Death & All His Friends

Ask me what I did this past weekend and I'd have to really think about it to come up with the answer. Loosely translated, I did nothing of much significance. It was just another weekend in my life, neither memorable nor noteworthy.

One town over it was playing out completely differently for my coworker J. What started out, no doubt, as an ordinary weekend, turned into one of the most horrific of her life. Her husband went out late Saturday evening to go snowmobiling. Something normal, something he went out to do regularly. But due to the repeated thawing and freezing, his usual route was covered in ice. But still, it was not too bad to turn back home. But once further up the trail, as he neared the railroad tracks, he lost control of the snowmobile. I'm not sure entirely of all the details; what I do know is that he slammed into the iron railroad guard rail, flew off his snowmobile, and died of massive head trauma.

I knew nothing of this until Monday when I came to work. The whole office was somber. J doesn't work in my branch, but I have served on several committees with her through my years working there. J is now a widow at the age of 36. Her children, ages 14 and 9, are fatherless.

Grief was back in my life.

Grief, for me, is one of those things that's never too far off. He's always lingering somewhere in the back of my mind. He never seems to leave me be for too long. And it doesn't seem to matter how removed a situation actually is from me; He will just sock me right in the gut at the mere mention of a tragedy. I didn't know J's husband. It in no way tangibly affects my life that her husband is gone. I can't even remember the last time I saw J. Yet my mind has been in overdrive praying for and thinking of her, my heart has been breaking and crying out to God for her and her children.

The interesting thing to me about death, loss, grief, is that just when you think the elevator of 'how low you could possibly go' hits the bottom floor, it lurches down another floor deeper. And yet, there is something of the human spirit that cannot be held down there for too long. It is my experience that your spirit will start pulling you up and out much sooner than you may feel prepared. As does time. I have felt cheated by time, pulling on me to move on much sooner than I would have liked too. And yet, even in the depths of loss, life can be found.

A natural example of this is my lavender plant. I bought a lavender plant this past summer and it thrived. Then one day I woke up and it had inexplicably died overnight. Instead of throwing the whole thing away, I simply cut the entire thing down to a stub. I left it in the sun and continued to water it regularly. A few months later it made a comeback. At first it was just one measly little stalk that started to grow up. I felt sad that it wasn't the glorious plant it used to be, but soldiered on taking care of it. Right when that stalk really started looking good, it too died. Frustrated, I gave up on it. It sat on my shelf for a few weeks, still giving off the heady aroma of lavender. Then, suddenly, out of that dead stalk I noticed new growth shooting right out the middle of it. And now, a few more months later, there's even more growth.

Life and death are like this. Right when things seem the most hopeless, the most drear, life will come forth. Life will always come forth.

And that is the beauty of it all.