Tag Archives: grief

First Birthday Gone

07 Wednesday Feb 2018

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Today’s the first time we exist in a February 7 world without my dad in it. And as many of you are well too familiar, this is bizarre.

Most years, I would try to call my dad at midnight. Of course, this would be 11pm CST, a point that wouldn’t matter to him.

Last night, there was no one I could call to wish those birthday greetings.

Dad was born on the seventh day in February in the seventh hour. He used to indicate how the number sevens were lucky for him.

Today would have been his 77th birthday. So on this seventh day of February in which my dad would have been 77, make this world a stronger place. Tell someone what a fantastic job they are doing. Call you congressional leaders to speak your needs and the needs of those marginalized. Watch the news, register to vote, learn the faces of our congressional leaders, or just be a good human today. That’s what Vincent Torigian would want for his birthday.

And Dad, as you abide on that side of heaven, may you feel the love that all of us are sending you on your birthday. Miss you so much.

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A Prayer for Goodness and Mercy

24 Wednesday Jan 2018

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Where is that “Goodness and Mercy shall follow me all the days of my life,” God? It feels like accidents and overworking and grieving and illness are trailing me as I walk along your holy path.

How do I go forward when all I know right now is pain? Hope shrivels as aches of the soul grow. Will the next turn be more losses, or complications, or even more pain?

And yet I go forward, taking the specks of hope kept safely deep within my soul, waiting for the right place to plant these tiny seeds. For Goodness and Mercy shall pursue me even into the depths of life.

And I will dwell on your path forever, Holy One.

Amen.

On the Last Day of Christmas

05 Friday Jan 2018

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IMG_6230On the last day of Christmas, there were no drummers drumming or pipers piping. There weren’t glittery lights and shiny paper.

No gifts remained to be unwrapped. No large feast with twelve close relatives.

Instead, on the last day of Christmas, there was a hospital room with a soul slowly slipping away. A haunting rendition of O Come All Ye Faithful piped through the television speakers as a code blue was called overhead.

The last day of Christmas was filled with a stale silence. The quiet room was stirred awake by the running of nurses down the hall to resuscitate a life.

A birth was forgotten as death remained in the waiting room.

On the last day of Christmas, true love wasn’t about extravagant presents but about decades-long soulmates singing the final verse of their song together.

And as the tune came to a close, the lone partridge scurried away.

The Year I Became Old

04 Thursday Jan 2018

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I became old in 2017.

Now, I fully do not think that I am “old.” But some turning point happened during the year – of course due to life events.

First and foremost, my dad died. I’m sure I would attain a sense of aging based on that event alone. But because of failed cell phone connections at 5:30am and my mom not receiving emergency calls, I was the one who had to make split-second decisions on my dad’s care when he went into cardiac arrest.

“Intubate him. Do what you can. Anything.” These were pretty much my words when I answered that phone early on that September morning.

When you are forced to make life and death decisions for your parents, you release the remnants of any previous relationship you have with them.  You’ve “adulted” in the fullest sense of the word.

Secondly, last year was the time period when I transformed from simply becoming aware of my upcoming menopause to experiencing the pangs of its birth. With periods becoming irregular – heavy or nonexistent – I noticed the small to large ways my body was changing.

Hello extra ten pounds! Was that a hot flash? I didn’t realize my anxiety would return…

“When I was a child, I spoke like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child; when I became an adult, I put an end to childish ways.” – – 1 Corinthians 13:11.

Maybe it’s one event or two that happen within a short time of one another. Something shifts in our mind, and we no longer see the trajectory of life in the same way.

Now is the time to accomplish what I feel called to do.

Now is the time to take the dreams lodged in my mind and bring them to reality.

Being a 44 year old in 2017 beginning the journey to menopause and losing a parent was transformative in ways that I wouldn’t wish on anyone. And, yet, most of us have to face these types of changes.

And this is when we shed our old ways and prioritize the elements in our lives so that on our deathbeds there will be minimal to no regrets.

I head into 2018 with words like “resilience” and “survive” on my mind. After a year like 2017, I no longer see this endless time ahead of me. This new year must reflect my new mindset as I care for myself in new ways, love in deeper way, and carpe diem like I haven’t before.

 

Thanksgiving’s Empty Seat

23 Thursday Nov 2017

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God, you fill in all spaces and abide in all times, and yet today, once space will feel every kind of void.

Dad’s seat.

There will be feelings and memories and all sorts of things we want to pile onto that seat. We will fill that chair with tears and sighs and our still-stunned hearts.

How could we be here today, God? No. This can’t be…

(There is no other way around it: today will suck.)

But even as our hearts are breaking throughout the day, help us to fill Dad’s plate with delicious memories. May our time together today be one where we embed the joyful Thanksgiving moments of the past into our souls, recalling moments of laughter and creating new mirthful memories.

Amen.

A Prayer for the Needed Time-Machine

08 Wednesday Nov 2017

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IMG_5221God who operates beyond time and space, would you mind transforming me back to one year ago this afternoon?

Would you send me back to a time when hope still pushed aside the climate of despair? A time when I didn’t know death’s frigid grasp so well… a time when my body hadn’t yet become companions with various types of pain… a time when we stood on the edge of a possibility which would have brought prosperity for more of my neighbors and a time when hate was not so loud.

