Waves of Wisdom

Have you ever known something so well and so intimately that you wished you didn't? If you have experienced the death of someone close to you, the pain can feel almost unbearable at first. In time, with great caring from others and from yourself, you can move on. You never get over it. Why would anyone want to push the loss completely out of mind anyway? It seems, though, that you join a club that you never thought about until then.

When my mother died, I felt as if my heart would ache forever. I still have moments when the bitter reality crosses my mind. She isn't at her house. She isn't at the store. She will never make my phone ring again. Dad's death a few years later was tough, but expected. Mom's finality was sudden and never even imagined. The first and closest loss seems like a painful practice.

Two people at my office have suddenly surrendered their mothers in the last few weeks. I want to offer comfort or advice or wisdom, but I know that I cannot possibly lead them through this dark pass. They must feel their own ways through. I know what it is to be without my mother. I have no clue what it is like in their corners of the world to be without each of their moms. This undesired wisdom makes my heart ache for them. I know they hurt. I know they will heal. I just don't know how.

I can feel this wisdom growing like a tiny seed, expanding way down deep. When someone loses a special person, I sense that healing is within reach, although I know I can't tell them that initially, or maybe ever. When we faced the death of a co-worker earlier this year, I mourned the passing, but I did not feel surprised that our herd of humans would not be constant. I am starting to recognize that the others whom we welcome to our watering holes are much like ripples and waves greeting the land. These comings and goings are the only constant. We cannot keep all the waves coming ashore without some of them returning. There must be a balance. This, I know well and intimately.