There is something about standing, your head bowed while trying to make decisions for something you always knew you'd have to face, but never hoped to.
We flipped through flower books, casket sprays, stand displays, table arrangements. Choosing colors, themes, flowers, that reflect the life and heart of the one you dearly love. We started the night before, working with the family that are flying in in a few days, hearing their ideas, sharing pictures.
Grandma was pink. Not light pink, not bright pink, but all pinks at once and intermingling. She was as pure and innocent and gentle as a daisy, blooming on roadsides, in fields. Authentic in her truth, no matter where she told it.
Standing next to my mom, being gentle in our words as not to draw tears. We worked together, again in preparations for her
There is something interesting about grief. How well it hides, perhaps behind your ear, until it breaks forth into songs of sorrow, joy, redemption. Breaks forth into tears, the leak unbidden, from the deep wells your eyes have become.
It is like a weight that hangs on your back, maybe in your heart, that you carry it with you and it doesn't disappear when you shower, and you can't get under it with soap either.
I suppose that over time, the weight gets easier to bear, we strengthen from the carrying of it, but at the same time it puts the extra stress on your knees, our hearts.
Grief isn't easy, but somehow it happens, whether we try to ignore it or not. Somehow it is just one more scar that adds character to our personality.
But yet, in the end, does it make a difference if we grieve? Does joy swallow up sorrow? Does gratitude replace uncertainty? Is human frailty made strong in Christ? Does death lose its mighty sting in the resurrection?
Shall we all not dance again together, in the streets?
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