
My Uncle Bert passed away last night (December 18, 2020). He was my dad's brother and I never remember a time when he wasn't in my life. My earliest memories have him in them. He was maybe my favourite human being. He was warm and funny, laid back and loyal. He loved me so much. I've heard the cliche but I can honestly say that our world is worse for him not being in it.
I wrote this poem some time after my mum passed away. It was a combination of thoughts people shared and things I learned about grief. Here it is and then I explain it.
It is for so many others that I know who are grieving at the moment.
I’m the reed by the lough shore
That suddenly swishes and sways
The deep fibres ripped from root
And all that I know gives way.
Culture shock silently creeping
I’m trying to track where’s next
It’s not that I don’t understand
But I cannot cue the context.
I know your mouth is moving
And I am here, I’m listening
It’s not that I cannot hear you
It’s the relevance that I’m missing
Being still to know that God is God
Working out, who now I am
Surmising where this wouldn't sting
Crazy dreams of lions and lambs
Melancholy melodies salve a soul
Piano strings of redemption ring
That beautiful piece of heartache
As Karin like an angel sings
Be gentle on yourself, my soul
Walk the valley right on through
Stretch your hand in the loving direction
To the hand reaching out for you.
Let me take the poem one verse at a time..
I’m the reed by the lough shore
That suddenly swishes and sways
The deep fibres ripped from root
And all that I know gives way.
My friend Heather Carey shared this one. The fibres of the reed ripped out. It is the best description of the loss of a parent or I imagine a spouse. It is like your world shakes. Head, heart, soul and body sway. You keel over. You are blown over.
Culture shock silently creeping
I’m trying to track where’s next
It’s not that I don’t understand
But I cannot cue the context.
I have experience culture shock in different places. I have lived for months in Africa and North America. It is always one of disorientation. It is like the compass you take for granted is broken. Your next move is blurred.
I know your mouth is moving
And I am here, I’m listening
It’s not that I cannot hear you
It’s the relevance that I’m missing
There is a lot of chatter around funerals. There are so many kind words. So many stories, some remembered and many never heard before. It is a helpful part of grieving. BUT there are times that people are chattering, filling the uncomfortable silences and it all seems so irrelevant.
Being still to know that God is God
Working out, who now I am
Surmising where this wouldn't sting
Crazy dreams of lions and lambs
God… and hope… Psalm 46 encourages us to know God in the midst. Emmanuel (along with grace) is my favourite word - God with us. In Psalm 46 God is the solid ground as everything else shifts and quakes.
But also… who I am? When mum died I was a motherless child. With dad’s passing an orphan. With Uncle Bert I feel like a balloon no longer moored to my past. It stings but the audacious hope of eternity soothes.
Melancholy melodies salve a soul
Piano strings of redemption ring
That beautiful piece of heartache
As Karin like an angel sings
As everyone know knows me knows. Music is a conduit of the Spirit… of healing… of making sense. With my mum it was my friend Karin Bergquist (and Linford!) from Over The Rhine who whispered into my soul. With dad it has been Doug Gay’s suite of songs about his dad’s passing, Life After Death. Catharsis in songs - powerful.
Be gentle on yourself, my soul
Walk the valley right on through
Stretch your hand in the loving direction
To the hand reaching out for you.
So many people shared those “Be gentle with yourself” words when mum died. I think that I have spent the years trying to work out what they mean… and then how to do it. They are such wise words. Essential words. Grief is heavy and exhausting. Hiding away and resting is so helpful as we come to terms with loss.
And Janice’s hand is still the place where I find sense and some kind of healing… a tangible conduit to the Holy Spirit's comfort.