Good morning…
Sometimes we meet soul-to-soul before we ever see one another face-to-face. This is the sacred situation occurring between me and a subscriber from Charlotte, North Carolina. Mary writes me periodically to fill me in on her painful process of grieving her son, Dalton, who died suddenly at age twenty-one. In previous posts on the topic of grief I have shared her gorgeous, articulate words, and Mary has given me permission to share these words as well.
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Embracing the Still Quiet Moments of Grief by Mary Waite
It’s in the still, quiet moments, that I allow thoughts of Dalton to really come to life. It’s not easy to actually allow these moments, because of the ache and sorrow that come with them, and the utter disbelief. It’s been 3 years, and 8 months, since my sweet boy died, yet the shock and confusion still remain. I literally have to ask myself if this is truly my reality? Is he gone from this earth? I’m not sure if the surreal feeling will ever change because it’s still too hard to grasp!
Today I sit quietly on the porch, on a crisp, sunny, beautiful fall day, and think of Dalton. Today my grief is subdued, quiet, almost gentle. I have been sitting quietly for almost 2 1/2 hours, and it’s as if I’m in a trance. I’m not sure how so much time has gone by yet time also seems to stand still. I allow myself to see Dalton’s face, to hear his voice, and smell him. I just want to feel him again, touch him. He had a very specific smell…the essence of Dalton. It was a mix of the smell of Boston, along with his Swagger deodorant, and maybe a touch of dirt, but not in a bad way, just earthy. I kept his dirty clothes, and often bury my face in them, and inhale, deeply! To many that sounds may sound odd, but to me, it’s all I have, and I need to smell him!
My eyes slowly fill up with tears, until ever so gently, one by one, they begin to spill over and stream down my face. There are no sobs, no gasping with face contortions like other days, just small, quietly streaming tears. They are full of memories, as well as the sadness that comes with all of the imagined, and hoped for moments, and a future that will never be. My precious son is gone. Yet I hold tightly to what I believe without a doubt, “For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.” (Romans 8: 38-39) Therefore, this means that absolutely nothing can separate me from Dalton!
My grief is mostly unpredictable these days, and at any given moment can turn up! There are triggers that you just don’t know exist until they hit! This week I was triggered by a tv show in which a mother talked about holding her son’s hand, and talking him through a panic attack. I remember these nights with Dalton vividly! Dalton suffered from these debilitating panic attacks, and I would hold his hand, talk gently to him in the dark of night, and assure him that it wouldn’t kill him.
The sun has set, and it’s getting dark, yet I can’t seem to move from this chair. The stillness is comforting, almost haunting, and if I move, thoughts of Dalton may leave. So I sit. These are the times that I just want to shut out the rest of the world. I wonder if it would be less painful to just shut everyone out, for awhile. So, I do. I pull myself away, and allow myself these still, quiet moments, with Dalton, and God.
It’s God who has continued to sustain me, it’s God who shows up and comforts me, it’s God whom I trust enough to be able to just sit here deep in thought, knowing I’m not alone! “Come with me by yourselves to a quiet place and get some rest.” (Mark 6:31) And it’s God who taught me that Dalton is not in his photos, or things, but Dalton’s spiritual being is within me, in my heart, and part of me! Because of my deep love for Dalton, and God’s Divine Love for me, “I can live my pain and not be destroyed by it. I can acknowledge my pain and not be paralyzed by it.”-Henri Nouwen
I remain hopeful as I grieve because of my eternal future with Dalton. So today, I allow myself these still, quiet moments with Dalton, because I need them. I need them as much as I need the air I breath. I need my quiet time, and conversation with Dalton. I choose to be present, and acknowledge my deep wounds, and tender, broken heart. The memories, and tears, and what ifs, are part of my healing process, and part of my story, which continues to evolve.“When we can face our own painful situation, we will discover that hidden in the pain is the treasure—a joy that is there for us to experience here and now…Underneath all our fluctuations is a deep solid divine stream that is called joy.”-Henri Nouwen
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“What beautiful words put voice to your deeply healing experience,” I wrote back. “I feel honored to witness God and Dalton with you in this powerfully palpable way. Time evaporating on the porch is such a kairos experience when everything immensely important is happening for as long as is necessary. I love these lessons about grief you now share so authentically. Might I pass along these tender truths to our online community with your name attached or anonymously? I so love that our souls are bonded though our eyes have never met. Yet.”
“Thank you Sue!” she replied right away. “Your thoughts and feedback mean so much to me! I love this idea of a kairos experience (looked it up again) and it makes sense about my time on the porch! It perfectly describes it, and gives it greater meaning. You obviously have these experiences, and it’s nice to relate it to someone who truly understands the trance like-state of being with God! I have had so many since Dalton died, and they are always so powerfully tranquil. You are most welcome to share, with my name, if you’d like. God gave me the ability to write after Dalton died, as well as the prompts and timing, no doubt as a tool to help me process and heal, but more than that, to give an authentic voice to deep grief that others may need to hear! So thank you for sharing to a greater audience, and I pray that the Holy Spirit will help someone else in their healing! I have a feeling that you and I may share some porch time in the future…”
My soul dissolves because of grief; Renew and strengthen me according to [the promises of] Your word (Psalm 119:28, AMP).
…Sue…
