Mark Liebenow - Grief (formerly Widowers Grief)
It’s late December and the woods are quiet.
I stand in my backyard lost in the mystery of trees. Two squirrels chase each other through the snow and deepening shadows. I listen to trees creak in the breeze, and hear the soft click-click-click of empty sunflower shells land on each other, dropped by wrens and finches at the feeder. The magenta of sunset flows across the sky, then shifts to rose.
along with streams of grief.
They intertwine and flow together with the hours
through thunderstorms and warm days,
under full moons and new,
and nourish the green meadows.
Nature’s River of Life flows down through the solitude
of ancient mountains,
with tributaries that join in from the sides
that bear compassion, humility, hope.
The creeks and streams are braided into One River
and flow to others when they are needed.
There are many streams but one river.”
Mark Liebenow
Earth Day, April 22—the legacy of Senator Gaylord Nelson of Wisconsin.
There are stones we put in our pockets to remind us of where our life has turned, as well as of the times it has surprised us. “Well, today was certainly a Stone to remember!”
There are question stones that we hold in our hands, turn them over, and ponder the what ifs, the maybes, the perhaps.
When someone dies, Caroline Fish says, grief can feel heavy, like a boulder, and at other times it seems more like a pebble, a pebble that we will carry with us always.
We come to the table to nourish one another. We have had our fill of struggle and despair. We share what we have with each other, and pass faith from hand to hand. In holy giving and receiving, we bear witness to the communion of sacrifice and grace.
We come to the table to say to each other that in the midst of despair there is hope. That where we are broken, there is mending. That where we are angry, there is reconciliation. We come in compassion to bring courage to each other for the challenges that lie ahead, and to learn how to live in community together.
Mark Liebenow, Christmas 2021
When the year’s shadows are heaviest, when nights become long and cold, and feelings of self-doubt, despair, and death draw close, we light candles to push back the darkness that surrounds us. The flickering flames invite us to slow our busyness, set aside our fears, and open to everything that exists in this moment.
The twinkling of the stars, the bonfires in the backyard, and the strands of holiday lights on houses in our neighborhood remind us of people we loved who’ve died, dreams we tenaciously hang on to, and mentors whose wise guidance continues to help us find our way through life. The lights call us to reclaim the passions that stir our hearts with visions and imbue our lives with hope.
If we love anyone, we will suffer when they die because their death will fracture us. Many of us will think that we should be strong enough to deal with grief on our own, so we won’t tell anyone. When others are suffering, they don’t tell us for the same reason, even though we would want to help. Everyone ends up suffering in silence, alone with our thoughts and feelings that circle around and around until they spiral us down.
Because grief will never completely go away, the question is how to live with grief and still celebrate the daily joy of life?
Winter Prayer
In the turning of the natural world back towards light, may we so turn.
May we be grateful for what we have.
and mindful of the widowed, the sick, the refugee, the battered, the abandoned.
May we realize when we have enough and share the rest.
May we take risks and love without expecting anything in return.
May we respond to others with compassion instead of judgment.
May we sit with those who are hurting or lonely and be present.
Christina Rasmussen and I spent an invigorating hour talking about the landscape of grief and how we found our way through its wilderness and put our lives back together after our spouses died.
You can listen to the Dear Life Podcast here: http://www.dearlifepodcast.com/episodes/ep78
We light candles for our dead.
We light them for the grief that holds the living.
We light them to bring hope
in a dark, uncertain time.
Mark Liebenow
