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Posts Tagged ‘grief’

Only or Already

Posted in Grief, tagged , , , , , , , , , on February 13, 2015| 4 Comments »

tumblr_meydjiDofs1r1mkubo1_500Today marks two months that Mike, my husband and father to our children, passed. Like a goose stepping march, the days and weeks and now months, advance, without pause. How peculiar time feels: some time is like a whirlwind, lived and gone before I can even call it a day while other time slogs its way through the sun’s ecliptic journey.

Don’t let it escape your notice, dear friends, that with the Lord a single day is like a thousand years and a thousand years are like a single day. The Lord isn’t slow to keep his promise, as some think of slowness, but he is patient toward you, not wanting anyone to perish but all to change their hearts and lives. [2 Peter 3:8-9, CEB]

Some say that grieving cannot be measured by time, it is different for everyone, and yet, the two month mark has precedence, a turning point of sorts for most survivors of loss where they begin a true re-entry. I suppose I beat that mark to some degree. Not for lack of love or care, but merely the unassailable demands of food, shelter, and clothing.

I remember many years ago when I was living single in New York City, a struggling actress, making do with restaurant jobs and occasional paid gigs, and a dream of dance/theater company that could make a difference. But, in the end, the personalities of the players were incompatible and we needed to part ways, not unlike a messy divorce. During that time, I told them of feeling overwhelmed and just plain tired of being in one of the driver’s seats and footing the bills. And one friend said, “You can’t fall apart. We count on you too much.” And so, I ran away. I left the City and the group and started over in the Midwest.

Starting over is time-based. It’s a resetting of the clock; it’s restarting the stopwatch.

Every day is actually a new countdown. It’s the measure we humans have all agreed upon. And then, a few specific days make their mark and become an inauguration of a longer period of time, a month or a year, or, as in my case today, a simple reminder of a finale, that other day when the clock stopped for the Mike part of my heart and would not begin again.

But God’s clock is not linear. I’m not exactly sure what that means for me, except for an unfailing Presence that is not put off by my lateness or my laziness, does not measure me by my effectiveness or my falls, does not count my mistakes or my successes. God is now and God is now again. And Jesus, who lived linearly for a human lifetime, is once again now, and identifies experientially with the pain of time.

Two months. 62 days. 1,488 hours. 89,280 minutes. 5,356,800 seconds. plus now. No algorithm for that.

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This Day

Posted in Grief, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , on February 6, 2015| 2 Comments »

T1221029-roadrunner.gifhis day could be any day, even today. Or perhaps “this day” has already happened and, looking back, we can say, “Oh, yes, that day–that day caught me off guard.” When Mike died, not even two months ago, a thief crept into my life and plundered me–that day. I thought I knew the way of life; I thought I had the God journey rooted in my understanding, but that day became this day for me.

But you, brothers and sisters, are not in darkness so that this day should surprise you like a thief. You are all children of the light and children of the day. We do not belong to the night or to the darkness. [I Thessalonians 5:4-5, NIV]

My faith is strong enough to keep me standing. I am grateful for the love and steadfastness of the Holy Spirit consciously whispering and sustaining me in ruach (breath of God). I am conscious of the prayers of the people that allow me to crowd surf these days and now weeks.

In some ways, it’s hard to disallow my former self to run this show, that planner and problem solver. She would have had everything worked out by now, she would know how to make all the ends meet and put order to the chaos. She is my cheerleader but she is also my goad. She is impatient to move on, to be in control, to make decisions. Over the years, she has buried her feelings and disappointments and simply built new paths instead. If a way is blocked, she goes another. She is her mother’s daughter, persistent and undaunted, self-sufficient and capable, enthusiastic and confident with energy and passion spread about like buckshot.

She has experienced what happens when her Road Runner stops moving, stops running. Everything in her warns of the danger. Keep moving. Keep talking. Keep busy. If nothing else, at least turn on the white noise.

But another voice is speaking as well, with questions: what’s important to this day? What is needful? Can we negotiate this time? Can we be more like conjoined twins and work together, and not compete to be one way or the other?

And if there is no decision, my “Martha” asks? Who will do the work?

Just wait. The pieces are not all in place yet. Wait. Stand a while longer. Try. Test the silence. Test doing nothing.

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Job and God and Me

Posted in Grief, tagged , , , , , on January 29, 2015| 4 Comments »

Watercolor by Tammy Groves Thornton

Watercolor by Tammy Groves Thornton

We all have challenges in life. That’s the nature of the journey. How will we answer?

