We are so quick to move on. Motion. Momentum. Movement. But what if healing is a lifetime? What if feeling the pain of former loss is not being stuck in the past or a cry for help, but a path to move closer to healing and preserve the memory of the one we are trying so hard to “get over”?
Today would have been my paternal grandfather’s 86th birthday. Or “Gramps” as we called him. He was the only grandfather I actively remember since my maternal grandfather passed away when I was six years old. Gramps’ death was one of the most pivotal moments in my life, but it was through his death that I learned more about his life and the true impact it had on mine. It’s funny (in a not so funny way) how it often takes losing a person to identify the magnitude of importance their life holds in your own mosaic of life. I didn’t know that Gramps being proud of me was paramount until I no longer consistently felt it and had to read it on a page. I didn’t know I valued being asked “how are you” in a sincere way until the person who always patiently waited to hear that answer was no longer listening. I didn’t know my belief in the truth that I was never alone would be tested by the absence of the one who consistently reminded me of that truth. I didn’t know that losing a man who loved God greatly would cause me to question the greatness and goodness of that same God. I didn’t know the concept of “moving on” would be one that felt unattainable and disrespectful.
Until Gramps. Until I was having memories of him instead of moments with him.
In the 8 years since Gramps’ death, I continue to feel the tension between moving on and holding on. There is guilt in both. Guilt that time is a narcotic and numbs the pain which feels equivalent to numbing the significance of his impact in my life. Guilt that I don’t completely desire the absence of pain (which we equate to healing) because it feels like a dishonor to him.
But is it truly one or the other? The older I get, the more I realize how much of life lives in the both/and instead of either/or. Perhaps I can hold on to the legacy of Gramps which includes pain as I reflect on the impact of a man I selfishly wish was still with me AND move on from the guilt that the constant motion of life will cause his memory to be dishonored.
Grief and hope can co-exist. They must. My hope is in the One who crafts the future – a future that includes a reunion with Gramps as we hang out with Jesus together. My grief exists as I grapple with the acceptance of an experience that was never intended for humans to process. Death always feels like the ultimate knockout blow. How fitting that God would use what represents defeat, ending, and despair and redeem it to provide victory, beginning, and hope. Resurrection. Redemption. Restoration. All possible because of a death.
Happy birthday, Gramps. Today, I am proud of YOU. Proud your life and legacy deserves to be remembered and celebrated because it always pointed back to the One who remembers and celebrates us.
My Mind Vortex 