A Grief Re-Visited

Yesterday, my niece and I sat at the Ellice Theatre having a delicious lunch and chatting about this and that.  Even though it was a common place thing to do, it felt special to me, just because I have never had a "me and my niece", just us, lunch before.  Very cool, I really like her...she's 13, full of spunk and very funny.  As we were sitting there, munching down, she said, "are those pictures the ones my mom put up?  They were on her computer at home."  I turned around to look at the other side of the cafe, and there, bigger then life was my former friend and pastor on 3 large framed pictures.    Two of them he had his arms wide open and a huge smile (in front of renovated houses and apartments) and the other he had a poster of a blown up newspaper, chatting to a driver of a car.  I assume it was when he was "advertising" which city councillor owned a massage parlor here in the West End.  He was like that, publically denouncing and uncovering double dealing and embarrasing connections with crime here, but also one who lived life quietly, personally, with great grace and wit.  Well, as I looked at these great pictures of him, I unexpectedly had a stab of grief.  Harry died about 2 years ago with a fast advancing cancer that took everyone by surprise.  These photos were up for a book launch of Harry's life that is to happen in two weeks.  We (our church and community and other interested persons) are invited to come re-live and celebrate a life well-lived in service to God and others.  I reflected later, do I really want to re-live his life, to end up at the sudden pain of loosing him?  After that thought, I really actually didn't feel like getting involved with this book or the launch.  The grinding hurt and loss, why would I want to remember that?  There will be alot of hoopla, laughs and hugs...but underneath, I know alot of close friends and New Lifers (his church members) would rather not be where the action is this time.

I had a dream about Harry a few weeks after he died (we were in Myanmar at the time).  There was a gathering in the upstairs of a large house being renovated.  People, friends were mingling and talking.  I went to the window that had a railing there, to look outside, kind of grief-stricken and sad that he wasn't around anymore.  Someone came up behind me, and I turned around and it was him...I knew it was a dream and he was dead but he looked great, healthy and smiling.  He encouraged me (I don't remember what he or I said) and I had some questions and we both stood there looking out the window, and then I woke up.  It felt like I had just talked to him.  Sure I was sad but something had changed.  I'd see him again.  Sometimes its harder for the ones left behind, to make sense, to make do, to sort out the message of a life, to reflect and decide to go on.  Still, there's the whisper of grief that takes one unexpectedly to that place and then one has to let go again.....