Job arose, tore his clothes, shaved his head, fell to the ground, and worshiped. He said: “Naked I came from my mother’s womb; naked I will return there. The Lord has given; the Lord has taken; bless the Lord’s name.” In all this, Job didn’t sin or blame God. [Job 1:20-22, CEB]

We’re in over our heads. With each growth spurt, another adversity. Strength is earned. Patience is earned. Perseverance is earned. And woven through them all is the seeming paradox of surrender, trust, and abandon of control.

Our pastor challenged us at the beginning of the year to choose a single word around which to focus our time and energies. I took this intention to heart and chose the word Simplicity. But in order to kindle a simpler life, I must examine the roots that produced the other lifestyle–the chaos and the busyness, the stress and over-commitments. A lot comes from the accumulation of stuff. Now, in the face of losing a loved one, the stuff no longer holds much power or significance. There’s a wind blowing through me and I’m letting go.

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Widow

Posted in Grief, tagged , , , , , , , , , on January 22, 2015| 1 Comment »

winter treeI thought I could write today. I thought I would title this post, the Widow’s Lament, but really, to what end? I am forging on, for good or ill, the way I usually do, with busyness and tasks. In this way, I can push back the other, that unnameable thing some call grief, but the word barely scratches at the guts of the experience.

Williams Carlos Williams wrote a beautiful poem entitled the Widow’s Lament, but it also carries the hope of renewal within it, set in the spring. For me, it is still winter, cold short days and bitter wind and frozen tears falling white.

I sought out scripture about widows, and we, like orphans, defined by our aloneness, are cast upon the body for care and love. I am grateful for it, I can say that plainly for my capable self is perilously close to shattering her illusion. Keep busy. What is worse? To collapse under the weight of it all and cast one’s being into the flurry of well-intentioned voices and pursuits or brave it well by appearance and lose support? Where is the middle ground? I am not a blubbering mess, not really, but I am also not a tower of strength. Stay close, my people, the way is long.

True devotion, the kind that is pure and faultless before God the Father, is this: to care for orphans and widows in their difficulties and to keep the world from contaminating us. [James 1:27, CEB]

I found these words, I dedicate them to my children, that they might know something of the truth (written by Lauren Bacall, at the death of her beloved husband, Humphrey Bogart):

A new beginning for me, the making of a life without Bogie . . . And from the time of his death–and more and more–his teachings have permeated by being. With each passing year I find myself repeating more and more often to my three children and to many of my friends his words of wisdom . . . how two become one and is that one way people live on after death? . . . So imagine my shock when I realized, at the tender age of sixty-five, that with all the above, the final truth is this: I live alone. I need a reason for all that I do, not just fill my days but to unleash my energy, to make me feel warm, that I matter, to satisfy my emotions. When I travel, which is often, who do I buy things for? My children. to whom do I send postcards? My children. Who do I call? My children. they are my connection. My connection with yesterday, today and tomorrow.

And so I imagine it will be (and is) with me: my children and my God and the people who love and need to be loved.

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Broken

Posted in Grief, Praying the Psalms, tagged , , , on January 7, 2015| 5 Comments »

brokenWe have all seen broken things: dishes, computers, lamps, toys, and even limbs. But the broken heart is a trickier observation. I thought I knew about this kind of brokenness. After all, my past is littered with old boyfriends and missed opportunities and disappointments. I thought I knew.

But no. Now I walk within a crushing brokenness that has no comparison to anything I have experienced before. The outer ranges of who I am continue, that daily self still rises and makes breakfast, still feeds the dogs and picks up the mail: she is still functioning. Apparently I look fine; after all, I have been complimented on my strength and poise. The irony of observed strength compared to the life beneath is not lost on me.

Here’s what I know so far: I am not broken in a way that super glue or duct tape can repair. That woman self, the  one before losing Mike, cannot be reconstructed into herself again. Instead, the inner shards must morph into a different construct. Grief of this kind adds colors and shapes that were unknown before. This is change of a monumental variety, yet hidden behind the cloak of function.

The Lord is close to the brokenhearted
    and saves those who are crushed in spirit. [Psalm 34:18, NIV]

And for this reason, it is really a God kind of time for it is only Spirit that can reshape from the inside out.

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My Husband Died on Saturday

Posted in Sorrows and Hope, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , on December 17, 2014| 6 Comments »

I wrote the obituary for Mike, it’s below. I thank you all for the prayers of family, friends and neighbors. I am in awe of the touch of love through eyes and arms and words through people, whether they were close to me (or Mike) or not, every touch matters. I see that now in a way I never saw it before.

Right now, I know this one thing. Mike was a healthy man with no history of heart disease. His death was both out of his control and mine. And for this reason, I understand, Mike’s passing is part of the journey set before me and my young adult kids;  we must all walk this road in faith and trust. We cannot know what lies ahead, but I rest in my God as best I can although this night of sorrow is long. I am so grateful for the presence of the Holy Spirit from whom I draw my hope.

