Mourning joy

Today I feel the weight of the losses in my life, of those whom I love and who are no longer here with me: my father who would have turned 90 just Sunday past but left us too soon in 2003; my Uncle H who left us slightly more than a year ago; my cousin who would’ve turned 59 on 13 June but passed away in November 2020; and A who went home to the Lord on 12 June. 

I feel bereft when I allow myself to think of their passing. What triggered this wave of mourning was a text conversation with M, a good friend of E’s who said to me: She loved you and often talked about you with me. Instant major waterworks.

The is the most painful part of loving - how do I reconcile the loss of the earthly presence of a particular someone with whom I have shared a meaningful and rich history? It gets easier with time, and it doesn’t. I do not feel any less love for those who are no longer here. I continue to love them with the same intensity and loyalty. 

And so I continue to miss them. I just don’t show it on the outside for I do not wish to be thought of as slightly unhinged or a tiresome weakIng filled with self-pity for that’s not who I am. I am strong with the love of Christ within me. I am redeemed by His agapeo and this redemption must play out as love, joy and hope in the pit of life. 

I therefore transmute this grief into a love for others, a concern and care for those around me, just as my deceased loved ones who have desired and done quite tangibly. The love that lives on in my past relationships lives on in my words and actions toward others in the here and now. 

Do I bring the joy of the Lord as A did the moment she entered a room? Do I exude the bonhomie of my uncle who made friends wherever he went? Do I go to the extent Daddy did to help others in need, he who always went the extra mile with his generous heart? Do I minister to others with the divine wisdom and healing openness E did?  

In every decision we are give the choice between life or death. I choose life always. I may not choose perfectly or enact my choice perfectly each time, but I do choose to turn my mourning into dancing, my grief into joy. May those around me experience that joy through me even if I may not be feeling it quite so much myself.