Tag Archives: grief

Grief

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Grief… What do you want of me?
We want your tears
Bottled deep inside
Poured out
And released.
You may not hold them hostage any longer.
They are the expression
of love poured out,
an expression of loss so deep
it cannot be dealt with
in a day
or week
or month.

We demand your full bodied release
Of all your pain and suffering.
We call you to release those deep moans
Of your despair.
We need you to be strong no more,
But to be weak…
So weak that you crumble
And allow life to hold and support you.

You cannot move through this
With mere determination and focus.
It will take surrender to
Being present
To the deep despair,
the fear,
the pain,
And sorrow
Inside you.

KARE
2/06

Surrender: A Homily Given by Shannon Harder Ronald at St. Leo’s Catholic Church on Trinity Sunday, May 21-22, 2016

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My father died in February.

This community held us with much tenderness and compassion.

The two month journey for our family was marked with much grace.

On Thanksgiving, I held Papa in my arms as he cried and was anguished over “Johnny who took the bullet for him in the back of the plane, and Sam who took the bullet for him in the fox hole.”  He hadn’t shared about his former comrades much, but his distress came out of him as we shared thanksgiving for our lives.  It was an anguish of prior parts of his life that still needed reconciling.

A week later Papa ended up in the hospital.  Mom said to me, “This is sad.”  And I asked her why.  She said that Papa was wondering if he would get out of the hospital, and then answered himself, “its ok if I don’t.”  I asked Mom how she was with that, and she said she was ok, since Papa was ok with it.  Just like that something shifted for them.  There was a surrendering so profound that it stayed with our family the two months he journeyed to the other side.  It framed how he and we lived those days.  It was like he chose a high bar to walk this walk, Mom joined him right away, and the six of us kids did the same.  It was like he let himself fall into the loving arms of God.

I don’t want to make this sound easy and carefree.  It is never easy to surrender, to take peace in the unknowing that lies ahead in our lives.  We had the family dynamics to work through, hard medical decisions that would support Papa’s desires, our sadness and grief to express, and the final saying goodbye.  But Papa modeled for us how to do that with much grace and dignity and truth.  He called on the phone everyone he knew to say goodbye, to made amends where needed, give thanks all around, while continuously keeping his humor and wit. We prayed together as a family and gathered around his bed often for him to bless us and for us to bless him, and to thank him for being such a wonderful step-father.  We were in it together and leaned on each other.  We cried together and laughed together.

On this Trinity Sunday, it is similar.  God’s grace and love permeates and is omnipresent in our entire universe.  This is the glue that holds all together.  Jesus’ incarnation brings God’s presence into our world in a way that we can see, understand at some level and model.  The Holy Spirit, the breath of wisdom, blows through us.  It is a weaving of life force within us and throughout the entire universe.  We and all of creation are connected, woven together in a love that sustains us.

We can choose to be connected with God and with each other, or we can choose to be disconnected from God and from each other.  We have free will to make this connection or not.  And continuously throughout our days we go back and forth, of being connected and being disconnected.  Our egos, busy lives, insecurities, our unawareness gets in our way of not being connected and thus being lonely, and alone.  It takes much courage to lean into life, the pain, the unknowing, the heartache.  But it is only in leaning into what comes up in our lives, of embracing all of what shows up each day, of trusting that each moment is presented to us for learning, growing and becoming closer to God.   It takes faith to surrender to God’s promise, to surrender to what we don’t know what lies ahead.  What if God doesn’t catch me when I take this step?!  Am I going to let this fear paralyze me from entering into a life fully lived?

Surrender – it’s a big word to me.  It seems like it would take a quantum leap to truly surrender.  So how about if we break it down.  How about if we look at it backwards?  How about if we take it in smaller steps?  Can I look at it as having less resistance?  I can do small steps when a quantum leap feels like I am coming too close to the abyss, when it feels just too dangerous.  God works with us in little and big steps, each is movement that’s keeping us going, that is moving us closer to God.  It is in the movement that we have a chance of transformation, of possibility of new life, of growth and of joy.

So what comes out of surrender?  If it has a potential of being difficult and scary why would we even approach the subject?  In surrendering into the arms of God, being fully present with Jesus, of inviting the wisdom of the Holy Spirit into our lives there is a joy that bubbles up within.  It transforms and molds us into joy-filled people.  It is like nothing has changed, and everything has changed.

