It’s nasty and cold outside, and I was about as low-energy in worship as one
can get while still retaining a pulse. Blah! Yuck! Ptui!
This anniversary of dad’s death has been harder than some of the others. Partly because I know that my dad’s ashes are being scattered today (assuming the weather has cooperated) and partly because I don’t have a newborn to distract me.
On the first anniversary, I was on my way to APCE with ChaplainMom, and I wrote this about a worship experience there:
During opening worship at the conference there was a line in a prayer that was supposed to say, “Love is stronger than death.” Instead the person mistakenly said, “Love is stranger than death.” Yes, it is. Death is death, it follows the rules. People live, then they die. Love, on the other hand, can seem to be dead but actually be hibernating, it can come back to life, it can move mountains and make a person to live on in the memory of those who loved him, or in the smile of a dimply almost-one-year-old girl.
Now I have another one-year-old girl, and I have to say, I think Dad would’ve really loved this one. I know he loved all his grandkids, but there’s something about the divine miss m’s relentless and exasperating climbing, her awesome tree-trunk thighs and raspberry-rific belly, and her devilish Grin of the Shit-Eating Variety (hat tip to Jon Stewart). Man, he would’ve gotten such a kick out of this kid.
The Carrie Newcomer song we played at the service my friends had for me at Crusty ol’ Theological (full text is here) has a line that says, “And I saw the child that I birthed in my pain, and when she opened her eyes, there were your eyes again.” My dad’s eyes were greenish hazel and like no other. Variations of them run throughout our fair-skinned Irish/Scottish family, and mine are similar to his but not quite the same.
And I look closely into my girls’ faces every so often to see whether they’re going to have his eyes. Alas, it will not be quite like the Carrie Newcomer song. C has bluish hazel eyes, and M’s are looking to be mostly brown with some texture. Still, they are his eyes. C already has some of his reserved thoughtfulness, and M has his sparkle. One will blow you away with her observation about the world, and the other will put a whoopee cushion on your chair.
The chorus of Carrie’s song goes:
We will meet again I’m sure,
Someday when our sorrows are cured.
And we’ll walk like friends, embrace again,
Much closer to home we’ll be then.
I really don’t know what happens after we die. I have my hopes, and my secret doubts. But if my hopes are wrong, and my doubts are right, and we live on only in memory, and in the spiritual DNA of our loved ones, my girls are helping me see that as a gracious plenty.
17 Responses to “yucky sunday”
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Asides
» I have been remiss in posting SBJ’s latest stats: 23 pounds and 27 inches at six months. Yes, I’ve got the big mama biceps.
» Aaaaaand little she-who-is lost another tooth this week!
» SBJ is four months old, 19 pounds 5 ounces, and 26 inches tall. GIGANTOR!
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(o)
If your energy was low, you graciously did not show it to your watching congregation.
I was so moved this morning…two specific times…knowing all along that today was the anniversary of your father’s death and knowing that his ashes were being spread…
The first moment during the scripture reading by the children when they read “For now we see in a mirror, dimly, but then we will see face to face”…and the children turned and faced each other “face to face”.
The second moment during the prayer time as you so beautifully heard each spoken prayer request and prayed on their behalf…and then a woman spoke her prayer request “please pray for my friend whose father died quite suddenly…” and you stayed in that holy moment and prayed for her without a flinch or a tear…
I have my doubts too…about death and what happens when we die, but your sweet girls ARE hope incarnate.
I hope your day brings some gift of peace.
Bless you, rm.
Thanks, everyone. And Kelley—those were two key moments for me too.
Guess what song was playing on the Big Broadcast this evening when I dropped off Mamala?
“Irish Eyes Are Smiling.”
(o)
B and I drove 9 hours this Friday with a friend-couple to a memorial service for a friend and drove back Saturday after the memorial service and luncheon attended by around 200 people. The service involved 3 pastors who with eloquent and on-target words celebrated our friend. When the service was over, I had the sense that I wanted it to continue. To make my friend come back? Not really; she had fought a long battle with cancer. I wish I knew what happens when we die. She did live for that hour in my memory. I believe there is more; I just don’t know what.
I hope you find peace soon, my sweet daughter….
*hugs and sweet thoughts hurled towards you from Texas*
Bless you today rm…and all your family too.
Much love from here too…The wonder is watching different bits of your parents emerge in your children as they grow. Recently, HuggerSteward has become the reasoning peace-maker that my father was..without ever having known him. It’s a bitter-sweet joy, parenting.
RM, know that the weather was beautiful here. A cold, bright blue, sunshine-filled day. Although I was not able to be there in person, I know your dad’s bench was waiting for him to come and rest a while. I was thinking of you all day.
Oh my goodness.
My father died earlier this month, and 16 days later we had to euthanize a beloved cat. I have been thinking almost continually about love and death, and then I read your entry. Oh boy.
{{rm}}
(o)
hugs and love to you.
Lovely post reverendmother. I am going through a really tough time in my life now. Your thoughts about love hibernating and the possibility of it coming back to life, stirs very bittersweet emotion. God’s peace to you in missing your dad. I pray God’s peace im my life as well over feeling very similiar to the loss we feel when death passes our way. If you will, please keep me in your prayers. Thank you, Trace
lovely and hopeful words. thank you. I just celebrated my third Christmas without my dad. Somewhere I got the idea that it would get easier. This year was hard, and I decided that I need to give up that idea.
sending thoughts and prayers your way.
Thank you for sharing this so eloquently and honestly.