The flowers are dying in our home. In the days immediately following Micah and Judah’s death, our home was filled with beautiful flowers (photos here). Friends and family shared their care and concern through flowers, and amidst our pain and sadness, they helped to bring color to our house, and remind us of all of those who were praying and thinking about us during such a difficult time.
Over the past week or two, they’ve slowly all started to die. Some lasted longer than others. The flowers in the beautiful vase above were from some of my best friends from high school and were particularly meaningful to me. And now they too are dying. Nature takes its course. Life leads to death.
It feels odd to throw these flowers out. Their death seems to signify moving on to a new phase of dealing with our grief. The flowers are dying. The meals have stopped coming. We now get maybe 1 or 2 cards in the mail, as opposed to our mailbox overflowing with cards filled with kind words from friends, family and members of our church community. It doesn’t mean that people have stopped caring, it just means that it looks different now.
It’s not about moving “on” – but about moving forward. I was talking with a friend who has suffered immense loss in his life as well, and he said that he remembered being so mad to see that the grass was growing and had to be mowed. It seemed that life should have just been standing still, but it didn’t. It went on. Things have to be done. Papers have to be written. Classes need to be attended. Sermons need to be preached.
The flowers are dying in our home. Did they think we were done grieving? Did they think we no longer needed their color and joy they brought to our home?
Brian says
A friend of mine posted on Facebook:
it doesn’t seem right that the world moves along after someone dies. shouldn’t nature, too, take a moment, a pause, to honor the dead?
My grandmother recently died, and it seems an appalling affront that the world continues on after the passing of loved ones. It’s almost disrespectful; life continues in the midst of death without others giving pause. Perhaps there’s something to be lived further, lived into, in the midst of the tension. But grief wants us to stop, to remember, to honor, rejoice, and weep over lost love. I dunno how to live in this tension, sometimes I have to give into its mere presence…
Thanks for posting this; it’s beauty resonates with me. Having lost our first in miscarriage, I know what it’s like to weep over what was hoped for but cannot be. Prayers and grace uttered on your behalf…
libby says
the roses we had for micah and judah at the college were close to wilting the other day. i couldn’t bring myself to wait till the petals fell off and then throw them out. i took them out to the beach with my book of common worship and allowed the tide to roll out with them, with liturgy. beach and liturgy are what i know and would have shared with the boys and it seemed like the thing to do. it was a beautiful, sunny afternoon. dolphins were around and lots of birds and a warm breeze.
i know it looks different now. every day probably will. but every day i love and pray for y’all. xo