Thanksgiving Momentum

The photo above was taken and produced by my good friend Owen Brock. Entitled “Harvest,” it’s the final in a series of photos he took of a vineyard at the Abbey of Gethsemani monastery in Kentucky. This is a photo series Dana and I both loved (and have long loved Owen’s work (and Owen!): you may want to check out his work at http://www.visualfluency.com/). The clusters of grapes seem to capture what the Pilgrims’ thanksgivings were all about (and the Israelites’, the forerunner to the Pilgrims’ thanksgivings).

I’ve been thinking about that first Pilgrim Thanksgiving. There had to have been more than one Pilgrim who was thinking by that time, “This is NOT what I signed up for.” They knew it would be hard, but I’m thinking it still caught a few of them by surprise. And so I wonder how many willed themselves to be thankful? I understand that over half of the Pilgrims did not survive the first winter. So there’s a strong likelihood that there was a 40-something Pilgrim guy who had lost the love of his life…thankfulness through gritted teeth.

I’m finding myself in the same boat (pun sort of intended, as in Mayflower).

This post began as an exercise in resolve, WILLING myself to be thankful…it’s been that time of year, and it just seems that thankfulness is a good discipline. It’s a fulfilling state of mind and heart and I thought I might use that as some therapeutic momentum. So, I started, pretty much through self-coercion. In my current state of self-pity it took a moment for something to come to mind. But something did. And as I expressed thanks in my mind, another item popped into my mind. Then another. And before too long, there was actually a line of items waiting to be acknowledged and thanked. As my list grew, something rather wonderful happened…I began to experience actual (not coerced) thanksgiving and real gratitude. My prayer, and if you’d like something specific to pray for you can add this to the list, is that these seeds of thankfulness would take deep, deep root.

So, without putting much thought to this, and therefore at the risk of missing something big, below is what comes quickly to mind of things I’m thankful for.


Eternal perspective and God stamps:
I’ve found that the best proven therapy so far is simply thinking of Dane in her full splendor. It pulls me out of the deep cries. The thought of her experiencing all the things we’ve studied in Scripture or imagined in our hearts is actually pretty exhilarating. And God has graciously poked through the thin veil between here and There with rainbows and deer and so much more (the God stamps that have defined this journey). These are merciful reminders that there is so much more than what we see here.

Tears:
In a strange way, tears give the same satisfaction as a good sneeze.

The ability to hike, bike, golf and ski:
These activities give me the opportunity to experience the best this world has to offer---mountains, fall colors, good friends---and give me a chance to let my mind take a break from its whirlwind of thinking. Of course, golf also brings the worst this world has to offer, as in frustration, so that activity might be a wash.

“Me too” friends:
I have been blessed with more than my fair share of friends, new and familiar, who have experienced loss—fellow journey-ers. I’ve learned there’s not a more encouraging phrase than simply, “me too!” after you’ve expressed a particular sorrow or pain.

Dane’s family:
I love Dane’s family. And we are all walking together in the loss of our precious daughter, niece, sister, buzzin/cousin and wife.

Pammie:
Outside of Dane’s family, the person who has experienced the loss of Dane on near-equal footing with me is Dane’s friend Pam. When we talk on the phone, we simply cry. Good cries and sad cries. I am thankful for that shared sorrow. In a strange way, it helps.

The love and the “flipped switch”:
And Pam is the one who offered the encouraging words to Dana that “flipped the switch” of Dana falling in love with me…finally!! (More on that wonderful story at some point.) And I’m finding that the thought of the “flipped switch” is my first handle in being grateful for my and Dana’s love. Up till now, to reflect on and remember our relationship has been nearly as painful as it was on day one of losing her. And this, I think, is where the rubber meets the road from the standpoint of grief. When I can begin to be thankful for the things Dana and I shared, to be grateful for the beauty, then I can draw strength from our relationship and begin to heal. We’ve long said we had one of the top five loves of all time. And yet that love almost didn’t happen. But it did, thanks to the “flipped switch.” And to mix in an old cliché, I would rather have had that love and lost it than not have had it at all. And that realization, that tired cliché, is something I can build on and I feel I’ve laid some foundation.

My family:
I’ve long thought that I’ve been blessed with a model family, and I’m right. My parents, my sister, my brother-in-law, my nieces and nephew, and my 99-year old grandma are all an incredible help. Of course, I’ve been thinking I’ll be able to wrap up all this grief in about 30 years, when I’m pushing 80. Grandma’s longevity tells me otherwise. And then there is the bevy of cousins, aunts, uncles—many of whom have paved this road of loss for me—lifting and encouraging me. Cousin Carl and I were able to meet for special suppers nearly every week for a stretch when he was transitioning from Columbus to Cincinnati. What a gift.

Pud:
Even though I’ve realized I am now a living Garfield comic strip (a guy with a cat), this house would be a different deal without Pud. And I must say, I think he knows that. Within a minute or two of my sitting down he is on top of me. He’s always been a cat who wanted to be where Dane and I were (and yes, we’re the only people in the world he is that way toward) but he’s certainly ramped up the affection.

Your comments and encouragement:
I have received over 1,000 comments through CarePages and the blog over these months. I am overwhelmed. Several months ago our CarePages page received a sticker/reward saying “Community over 500” meaning over 500 unique visitors have stopped in. Unfortunately the CarePages set up doesn’t allow me to respond to commenters personally (although that might be good) but every word is read, embraced and taken to heart (and probably cried over).

The church bells:
I’m listening to them right now. For those with whom I’ve shared Dana’s story “Kill the Deer” or those who attended the celebration service, you know what I mean (and here’s the post). Their pealing immediately brings to mind Dana’s bravery, resolve and trust in God. Every time I hear those bells I say to myself, “I can do this.”

My Tuesday Group:
For several years now, including many years prior to recurrence, Dana and I have met with a special collection of friends every Tuesday night for laughing, eating, enjoying Scripture, challenging each other, encouraging each other, hugging each other. Honestly, I questioned whether I could continue in this group without Dane; and thankfully, I haven’t missed a beat. This group is my portal into perspective, my reality check. And they display an incredible graciousness as I turn nearly every point into an analogy/metaphor/parallel about loss…more specifically, my loss.

My “Verizon Network”:
At Dane’s celebration service I declared all in attendance, and all not in attendance, to be my Verizon network of support (you’ve seen those commercials). You all have certainly lived up to the name. I am blessed beyond measure for such a supportive, empathetic cadre of friends and family.

The era we live in:
This might sound weird, but it’s a good time to grieve. It’s one thing to have a Verizon network (see above), it’s another thing to be connected to that network. My computer is a lifeline. And to be sitting at a table with friends/family and be able to Google on a smart phone a book title (or anything else) I can’t recall? Priceless.

Knitting:
I’ve coined a phrase for a certain level of grief: “afghan moments.” Dane had worked off-and-ne for many months on what’s known as the “Great American Afghan,” an afghan of 1-foot squares, each square a different pattern or scene. She was knitting it specifically for me; her knitter friends finished it for her while we were in home hospice mode and presented it to us (I blogged about this here if you’d like to take a peak). So the “afghan moments” are those times when Dana’s absence is so prevalent, almost numbing. I pull the afghan off the rack, head to the big comfy chair, lay under the afghan and feel comforted. I have several other of her items around the house…to look at each stitch and to know she put those stitches in place is a unique pacifier.

I leave you with Owen’s vineyard series. The photos are entitled simply:
Open up the Earth
Promise of More
Harvest

Thank you!