Sit With Grief

A message from beyond

My sister Christine, with the smile I miss.

My older sister, Christine, died two years ago, in September, on the second day of Spring. Today would have been her birthday so she is in my thoughts more than usual.

For her last twenty-eight years we lived nearly 500 km apart. We saw each other every couple of months. She shared funny or thought-provoking quotes she found online. We talked every week on the phone. Not for long. Maybe just five minutes. Or ten. But it was enough for us. We MacLeod girls, like our father, aren’t talkers.

I still miss those short talks. Her smile. Her warmth and quiet beauty. Her delicious meals. The elegant and delectable cakes she made for birthdays. The fresh flowers she arranged. Her pragmatism that cut through my mental flight paths and grounded me. Her belief that happiness is now, not next week. And her maxim: Just get on with your life! 

Some people hear messages whispered in their heads from loved ones who have died. Or an inexplicable ball of light dances around the room. Or a butterfly lands on a finger and lingers there, opening and shutting its wings. Or a bird sits on a sill and stays overlong, calling. I once read of a father whose young son had died. A fox unexpectedly visited the house several times in the early evening, peering through the window at him. His son’s name was Todd, which means ‘fox’. A moving story.

Not one of these things has happened to me. There’s just been absence and silence.

Except for one time.

One night, in my grief, I spoke to Christine. I said that I would like her to communicate with me in a way so that I would know for sure that it was her. I said I didn’t want to see a bird or a butterfly and wonder if it were from her. I wanted a communication about which I would have no doubt.

Then I dried my tears, blew my nose one more time, and went to bed.

In the morning, while the kettle was heating water for a cup of tea, I checked my phone. There was a message from my daughter Lara who was in France with her family, visiting her in-laws. She hadn’t known of my overnight grief. She didn’t write anything herself in the message - an unusual thing for her. She had just sent this:

I read the message. My legs shook. I sat down.

That was a message from Christine. I had no doubt. It eased my grief.

When Lara came back to Australia, I asked her about the message she'd sent. She said it popped up on her feed and she felt compelled to send it to me but she didn't know why.

Sit With Grief

In The Pocket Thich Nhat Hanh:

. . . when someone we love passes away, we feel great sorrow

and believe we have lost that person.

But ultimately nothing is lost.

The true nature of those we love

is unborn and undying.

It was the Anglo-Irish poet David Whyte who said that the only cure for grief is grief, and this is true. Grief is a part of the human experience because death is a part of the human experience.

Grief will visit us all.

I don’t suggest we put a Welcome Mat out for Grief, but when Grief comes knocking on our door, it’s good to let her in and sit with her awhile.

And maybe when we sit with Grief, a door in consciousness will open and we will glimpse or feel something intangible and eternal.

And be comforted.

With love, Marlane