Tuesday, February 10, 2009

Graditude, Grief, and a Legacy of Beauty

The hugest thank you from the bottom of my heart to everyone who has overwhelmed me with emails, comments, cards, flowers, food... whatever. To everyone who stood by us during the two endless days that were filled with calling hours, funeral service, and the burial service. Each and every smile, hug, and word touched our hearts. There are no words to describe how hard this time has been for me and my family, but there are also no words to describe the strength that comes from knowing we have the most amazing, authentically caring, loving friends supporting all of us. You all have touched me in the deepest part of my soul and given me more strength than you'll ever know.

Thank you.

And thank you to all of you who have helped me maintain my perspective amidst my grief...

Here's an email I got from my mom's best friend, more like my "aunt" :) ...

Hi Amanda,
I just wanted to send my love your way for Nana's passing. I know you loved her lots and she loved you. But just think - she made it to Heaven!!! That makes it all worth it! You'll see her again someday, happier than you've ever seen her
I'll be praying for you that the Lord will wrap His arms of love around you and fill your heart with peace!
Love you,
Tammy

I'm trying to dwell on things like that, but it's just so hard. They say people grieve in crazy ways and with me, you could definitely say I've been to every end of the spectrum. First I cried and cried. Then I decided it was time to clean and organize like crazy. Then I decided I was going to shop until I literally dropped. Then I refused to get out of bed and drugged myself to sleep. For a few of the days before the funeral, I was in get-things-done mode partially because I knew I had lot ahead of me with funeral preparations. (Understatement! I had NO idea how much goes into making a sacred, beautiful event absolutely perfect to honor a loved one.) Nana loved beauty, and Nana was beauty, so we all tried to make every tiny detail perfect for her. We may have gone a little overboard with all of the funeral home tributes, the slideshows, whatever... but how in the world do you commemorate a love so huge? It's like nothing seems enough. I remember being at JoAnns the other week (it was on the grieving=shopping day...) looking at picture frames. I wanted to buy some to showcase photos of her during her life and perhaps even her artwork. I went up and down every frame aisle. I couldn't decide on anything, so I did it again. And again. The lady at the framing counter looked at me like I was insane as I probably circled all of the department's aisles a dozen times. I finally realized though, no frame could be as beautiful as Nana so I should settle on something that was at least beautiful, something in a style that she'd be proud to showcase in her own room had she still been here with us.

I'm sure that everyone who came into the funeral home knew without a shadow of a doubt that Nana was special. We lined every side table with photos, scrapbooks, her paintings, and even a beautiful poem that my cousin wrote. Flowers were absolutely everywhere, and Jonathan and I made a slideshow of photos of her life that replayed over and over. As morbid as it sounds, her casket ended up being lovelier than the picture, and the color was so "her." Nana herself looked as much like Nana as I know would ever be possible, and I am content in saying that Nana would have been satisfied. She lived by details and knew how everything should be, what her style was... she was just that kind of woman. And yes, I know that even Nana would have given everything her nod of approval. I'm so happy I think we did her proud.

The only thing is she should be here, that's all.

I have so many more thoughts about the services and seeing my precious Nana's empty body for those few times, but for now, I want to honor her with some beautiful writings.

Her legacy will live on. You can't put an end to someone who was as amazing as my Nana.

Realism
(David Reynolds, from "Water Bears No Scars")
Anyone who has spent years working in a garden or in the fields knows impermanence intimately. We see the cycle of seasons, the coming and going of insects, droughts, freezes, rot, the seeds that sprout or die, the life cycles of plants, the bountiful harvests and the lean. It is all change. There is nothing that can be counted on with certainty to be exactly as it was last year. Our only recourse is to keep on fitting what we do, adapting who we are, to the constantly changing circumstances.
It does no good to tell the grasshopper eating the soybean leaves, "You really shouldn't be doing that." Wishing the rain would stop (or come) doesn't affect the weather or the plants. Analyzing how we feel about fungus doesn't save the cabbage. We need a more realistic perspective and straightforward action to have a chance to effect the changes we desire.
I am not being passive or resigned when I emphasize the changeableness of the world and the necessity of our adapting to it. Only when we have a clear vision of this flux and our place in it does our effort mean something. To work and succeed and play and love while pretending it will all last, while ignoring the fragile "momentariness" of it all, is to miss the chance for depth in all these activities. To try while dying, to love while changing, to play while acknowledging the impermanence allows a kind of nobility to the simplest act, to something that was only childish escape before.
There is nothing ennobling about suffering itself. But in striving while suffering we move beyond ourselves to become new creatures -- whether the striving attains what we set out to accomplish or not. Pain and self-doubt and fear and anger don't necessarily stimulate growth, but they do permit it. When the effort is there. Change is inevitable. In the garden; in us. Some of the change we can influence, some we cannot. Our fundamental hope lies in affecting the change that is us.

Death Is Nothing At All
(Canon Henry Scott-Holland)
Death is nothing at all
I have only slipped away into the next room
I am I and you are you
Whatever we were to each other
That we are still
Call me by my old familiar name
Speak to me in the easy way you always used
Put no difference into your tone
Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow
Laugh as we always laughed
At the little jokes we always enjoyed together
Play, smile, think of me, pray for me
Let my name be ever the household word that it always was
Let it be spoken without effort
Without the ghost of a shadow in it
Life means all that it ever meant
It is the same as it ever was
There is absolute unbroken continuity
What is death but a negligible accident?
Why should I be out of mind
Because I am out of sig ht?
I am waiting for you for an interval
Somewhere very near
Just around the corner
All is well.
Nothing is past; nothing is lost
One brief moment and all will be as it was before
How we shall laugh at the trouble of parting when we meet again!

Many Winters
(Nancy Wood)
All my life is a dance.
When I was young and feeling the earth,
My steps were quick and easy.
The beat of the earth was so loud
That my drum was silent beside it.
All of my life rolled out from my feet
Like my land which had no end as far as I could see.
The rhythm of my life was pure and free.
As I grew older my feet kept dancing so hard
That I wore a spot in the earth.
At the same time I made a hole in the sky.
I danced to the sun and the rain and the moon lifted me up
So that I could dance to the stars.
My head touched the clouds sometimes
And my feet danced deep in the earth
So that I became the music I danced to everywhere
It was the music I dance to everywhere
It was the music of life.
Now my steps are slow and hard
And my body fails my spirit,
Yet my dance is still within me and
My song is the air I breathe.
My song insists that I keep dancing forever.
My song insists that I keep rhythm
With all of the earth and the sky.
My song insists that I will never die.

Eagle Poem
(Joy Harjo)
To pray you open your whole self
To sky, to earth, to sun, to moon;
To one whole voice that is you.
And know there is more
That you can't see, can't hear,
Can't know except in moments
Steadily growing, and in languages
That aren't always sound, but other
Circles of motion.
Like Eagle that Sunday morning
Over Salt River. Circled in blue sky,
In wind, swept our hearts clean
With sacred wings.
We see you, see ourselves and know
That we must take the utmost care
And kindness in all things.
Breathe in, knowing we are made of
All this, and breathe, knowing
We are truly blessed because we
Were born, and die soon within a
True circle of motion,
Like Eagle rounding out the morning
Inside us.
We pray that it will be done
In beauty.
In beauty.