be like the ground
The ground’s generosity takes in our compost and grows beauty. Try to be more like the ground. – Rumi
There are those moments in life when grief and sadness arrive and we are presented with a choice: consume or be consumed. Take in the hurt and the brokenness and allow it to create in us more space for grace, for understanding, for patience, for love; or allow it to swallow us whole. Sometimes, it seems to be a delicate dance between the two. Sometimes, it’s a crawling out of one and into another.
I lost my grandfather this past weekend. He had been so sick for a very long time, and in all honesty, I find myself mostly relieved and grateful that he is no longer in pain, suffering, and weak. I believe that whatever comes next, I will see him again and he will be strong and full of life, the way that I remember him as a child. Yet still, I feel the sadness in losing someone I love and in walking alongside my mother as she has lost her father. I realize that I only have one grandparent left and I feel the urge to be evermore grateful for her presence and life, her love and endless support of me.
In feeling grief, the best things I can think to do is to celebrate those things that are good; like the really, really good things. Because we’re all ticking off days here on earth, young or old, healthy or sick; we all have a numbered amount of breaths left to take, moments to laugh, meals to eat, songs to listen to, and times to kiss the people that make our insides smile. So even in loss, all I know to do is celebrate because I never want it to be “too late”.
I will listen to amazing records in the dark, under the twinkle of Christmas lights.
I will let my phone calls with my mom be rambly and let our hugs last as long as they can.
I will eat spicy noodles and try new flavors and splurge on fancy butter without feeling guilty.
I will make my grandma’s amazing Greek salad and eat lots of it, with crusty bread and creamy mushroom soup.
I will be extra grateful to sit in a gray chair in my church that I love, next to my (newly stateside) dear friend home from Spain.
I will dance. A lot. (And probably badly. But I won’t care!)
I will take more pictures and be thankful that my grandpa was the reason I have this beautiful camera in the first place.
I will sip holiday ales and laugh too loud with my friends, grateful that the miles that separate can get smaller, if only for a few hours.
I will be still and amazed as much as possible. Our world’s wonder is endless, if only we stop and listen properly once in awhile.
I will be grateful that I get to be a part of “ours” in so many ways; not mine, not yours, but ours, together.
I will wear brightly colored tights and sparkly gold shoes just because they make me happy.
I will make my niece laugh as much as I can, because the sound of her laugh makes me believe extra hard that this life is a pretty great thing.
[photo credit to my best friend here]