The Shape of Grief

I found the image below on Facebook the other day, and it fits my mood perfectly, as it is coming up to one year since my darling Mum died. "Grief is the last act of love we have to give to those we loved. Where there is deep grief, there was deep love."

I miss her so much. Miss being able to share silly, little, everyday things - the latest doings of our grandsons, progress with a crochet or stitching project, shopping for my daughter's wedding dress, how I'm feeling, any particular day. The number of times in the last twelve months I have thought, "I must tell Mum that," and then remembered, again, that I can't. That she is gone.

I cannot wish her back. She was nearly 93, and had commented numerous times in the last couple of years of her life, "I'm ready to go." I hope she is at peace, wherever she is (she was a sound atheist and believed that death was the end of all things). 

It's a weird process, grieving for someone you have loved deeply. At first, it is all consuming, and you think you'll never get over it. You cannot believe that they are really gone, that you will never be able to talk to them, hold them, love them, ever again. Then, time passes, and time heals, and you regain something of an even keel, even though one sweet core of your life is gone forever. But then, something reminds you, and the loss is raw and wild once again. Or that is what I have found. 

And yet, the love remains. I am who I am - mother, grandmother, friend, minister - because she loved me well. And that is what I miss most of all - her unconditional love. She had boundless love and compassion for others, especially her family. And was friendly with everyone she met. She had a knack of striking up conversations with strangers, which I have inherited, a bit. And every time I do, I think of her.

Bless you, Mum. I love you. 

World of Wonders

This week's quote reads, "The world is full of wonders. One of them is me."

Which is a nice thought. But I wonder, how many of us believe it? I certainly do not see myself as a "wonder of the world".  I am a flawed, imperfect human being, just like everyone else. My first reaction to this quote was to think that the only people who do see themselves as "wonders of the world" are misguided and egocentric, even narcissistic. A certain orange President comes to mind...

But on reflection, I'm not sure I'm right. Perhaps there is another way to look at it, to think of ourselves. Perhaps it is about accepting ourselves as we are, flaws and all, and being grateful and in awe about the body, mind, and spirit that is ours alone. Each of us is unique, each of us has a very particular contribution to make to the world, that nobody else can make. 

I have blogged before about the importance of this, here. And am unapologetic about repeating part of that post, Brené Brown's definition of authenticity:

"Authenticity is the daily practice of letting go of who we think we are supposed to be and embracing who we are. Choosing authenticity means:

 - cultivating the courage to be imperfect, to set boundaries, and to allow ourselves to be vulnerable.

 - exercising the compassion that comes from knowing that we are all made of strength and struggle.

 - nurturing the connection and sense of belonging that can only happen when we believe that we are enough."

Perhaps it's not so much about being a "wonder of the world", it's more about showing up as our faulty and fallible selves, recognising those flaws and failings and, nevertheless, doing what we can, where we are, with the gifts we have been given, to make a positive difference in the world. Which means living in consonance with our values and daring to take a stand on the things which matter to us, regardless of whether it will make us unpopular, get us into trouble.

So yes, each and every one of us can be a "wonder of the world"; "unique, precious, a child of God" (to quote the Quakers; and can do our best to make a difference, using the talents which are ours alone.

May it be so - all our talents are needed, in this flawed and imperfect (yet also wonderful) world of ours.

Enjoying the Present

This week's quote took my breath away, with its logical simplicity: "Those who enjoy the present will have a wonderful past in the future."

And yet, living by it would be a profound spiritual practice, which could take the rest of my life. I have long believed that the present moment is the key to our happiness; that being fully present in it, through sacred living, paying attention in the present moment and perceiving the sacred everywhere, is so rewarding. It means noticing everything around us, appreciating everything around us, and not wasting our time regretting the past (which we can never change, no matter how much we mope about it), neither wishing we were back in the "good old days" (which never existed outside our faulty memories), nor longing to an idealised, impossible future. I have blogged about this here. 

I truly believe that "today", the present moment, is the only place at which time touches eternity. So it is up to us to attempt to be truly present in each passing moment, whether it is subjectively "good" or "bad". If we can master this trick of being present, I believe that our reward is that we will be much happier in the good bits, and more able to endure the bad bits, because we know they will not last forever.

When I look back at my own life, from the perspective of being 65, there are (of course) parts which did not go well, that I choose not to dwell upon. I guess I have been lucky, because when I look back, I feel very blessed - most of my past has been "wonderful". Part of that is the rose-coloured spectacles through which I view it, I'm sure, but part is also that I have striven, all my life, to enjoy the present, as much as I can. Which is why my autobiography has the title, Saying 'Yes' to Life.

For example, I'm sitting at my desk now, writing this blogpost, and if I raise my eyes to the window, I see the tree in the back garden, highlighted by the morning sun, which is my daily companion as I write. Today, its first leaves are beginning to turn brown, but it is mostly still lush and green. And it is silhouetted against a lovely blue sky with fluffy white clouds - such a nice change from the rain of yesterday. And I am (again) filled with awe and wonder at the sheer beauty in front of my eyes.