The Obituary

Mike headshotMichael Leigh Brown died Saturday, Dec 13, 2014 of a massive heart attack at home; he was 64. Mike was born and raised in Atlanta, Georgia, the youngest son of Vernon Stockton Brown and Lina Snead Brown (both deceased). He attended the University of Georgia, served in the U.S. Army at Aberdeen Proving Ground, worked at Georgia Public Television, and in 1982 married his beloved wife, Irmgarde Berzins Brown. In 1987, he moved to Havre de Grace, Maryland and began his 27-year career at Aberdeen Proving Ground as a television director and videographer. In 1997, he and his wife adopted two children, Arturs “Kip” Brown and Vernon Sergei Brown from Riga, Latvia at ages four and five; seven years later, they adopted Liliana Victoria Brown from St. Petersburg, Russia at fifteen. In addition to his creative work for the government, Mike donated his time and talents to both Mt. Zion United Methodist Church in Bel Air and more recently, Restore Church in Havre de Grace. Mike participated in several para-church organizations: Kairos Prison Ministry, Walk to Emmaus, and Cursillo. Mike volunteered at two orphanages in Africa: Children of Zion Village in Katima, Namibia, and Village of Hope, Zambia. He and his wife were leading a team to Africa in the fall of 2015. Mike was a man of faith who walked out his beliefs by working for the good of his community, both near and far.

Mike used his video skills to create personal projects (see his YouTube channel, vydeoynkhorne), record family and life events, as well as church activities. Mike was a history buff, a Robert E. Lee re-enactor, a regular blood donor to the Red Cross, an avid reader, a conspiracy theorist, an investigator into the cryptic, and a champion for ambidexterity and healthy living.

Mike is survived by his wife, three children, and brother, Vernon Stockton Brown, Jr. and several cousins, nieces, and nephews.

Visitation with the family will be Thursday, December 18th, 2 – 4 pm followed by a Memorial Service at 6:30 pm at St. Patrick’s Fellowship Hall at 650 Pennington Avenue, Havre de Grace, MD. There will be no viewing as Mike requested his body be donated to science. In lieu of flowers, the family has requested that donations be made to the benevolence fund of Restore Church, Havre de Grace [https://restorechurch.cloverdonations.com/give-online/] or one of the orphanages he supported.

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While the Child Lived

Posted in Ordinary Time, tagged , , , , , , , , , , on May 15, 2014| Leave a Comment »

stillbornI just finished reading An Exact Replica of a Figment of my Imagination by Elizabeth McCracken at the same time I read David and Bathsheba’s story of their own first child, who only lived seven days before dying as foretold by the prophet Nathan for David’s illicit with relationship with Bathsheba and ordering the death of her husband in battle. Both stories capture a view of grief we rarely see.

He [David] answered, “While the child was still alive, I fasted and wept. I thought, ‘Who knows? The Lord may be gracious to me and let the child live.’  [II Samuel 12:22, NIV]

For McCracken, the newborn infant, nicknamed Pudding, was their first and neither she nor her husband broke any laws or treated Pudding with anything but ultra care: the right foods, the right rest, the right attitude. It was a pregnancy made in heaven. But then, near the end of her last trimester, Pudding stopped moving, at least it seemed so to her. Many thought she might be overreacting (they were living in France at the time), and she was sent home. However, by the next day, her own concern pressed the issue and she sidestepped her midwife and went to the doctor’s office where it was discovered that the child was, indeed, dead but McCracken would still have to bear this lifeless child into the world. The depth of her pain and anguish are laced throughout this slim volume.

Back in the day, when I was still performing my one woman show, Pente, one of the women in that quintet was Bathsheba because her story is minimized in scripture; her grief and loss are summarized in the single line, “Then David comforted his wife Bathsheba, and he went to her and made love to her . . . ” [vs 24a] but I believe McCracken’s tale captures a more realistic picture of a mother’s heart and the depth of her pain.

But getting back to my selected scripture, it is intriguing to me that David, who knew that he had sinned and who knew that Nathan was a formidable prophet whose words always came true, pressed into the 7-day period of prayer and fasting and, undoubtedly, deep confession. As long as the child lived, David did not give up even the slightest sliver of hope. David could not change what he had done but he could surrender his helplessness to God, who could still change the outcome. God’s outcome is never fixed in time. And yet . . .

The child died.

And David could do nothing more than surrender again.

We have choices beforehand, before the inevitable happens. But once tragedy strikes, whether deserved or undeserved, we only have our response to God. The pain is still there but can be muted if we wrap it into the embrace of God. Grace lives.

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