The hardest part

Of course the hardest part of Christmas was not having Gordon with us. This also made it harder saying goodbye as we left. The ties we have are so much more vital when we have a loss such as what we have experienced. Normally I would not have taken a picture with this composition, but I didn't want to tell Jenn to move to get a different shot. As it was, I think this picture came out with extra meaning.

We were visiting Gordon's gravesite. I hate to even write that. I hated driving up the lane and thinking that this is where we had to go to be near our nephew, or Jenn's place to be near her child. It's not fair. And while I write all that, I know it's not the truth entirely either. We all know it is just his body in the ground, that we all go that way eventually and that his spirit is alive in so many ways. We have embraced who Gordon is to us in all the painful experience of his quick departure and in the calm assurance that we will live this life differently because of his place in our lives and hearts and will spend an eternity together in the fullness of love and joy.

To me this is a pictoral allegory, it tells our story. Gordon's passing is a part of our common past, but we can not stay there, we must move on, in honor of who he is now, living life in it's most abundant state. We look forward to our future as changed people. As people marked by Gordon. The grave adds solemnity, but also hope, an anchor reminding us to live to the fullest and to keep what is most essential at the center of our lives. One of my favorite hopes is in Revelation "He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away."

We don't ignore or hide from the pain of our past, but use it to delve deeper, to love more, to slow down and appreciate and live more fully, more abundantly, to grasp hold of our moments of lucidity, joy, laughter, love and tears and savor them for the richness they offer us.