Grief. It’s not something we address much. In fact, that word itself makes me feel as though I am sitting under a grey cloud. In most cases, grief is a word we avoid and is surrounded by depression, deep traumas, and lingering hurt. Grief is usually accompanied by its two friends, pain and sorrow…I, myself, am not a fan of the grieving process. Though I have found it to be necessary to walk through and to allow others to walk through as well. The older I get, the deeper ad longer the grieving process seems to last. I am an incredibly relational person, as I have stated before. I adore other people’s stories they are living out and immerse myself in them. I find people intriguing and lovely. I’m drawn to all types and love being invited into their space and hearing about who they are, where they have been, and where they are going. When someone’s story ends, whether in real life circumstances or on film, I am a puddle. I’ve carried my own grief and the grief of others like a giant suitcase full of old books. I’ve carried it from one part of the process to the next.
Being involved in a church my whole life and an incredibly beautiful and inviting family, I have been around many, many people. Which means, in turn, I have experienced much grief. Both my own and the grief of others. Shock and denial. Pain and guilt. Anger. Reflection and loneliness. The upward turn. Reconstruction and moving through. Acceptance. Each phase carries its own weight and looks very different with each individual person and each individual heart. Not only in death, but in the loss of something or someone so greatly apart of one’s heart. Grieving is not limited to the passing on of physical life. It comes in a variety of packages.
1997 was a traumatic year for our family and close friends. In a matter of weeks, we lost both Sarah and Matt. Sarah was a sweet, vibrant eight year old, who had been diagnosed with cancer at the tiny age of three. Major surgery after major surgery. She was best friends with my little sister and our dear friend Holly. We would spend hours at Children’s hospital, watching Disney movies, painting her nails, and making her favorite pudding dessert, which we still lovingly deem as “Sarah’s dessert”. Her little body gave out and she was taken from us. Just like that. One day she was here and the next day, she was not. She had dreams of heaven and was ready to go. This did not soften the blow of letting her go. Within a short amount of time after, I walked in the door from school and our dear friend, who was like an older sister to me, was on the floor in tears. I had never felt so helpless. What could have happened? She had just received news that her brother Matthew had just been struck by a drunk driver while riding his motorcycle, just a few miles away, and was taken instantly. He was 21. Matt had just been at our house for dinner though. I just saw him. He couldn’t be gone. Are you sure? There isn’t a mistake? I remember his service and feeling angry. Where is he??!!! What is this sick joke?? I don’t understand…both young. Both full of life. Why…why now…
When my papa passed away, my insides turned outside. I laid down on the stairs in my loft room and broke into a thousand pieces. A heart attack. My heart broke when his did. I was his grand baby. I spent years playing in leaf piles he would rake, fishing alongside of him at the Roaring River, and yelling “preach it papa” from my seat in the church he literally built with his own hands. He prayed with me to receive Jesus as my savior. He taught me about relationship with Him and about having great faith. He was beautiful. Loved by all. I had visited the summer before and it was as if I knew somehow. He would ask me to sing to him. Better is one day in your courts than a thousand elsewhere. I hadn’t realized then he would be ushered into those courts within the year. We flew back to Missouri for the funeral and the whole thing felt like a blur. I remember some faces.I remember a lot of sheet cake. I remember Byron and Ryan Wayne calling to check on me, which meant more than anything. I remember being told that one of the last things he said was that he would make it to Seattle for my graduation. I was still in his heart and mind on his death-bed. That’s love. It snowed the day of his service. The men came and folded the American flag in his honor and gave it to my Nana. We drove over the Missouri/Arkansas line to his burial site. My feet were covered in cold snow and I couldn’t feel a thing. We were snowed in for a week after the service. I slept next to Nana. I could smell him on his pillow still. I sat on the floor of his closet and cried underneath his suits and ties. I wore a set of his pajamas. I still have them. I was depressed for weeks after, numb feeling. I loved that man more than words can express. I still cry at the sight of Frosted Flakes or when I hear “I’ll Fly Away”. He was ready in so many ways and, still, the letting go was excruciating.
This past month, I was in the presence of close friends and family in Colorado for a house concert my dear friend Karla held. She was in the room last year when a close friend’s daughter passed away and it effected her greatly. She felt it was important to write songs for those grieving, no matter the circumstance or where they were in the process. She had people send in their own stories, memories, and feelings. She played through and unveiled the songs she had written and there was not a dry eye in the house, including her own. She asked for feedback and for what people were feeling. It was safe and intimate. I cried the entire time. I did not expect to react that way. Why, I am not sure. I cry at everything!! Ha ha…It was such a treasure to share that time and space with the people present and to release grief I did not realize I had been holding onto.
Karla has just finished recording these songs at St. Ida’s in Lafayette, Colorado. Her heart is to give this album away to those grieving. It is a cause worth donating to. She is genuine and real and comes at grief from all different angles. These are from the house concert in Woodland Park, Colorado. Take a listen:
You can even search Indiegogo online and search for Karla Adolphe and donate to this project. I will be joining Karla and her husband and dear friends in High River this fall for a season.
I hope and pray that if you are in a grieving process at the moment, that you allow people to help love you through it. That you draw close to God and that you let go of what you cannot control. That you take your time. No need to rush. The entire process is necessary. And even in the midst of your grief, you can live your life brilliantly. Trust me, it is possible. Much love!
* A Twinkle of Brilliance * 