroom into the living room, pull the wicker rocker close to the fireplace and snuggle in to enjoy the lights of the tree—yellow, blue, purple, red and green.

Slowly, the windowed darkness fades to soft gray and the branches of the sentinel—the oak tree on the lawn—take form in silhouette against the night.

The delicate and alluring beauty of the unfolding dawn echoes an ancient promise, "Come to me, all who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest." Matthew 11:28

My mind wanders among the memories of Christmas past... the green velvet dress our daughter wore as a toddler; the first time we cut our own Christmas tree; meals of potato soup with crusty warm bread; the smell of baking hamballs and the messy sweetness of children decorating sugar cookies; gifts of ice skates, rollerblades, a bicycle, an MP3 player and snow skis; the arrival of the piano and the big red bow that adorned it, the elementary nativities with shepherds and angels; the high school Christmas concerts and madrigal singers; the wing-themed ornaments given to college students in our soon-to-be-empty nest; the sound of toddler delight with the arrival of the grandchildren; the undercurrent of silent sadness after my husband's death; the love that resuscitates our hearts as life unfolds in each new year.

Welcome, welcome Christmas day.

Rw

Barcodes, Coffee and Grief

It took my breath away.  

Walking into Caribou Coffee and seeing the man sitting next to the fireplace at the high-top table for two took my breath away. The shape of his shoulders, the style and texture of his shirt, the color and cut of his hair... this man, with his back to me, could have been my husband. 

It took my breath away because my husband died 5 years, 6 months and 5 days ago. This man, who looks so much like him, is a stranger.

In the early years of my grief journey many encounters stole my ability to breathe... the moments of pain came close together like the lines of a barcode. Honestly its been awhile since something like this has happened. The white spaces between the thin black lines of pain have broadened. 

In the beginning I held that there was no hope of the grief that accompanied my every waking moment ever fading. And, in this moment, I realize that the pain has faded into the background while the desire to be with my husband remains constant, deeply buried and ready to be unearthed.

Grief is odd that way, unexpected. And, if grief is what remains when the person we love moves on, grief is both unique to the love once shared and universal in the human experience.

"There are three things that amaze me—
    no, four things that I don’t understand:   

    how an eagle glides through the sky,
    how a snake slithers on a rock,
    how a ship navigates the ocean,
    how a man loves a woman." 

                —Proverbs 30:18-19 NLT [more]

Rw

 

Grief: Does Time Really Heal All Wounds? [more]

Caribou Coffee original logo [more]