I bought two cards the other day at the stationery store in town.
The 31-year-old son of a life-long friend died last weekend. The 28-year-old son of another dear friend is about to get married.
And so I sit this morning, pen in hand, my own mother’s heart overflowing. In death and in joy, we are called to pause and try to make sense of things. And yet, searching for words that might offer solace, and for words with which to honor and celebrate, I also know this: no store-bought card can begin to suffice.
A wake. A wedding. A valiant struggle with opioid addiction and a gentle young man’s life lost too soon. Two young adults preparing to join their lives together, filled with hope and determined to love, honor, and uphold a marriage’s sacred trust. A man I’ve known since we were both six grieves the death of his only son. And a friend whose children grew up alongside my own goes shopping for a mother-of-the-groom dress. I re-read the obituary. I click to enlarge the photo of the dress.
The randomness of grace and luck, of life and death, is breathtaking.
I remember a shy little boy in my third-grade class who gave me three tiny dolls as a gift, tucked into a small green tomato basket under a square of cloth his mother had stitched into a miniature blanket. That was over fifty years ago, and yet I can see them still, in my mind’s eye. Yesterday, I wrapped my arms around that same boy. He is sixty now, like me, and his own boy is gone.
I remember a long-ago September afternoon, picking raspberries with my new next door neighbor who was quickly becoming a cherished friend and confidante. The details are fresh in memory even now: our laughter and easy conversation, our children’s hands stained red with juice, the hovering thrum of wasps, the warmth of sun on bare arms. My friend’s four-year-old, who till this day had shunned all fruits and vegetables, suddenly pronounced that he loved raspberries. We cheered this breakthrough and encouraged him to eat as many as he wanted. That tiny, red-headed macaroni-and-cheese-eating child is about to become a husband. Life rushes on.
Meanwhile, we do what humans have always done. We show up for each other. We do our best to strengthen the ties that bind us on this perilous, magnificent journey. We gather to mourn, to celebrate. We shed tears of sadness, tears of joy.
“I guess lately I feel like all I can do is look back,” a young mother wrote me yesterday, “because the future seems so unclear. My children are 5, 6, and 8. We’re in the thick of it.”
Yes, I want to say to her. You are indeed in the thick of it. And there is nothing clear about the future, nor will there ever be. But you are doing beautifully, really. Just keep going.
In the entire history of the universe, let alone in your own history, there has never been another day just like today, and there will never be another just like it again.
Today is the point to which all your yesterdays have been leading since the hour of your birth. It is the point from which all your tomorrows will proceed until the hour of your death.
If you were aware of how precious today is, you could hardly live through it. Unless you are aware of how precious it is, you can hardly be said to be living at all.
~ Frederick Buechner
Katrina,
This is so beautifully written, and truly touched my heart for so many reasons. None of us knows what Life will throw at us in our time,
and sometimes I have to say I am thankful I did not see what was coming. If we have faith, we trust our Heavenly Father has reason for
all. To bring us closer to Him, closer to our family or just closer to relating to mankind in what seems to be such a ‘All About Me” world.
I had to share your touching video of being a Mother. Thank your for that, as you put words and pictures to the love, fears and Joy of being
a Mother. Happy Mother’s Day to you as well. God bless your day.
Hi Katrina! Your words really hit home today, as they often do. I find myself observing the dichotomies of life with renewed awe and wonder. Turning 70 in a few weeks; I also have an 18 month old grandson who has stolen my heart. Looking back and looking forward are so often much the same view but that has changed for me. There is so much behind me and yet so much in front, some of which I won’t be here to observe. We do go forward even after death in the hearts and memories of those we love. I find comfort in that.
Your words today are balm to my todays and tomorrows. Blessings to you, Katrina, now and always!
Emily from Barnstorming
A good friend of ours lost her son to opiate addiction last year.
This kind of loss is so hard to absorb.
The way life shows
us loss and gain
at once
is so powerfully bittersweet.
Katrina this was such a true and timely post for me. I just got off the phone with my son, telling me that the mother of one of his childhood friends was killed this week. The same friend is getting married next month. I know only too well that it is possible to hold sorrow and joy in your heart at the same time, but it isn’t easy. Hugs to you.
I came here after reading of Rachel Held Evans death and this was lovely to read with that grief. Thank you for sharing.
Lovely, and more than that, because the trueness and reminder of this piece is powerful. Thanks for sharing your beautiful thoughts and providing us readers the opportunity to pause and take your message in. Kahlil Gibran wrote that “Your joy is your sorrow unmasked. And the selfsame well from which your laughter rises was oftentimes filled with your tears. And how else can it be?” xoxo
As always this is so beautiful. You get right to the bruised and beating heart of life without preamble, which is your gift. I’m so sorry for your loss. Thank you for writing about both the joy and the sorrow.
