The Zephyr winds of the desert carry many things with them. So long ago, they carried away the ashes of my late husband. As they ripped across the desert, as they do so often, the roar on that lonely mountain top silenced my wails. Widow’s grief. Widow’s fog. Widowhood. The worst. The only kind of grief I know is the one unique to me. I’m the first to say I couldn’t imagine the depth of your own loss, because I’m still trying to figure out the depth of mine.
There’s another type of grief I’ve been witnessing since May 12th. The loss of the adult child of my Harvest Sister. She’s everything you find in a bountiful harvest of life. Smart. Beautiful. Witty. Charming. Wise. Brilliance packed in a mother. A mentor. A helper. And now, a grieving mom.
Life doesn’t make sense sometimes. Why does one parent enjoy 70-year-old grown children and another lose their 24-year-old-son? Without the “Why” answered, my sweet friend has her faith and family to help her regroup and take her next steps. For now, she’s just practicing breathing in and out, taking things one minute at a time.
She wasn’t the kind of mom that meddled or helicoptered. She was the kind of mom that rode the rollercoaster of life WITH her child while allowing him to grow up to be a special man. She was and will be forever more HIS mom and so proud that he was HER son. Two peas in a pod.
In the last month, I’ve gotten to know learn a lot about him. In 24 years, he lived more than most do in a lifetime, all thanks to his parents love and support. She was there to wish him well as he left to travel Europe. She hugged him close as they were surrounded by hula dancers in Hawaii. Every picture of them showed their connection. That love that only a mom and child share. After all, we grew our children right next to our hearts.
In preschool, under her watchful eye, he found his one true love. A woman that would remain his best friend for 20 years. He married this girl at 5, only to divorce her in 2nd Grade, but the friendship remained true. They held each others secrets for 20 years, each other’s Ride-Or-Die until he did.
WE honored his life last Saturday. Before the memorial service, a young woman dressed in a black sundress entered the church. Holding a beautiful vase of flowers, she was having a hard time with her tears. She kept assuring her girlfriend that she was fine although it was obvious she was anything but as she stood at the memorial tribute in the back.
As the appointed greeter, I lost track of her until she was in front of me, talking to the town’s florist.
“He was quite a young man. How did you know him.”
Our eyes met briefly. Before she could answer, all I could say was, “I already know.” Because, for some strange reason, I did. Never having met, I knew she lived in Las Vegas and was the most important woman in HIS life. His mom had already shared their story in bible study. The strangest thing was, I was correct and immediately, we hugged and cried.
Lovely doesn’t even begin to explain this young woman. During the service, she had the courage to speak to over 100 guests about her young marriage and lifelong friendship. While full of grief, she shared just a glimpse into the kind of rare relationship that makes life beautiful. Through her and the other events of the day, I left feeling close to this young man that left our world far too young.
Death. None of us will escape. Although we would hope everyone will follow the “proper and expected” order, some slip in line sooner than we can accept.
Grief. A nasty journey for anyone. Not something we can navigate for the person traveling through it. Sometimes, words get in the way. Just listen. Give Space. Hold a hand. Give a hug. Take phone calls at 2 AM. Repeat as many times as humanly possible.
I met a young man last week. An extraordinary young man. Someone that lived many lifetimes in one. A man who rocked soft eyes and an awesome beard. I met a young man created and loved by my friend and her husband. I’m so glad I had that chance.
Dedicated to Taylor Ray Smith and Miss Daria.
More tomorrow.