The Feasts of All Saints (November 1) and All Souls (November 2) open a portal to an especially tender time of year when we recall our beloved who have gone before us in faith. Speaking with God about them, feels so natural to me. What kind of a God would He be if unable to hear about the ones so precious to me, the pain their absence fuels and insatiable longing to be reunited with them? I ask continuously with God for the merciful consolation to know they are with Him, seeking to impress my love for them upon Him lest they be forgotten.
O Sweet Jesus, the Way the Truth and the Life (cf. John 14:6), make them safe and sound, awash in unimaginable joy, perfectly peaceful, covered completely by Love Alone.
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A beloved’s death is a traumatic moment. It marks forever different.
When my dad died, an uncomfortable strangeness descended upon me – or, perhaps it billowed from within to cover me. A stupor of sorts, I seemed mostly to be half awake, often needing to push myself through easy tasks and wanting nothing to do with more difficult ones.
Soon it irritated me that the world galloped on with indifference toward his death. I found myself angry and bristled, wanting at times to scream, “Don’t you care at all?”
Things formerly important suddenly were shelved or delayed indefinitely. Everything changed. I was unsure of myself not knowing what I needed, grasping for confidence, straining for clarity and needing compassion.
It demanded my complete attention and I feared being consumed by it. Like waking up in the recovery room, just wanting a word of assurance, unsure of exactly what is happening and will happen, unable to process cogently.
We never get over the pain of the loss, we always live with it.
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“Let me know how I can help” did not help. Often, I had no understanding of what I most needed, only that I needed. These words, despite their real sincerity, fueled frustration, like desperately wanting to understand and be understood but lost in an unfamiliar language.
Here are some actions that helped the most.
Extend compassion.
This beautiful word is actually the combination of two smaller ones: com meaning with and passio meaning suffering. When compassion is extended, one dares to accompany another, receiving them as they are, walking beside them.
This is not to be confused for a single moment with telling someone what you think they want to hear.
God speaks, “Do not grieve as others who do who have no hope” (1 Thessalonians 4:13). Notice carefully, God does not say, don’t grieve the passing of a beloved, but rather grieving is blessed when it is done with hope. Loving accompaniment always grows hope.
Stay connected.
Grieving is overwhelming and exhausting. Allow responses not to have to happen for continuing outreach. Resist the temptation for silence to be evidence that right order is restored and regularly scheduled programing back on-line. Don’t move off, but patiently persevere in friendship. Give space for messages not to be responded and texts to be acknowledged. Each must walk their own way. Every “first” is especially hard. How fondly I recall the thoughtfulness of an older priest I did not know well who sent me a short note every anniversary of my dad’s death until that priest himself died. I remember also the relief of another friend who gave me permission simply to receive with the sometime reminder included, “No reply requested.”
Live it.
Do unto others as you would like done to you. Imagine what might be most helpful to you in the throes of sadness, lethargy and uncertainty – a meal provided, a prayer whispered, a candle lit, cleaning done, supportive words, beloved’s name spoken, a special moment relived. All completed without ever counting the cost and keeping score.
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For those having known my dad and still mentioning him more than 12 years after his death, my hope grows. Reminders of my resemblance to him and classic remembrances of him ease my sadness and strengthen my hope that one day the love of Christ, which conquers all things, will destroy even death itself (cf. Romans 8:35-39).
O Sweet Jesus, let all our beloved, in Your infinite mercy, delight with out pause in Your boundless Love!
