“Good Grief” Continued – Part 2

I’ve had some pretty powerful conversations with people since posting the “good grief” blog last week. All poignant and very impactful.

 

One conversation and its timing was breathtaking.

 

About a year ago, I walked into a local business. Unprompted, the man working the desk told me his stepdaughter was expected to pass away any day from stage four cancer. The ache and agony in his voice was not so much for himself, but for his wife. He longed to take away her pain. He began to share. I listened. Over the next 45 minutes I gave ear as he spoke of his wife’s love for her daughter. How the daughter lived in B.C. and his wife had been traveling back and forth to be with her. Face-timing with his wife and stepdaughter everyday, twice a day just wasn’t enough to ease his and their pain. But he had to stay in Ontario to work so he could provide for his family.

 

It’s often easier to talk with someone you don’t know about deep pains. The privilege I felt as one of those strangers you talk too cannot be understated.

 

I shared in his grief and in his family’s grief. It was not mine to bear. It was mine to bear witness. To see, hear and hold the memory of the love he held for his family. To acknowledge the amazing young woman I would never have the chance to meet, but would always know as someone fiercely loved by her kin.

 

This Monday I returned to that business. He was there. I’d seen him several times since our last encounter. Each time I visited the store we would smile and acknowledge one another’s presence. Each time there was a silent understanding between us. We both knew of the burden on his shoulders. No need to speak of it. Just a smile to lighten it.

 

I asked how he was. He was well. It wasn’t until I was about to leave when he called out to me,

 

“It was a year ago today.”

 

No other words needed. I stopped, turned back and asked how he and his wife were. He hoped this year would be easier. His practical wisdom spilled out;

 

“We’re past all the firsts now. First birthdays, Mother’s day, Christmas. I’m hoping now that we are in the second year it will be a bit better”

 

Not over, not done. A bit better. Grief over time defined by a man in its midst.

 

Family and friends had held a mass in her memory the day before. I listened as he shared how he and his wife were experiencing the loss. Ashes had yet to be dispersed. They’d yet to choose the perfect location.

 

Cuba was one of the possible places of rest. It had my vote.

 

We shook hands. Said it was good to see one another.

 

Our paths brought together in serendipitous timing to share in the bitter sweet dance we embark upon when someone we love has left the dance floor.

 

I walked away heading to teach my evening class. It wasn’t until I was a good mile into my walk that I burst into hot tears. The kind of tears which are a mix of sadness, joy, confusion and release. Confounded by good grief interlaced with the joy of having witnessed love.

 

God, we can feel so much.

 

I am still breathing it out. Releasing the grief that passed through me, but was not mine to hold.

 

I will forever hold the memory of being privvy to this man’s beautiful process.

 

Good grief; you continue to amaze me.