Righting the Upside Down

Too many tears . . . too few moments of calm, of equilibrium. My world’s been upside down for so many months. Reality and memories remind me of a time when what I accepted as predictable truth and comfort, weren’t. And grief entered. Then, I climbed up from dark places, taught myself to accept ugly reality, decided to live and bring grace into my world. But this year the climb is harder. Why? What’s different?

It’s past time to step outside myself for a talk . . .

Look at yourself, clutching the rim of that same, deep well again. You’ve done this tough climb before. At least take some time and look up. Then came the conversation, when you admitted the truth and she asked you the question . . . it was a good one.

Was it because of the young man in the chair opposite her bed?

Oh . . . I don’t . . . but wait . . .

He stood when he saw us come into the room . . . tall, dark-haired, with kind eyes and a small smile. He looked about the same age, with that slender build you knew so well. His few words felt familiar, a gentle sweet voice, with neither demands or expectation. Without a sound he sat again, watching you all surround the foot of her bed. He was sitting vigil; his grandmother was dying. You remember hearing the murmuring of our introductions, the lyrics and harmonies sung to soothe both – one in bed, the other in waiting. Only a few moments into the first song, you hear him. It begins with unsteady breathing growing into soft sobs that last through our singing.

Walking away from that afternoon, one like those you’ve faced before, you talked yourself into normalizing that Hospice experience. For a while you believed your own self-talk . . . “it was sad, but I understand and can sidestep sad.”  Yet, here you are again, looking into that dark space. Was it because of the young man in the chair?

Oh . . . damn . . . of course. That grieving, gentle, young man, familiar in age and build, voice and action was so like your dead Matthew. And now you sit, inside that upside down world – not the one where sons are meant to outlive their mothers, but the one where the mother sits, grieving, holding her son’s picture, realizing that this is the year he will be dead as long as he was alive.

May grace always surround you,

Jane