Where is this time machine, God? Maybe I would have made some different decisions, spent more time with loved ones, cared for myself in new ways.

I know we cannot travel back, and I know forward through the tunnel is the only path to journey. So give me the peace and strength as the suffocating shadows swallow me as I drive this stretch of road.

And as I reemerge from the tunnels, may your sunlight warm my soul again.

Amen.

 

Glimpses of Survival Through Grief

06 Monday Nov 2017

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Sturdy God through the flimsy times,
I discovered that I may endure this time in the wilderness.
I may escape the land of everlasting shadows.
I may find more than an oasis from grief.

Now, I’m not sure how I will feel in two hours or four days, but right now, God, I embrace this gift from your Spirit.

Sure, I know the moon’s dance will cross between me and the sun,
And my soul will feel every bit of the lack of light from the eclipse.
And there will be days when the clouds leave no gap to allow the blue sky to show its friendly face.

But I’ve seen those days before.
And I cried and screamed.
And once again, the sun showed her face.

Again and again, after the shadows have had their say, the light breaks through.

This is the human life.  This is the way I know that I will endure.
This is how I know I will make it from one breath to the next
And from one day to the next.

Even as I walk through the shadow filled valleys, you are with me God.
And you will journey with me to sunlight again.  Amen.

All Saints’ Sunday Eve

04 Saturday Nov 2017

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God of the brisk autumn evenings and chilly fall mornings,
Tomorrow is All Saints’ Sunday – the one time per year when we recall out loud the names of our deceased loved ones.
We speak of them aloud to give their lives dignity and grieve their passings.

But All Saints’ Sunday Eve is drastically different than All Saints’ Day Eve.
There is no hunting for Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups and Milky Ways.
There are no costumes or parties or pumpkins.

Instead, it’s me and you, God.

I pray that I have the strength tomorrow to muddle through the service
To remember my father without publicly shedding copious amounts of tears.

It will sound strange to hear his name read in the list of saints.
And as my skin will crawl when he is named
May your peace be a salve to my irritated spirit.

Amen.

An All Saints’ Day Prayer for Those Left Behind

01 Wednesday Nov 2017

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God of the weeping souls, many of us sit in sorrow today.

Our favorite saint no longer abides with us. With the absence of their voice and facial expressions and stories,  we walk around today in a mid-autumn daze.

Today asks us to remember the saints when we want to forget the pain. Today begs for us to remember voices and expressions and stories as we hold onto memories for as long as possible.

So with the void that we carry around like a 20-pound weight, we face the day one less person in our world.

We logically understand that tomorrows will become more tolerable in this mediocre journey. But today we cry with the absolute loss we’ve been given.

God, you are celebrating with them on that side of heaven, but on this side, you lament with us.  Be in both places at once in this existence that we are all trying to understand.

Amen.

 

All Saints Sunday Communion Liturgy

30 Monday Oct 2017

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Invitation to Communion

Siblings in Christ, join me today at this table to a feast belonging to Jesus the Christ.  Siblings in Christ, join me today for a feast which will comfort our souls.  Siblings in Christ, join me in this sacrament knowing that we will grow close to God, neighbor, and self at this table.

Prayer of Communion

Friends, we come to this bittersweet ritual today filled with a bundle of emotions.  While our gratitude for this family of faith is plentiful, our spiritual pain still may be suffocating us at five weeks or four months or three years or even two decades after the death of our beloved.

Our pews are a little lighter.  Our homes are a quieter.  And our hearts know well of the gaping hole resulting from our loss.

Even as this void still consumes this day-to-day living, we come here looking for hope that we can find only in you.  Through this meal, we connect the past and present together, knowing that generation after generation has come to this table in their joy and grief.

God, we pray that this feast be one that fills our souls with comfort.  Even as winter is growing close and nighttime arrives early, this meal will kindle warmth and light inside our spirits.

May your Holy Spirit bless this bread and cup.  May the Spirit bless us as we celebrate at the peaks of life and as we abide in the shadow-filled valleys.  May the Spirit bring us the peace that will permeate our grief-coated hearts.  And may the Spirit use this time and space to remind us that we are never alone in our difficult spaces.

With his friends, Jesus shared his last communion before death.  The group recognized the sacred in their gathering and celebrated their friendship and their community of faith.

One more time, Jesus took the bread and blessed it.  In his breaking of the bread, Jesus yearned for them to remember his teachings and their times together.  “Whenever you eat this bread, remember me.”

One more time, after supper, Jesus took the cup and blessed it as well.  In his grasping of the cup, Jesus yearned for his followers to recall their times together.  “Whenever you drink of this cup, remember me.”

As we join together for this meal, let us remember with gratitude our loved ones who once ate at this table and many other tables with us.  While they no longer abide with us here today, help us to recognize that they are a part of the great cloud of witnesses, celebrating eternity with our Creator.

May this meal be a gift to each of our souls today.

Unison prayer of Thanksgiving

We express our gratitude for this meal, Divine Host.  We give thanks for the times we spent with our loved ones here at this table, and we thank you that this table is a reminder of our love for you, God.  Accompany us into the world with peace in our hearts and strength in the days to come.  Amen.