Come to the Table

            We come to the table where every suffering heart has a place. We share our stories of being shattered and lost, and talk of the stillness of our days and the erosion of dreams in the long drift of night. We weep by the rivers of Babylon as we remember our dead and the terrible, sad beauty of love.

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

New Year of Grief

The first New Year’s after a loved one dies, the future looks like a rocky coast. There is no celebrating. No late night dancing. No sparklers or blowing of horns. No party.

We don’t know what to do or which direction to head. Because our loved one is not here, no matter what amazing things also happened last year, like a job promotion or a new car, the death renders them meaningless. We do not look forward to what is coming in the new year because most of our dreams involved the one who died.

After the Holidays

The holidays are finally over. We probably partied too much. Ate too much. Watched too much TV. We’re lethargic and exhausted. Yet, if we’re grieving, we finally no longer have to pretend that we’re happy and that life is a fantasy land of happy-happy. But now an unstructured year stretches out before us like a big lump of dough. What will we do with it? More to the point, do we have the energy or desire to cross grief’s boundaries and make any changes?

Zero

Zero

        

           January 1                    Mark Liebenow

Zero degrees this morning

as if there was no temperature.

The world postcard still.

No creatures move.

I breathe the crisp air in slow,

not wanting to freeze my lungs.

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On New Year's Day

Journal entry 29                  

The hush of turning a page. This is what the arrival of the new year sounded like on New Year’s Day. The turning of a page and facing the blank one that appeared. And as easy and quietly as that, everything connected to Evelyn became the past. She rehearsed for a play last year, went to the Arizona desert with Barbara last year, and died last year.

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New Year's Eve

Journal entry 28

New Year’s Eve. Because I’m now single and all my friends are still couples, I have not received any invitations to parties. I stock up on snacks and plan to watch a football game or movie until midnight when I will blow a paper horn and go to bed.

Dumbledore told Harry Potter, when he was clinging to thoughts of his dead parents and wanted the past to come back, “It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live.”

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