I am struck by the irony of this situation – God offers us to fall completely and fully into the love of God, to be surrounded by the peace and joy that comes with such an action.  How do we do that?  How do we take such a leap?  Well God models that action for us because God has completely surrendered to us; God has scooped us up and loves us unconditionally and without any attachment.  A love that is so deep that it penetrates our beings and all of the universe, and at the same time with such love that we are totally free to make our own decisions.  Now that is non-attachment.  That is true love.

One last point, back to Papa.  Surrender wasn’t close to the top of the Lieutenant Colonel’s vocabulary.  His job for 30 plus years of his life was to get his men out of three wars, alive.   The military had been his identity and his life.  For me, I had been in the Jesuit Volunteers and had walk 200 miles through Kansas with the Bethlehem Peace Pilgrimage and Fr. Jack Morris and Brother Fred Mercy.  Papa and I came from two different perspectives on this, but we didn’t look at it as a right or wrong way.  Our love and respect for each other was able to span the divide, our care of each other transcended our differences.  A week before he died as I sat by his hospice bed at the house, he said – “Shanny, you have to tell people that war is not the way.  You have to tell people war is not the way.”  I was flabbergasted.  This had been his identity for the vast majority of his 92 years.  His total surrender to what lay ahead for him took my breath away.

He died in peace.  He died in joy.

I end with a poem by the French poet, Guillaumen Apollinaire

Come to the edge.

We can’t. We’re afraid.

Come to the edge.

We can’t. We will fall!

Come to the edge.

And they came.

And he pushed them.

And they flew.

Joel

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DSC_0461

In November, after learning that my brother, Joel, had advanced lung cancer, I wrote this reflection. In early February, I read it at his memorial service. In honor of his birthday, I share here today.

JOEL
As I stop and Breathe,
I feel my grief arise.
Tears surface as I
Hold you in my heart.
The sadness takes my breath away.

I remember my childhood,
You, ten years older,
my protector brother.
I am moved by the memory
Of your tenderness, loyalty and love.

Fifty years of smoking
Has taken root in your lungs,
Blocking your airway,
Stealing your breath.
Death stands waiting to receive
Your tender, loving spirit.

Am I ready to let you go?
I choke on the sob of grief
Arising in my chest,
And allow the winds of sadness to shake me.
Slowly, I relax my breath
Releasing, Blessing, Receiving,
All that is to come.

Wait For Me. I Will Be With You.

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I was in California when I got the call. “Come now. Auntie Anne is in the hospital.” This was my 95-year-old great aunt who was childless. Throughout my life I felt loved by Auntie Anne. We shared a close bond.

 Auntie Anne had often talked to me in her later years about her fear of dying alone. As her memory faded with age, she continued to voice this fear. I always assured her that I was only a phone call away and I would be there in reality a phone call and a five-hour drive. But at some level I felt that this wasn’t a false assurance, but part of the journey that would unfold someday.

 So there I was when the phone call came: in California, further away than if I was home. My heart beat fast; my mind went blank; I hung up on the airline reservationist in mid-scheduling because I could not hold back the tears any longer. I was paralyzed.

 In the midst of this confusion, I went outside and started talking to Auntie Anne. “Wait for me. I will be with you.” The peace and clarity that surrounded me were pure gift.

 Ten hours later, I was at her bedside. From midnight to dawn it was just she and I, vigiling through the night, awaiting and preparing for the next part of her journey. I held her hand, recalled family stories, enjoyed sitting in her presence, and dozed off and on.

 This life of an amazing woman, a daughter of pioneers, an artist, a businesswoman and cattle rancher had come to this simple end as the breath of life eased out of her body. The afternoon of that day, Auntie Anne died in my arms. My assurance to her from many years before had come to fruition. It was not necessarily of my doing, but was the gift of grace and the act of following my intuition.

The last hours of Auntie Anne’s life were a symbol of our relationship. Somehow, both of us knew we were connected at a deep level. She had exactly 50 years on me. She was my lead: she turned 70, I turned 20; she turned 80, I turned 30; she turned 90, I turned 40; she turned 95, I turned 45. And in her death I realize ever more deeply our kindred spirits. To walk in the steps of this woman is a treasure for me, and will continue to be a grounding touchstone for my life.

–Shannon