I’ve never had to absorb a loss such as this, and I feel the weight of that blessing every day. Some days, it’s true: I can hardly live through it, knowing how precious it is. My oldest daughter attempted suicide last year. Every day is dear to me. I’m so, so sorry for your friend’s loss, for your loss. I’m sending you love.
The juxtaposition is heartbreaking beautiful. Last month I attended the wake of a boy who also lost his battle with addiction and wrapped my arms around the mother and father, both in our college friend circle. Those of us who had gathered to attend welcomed the occasion to see each other while wholeheartedly hating the reason…life has spun too fast that death was the reason for our reunion.
Last month our niece welcomed her first child, bringing a much wanted child and the start of another family. Life moves forward, sweet and bitter equally.
My condolences to your friend on the loss of his beloved son.
Thank you <3
Blessings and love,
Blessings and love, please put me on your list!
Thank you for expressing these emotions of happiness and sorrow. I wish a long time friend of mine would be open to my words during his time of sorrow from me as I am to you. To be thanked is more appreciated than any action at all….thank you Katrina.
Thank you, Katrina. It is uncanny how many times you post and something very similar is going on in my life. This week I lost a friend and colleague to a massive heart attack. Just the day before, we were sitting at a meeting together having a pleasant conversation, not knowing how precious that moment was.
Thank you Katrina, for your insight, your wisdom and your timing. I have three very close friends from high school. One just lost her partner of 15 yr and he was only 53. Another friend in our group will be celebrating her transgender son’s upcoming marriage, something she never thought possible before. We, each, learn to appreciate and rejoice at those special moments and to grieve with those we hold close. Each day of life is precious. You said it beat, when not long ago, you wrote The Gift of an Ordinary Day. Thank you so much for that book. It is so true.
Perfection as always, Katrina. I sent this straight to two friends who needed to read your beautiful words today. <3
Katrina, in losing my mother last week, I am increasingly aware that she — as a last member of her generation in our family — took with her memories that connected me with members of my family dating back to the 1800s. For she held memories of fantastic stories told to her as early as the 1930s, which included the settling of the West by her own grandparents and great grandparents.
Following her partially debilitating stroke two years ago, she spent much of her time in bed, reviewing, sorting and perfecting her memories of each of those siblings and forebears. Some of these memories she had shared with me either before or after that event, enabling me to transcribe them into a Word document in my limited fashion. We also have albums of photos, beginning around the 1930s., and a few 8 mm silent home movies from the 1960s, many of which reside fragilely on a couple of hard drives and/or thumb drives.
How far I may be able to connect any of this family lore into the future — to connect with the life that may be married sooner and give birth later and grow older in the end — is anyone’s guess. That will continue to have something to do with my own behavior and longevity, which will help to determine whether anyone from future generations may be listening and if they may hear what my lips are able to utter or read what my thumbs are able to type.
But sitting here today, I imagine that the propensity for human connection and the power of human memory could provide a tangible span of memory across as many as 5 or even 6 generations, or perhaps as much as 200 years. That my grandchildren, or even great grandchildren, might remember in their old age my telling them of my grandmother’s recollection of seeing Buffalo Bill’s Wild West Show or her grandfather’s stories of coming West for the California Gold Rush is simply remarkable to me. What minds we have!
Dear Katrina,
And oh, how dear you are! I so look forward to seeing something from you in my email inbox! As a result of some health issues, I needed to flag your email and I just had the pleasure of reading it this morning. It always amazes me how much we all have in common.
Only a week ago I was celebrating the birth of a precious little girl who is the daughter of a much loved cousin of mine! The baby was tiny, beautiful and healthy and they named her Amelia. The family was delighted and all was well until…. well, until my beloved Aunt passed away. Amelia was never to meet her Great Grandmother and I lost a woman who had been more of a mother to me than an aunt. Great joy had entered my life only to followed by deep, darkening sorrow. The ugly, double edged sword with which we all must live was in my lap and I turned to my Dear Friend, Our Lord, for comfort.
I wish you well and hope your sadness lifts quickly so your tomorrows can be happy ones and you are able to find much joy in your journey! Many Blessings to you, Katrina!
Your thoughts and words are so true. Beautiful writing as always. It reminded me to pause and be more mindful. Thank you 🙂
Dear Katrina,
On this Mother’s Day weekend, I wish you an abundance of blessings . You are such a gift to all mothers . When I am feeling lost, I turn to your writings which always make me feel like I am not alone in this journey of life and motherhood. I do not know if you will ever understand how you soothe our souls. Happy Mother’s Day !
Love and blessings,
Jill
I saw the title of your post on Jeanne’s blog. Of course it called my name and I’m so glad I came over.
I’m so deeply heartbroken for the father who lost his son. It’s such a life shattering event and I pray that he is surrounded by those (as you say) who ‘do their best to strengthen the ties that bind us on this perilous, magnificent journey.’
Love is the one thing that will get him through this.
xo
Leslie
Beautifully expressed. Being able to view life from all sides is a blessing, even if it also at times feels like a burden. Thanks for your words.