Following my fun fuelled holiday extravaganza, I crash landed back to reality.
I eased myself back in to my responsibilities over a luscious lunch in a coffee shop where I caught up with my email and voicemails.
What I could not have anticipated was a message informing me that an individual I had worked with for six years, had died three days after their ending session. They were 30.
I could not comprehend it.
I listened to the message three times before promptly bursting in to stunned tears.
How could it be?
I was utterly shocked and saddened.
Initially I thought I would hold my practice as planned for two hours that afternoon and then allow myself to absorb this news. But I quickly realised that was ridiculous and most certainly not practising what I preach.
I cancelled my practice.
And I called the one who had left me the message. The person in question had awoken one morning in pain and died within the hour. The funeral service was being held the next day.
I couldn’t contain my sadness and my stomach immediately began having pains, partially from the big lunch I’d just had and partially from the shock and emotion of this news. My body was struggling to digest everything on every level.
I cried out to God, ‘How could you allow it?’.
I just felt overwhelmingly saddened by the unlived life I had imagined they were being launched in to living as they left my practice that last time.
Some people really commit to doing the work and this was one of them. Subsequently they experienced the benefits and left the process in a very different place to where they started it. And they had their whole life ahead of them.
Or so I had assumed.
My strongest defences; reason and rationale immediately did what they do. They reminded me that I know that life can be cruel and unfair and that it is all too often the real givers of this life that get taken early or unexpectedly. They added that none of us are entitled to a certain amount of life as much as we like to imagine we are. Every minute of every day is a gift we cannot take for granted.
In short my defences attempted to divert me from the emotion.
The shock.
The pain.
The disbelief.
The sorrow.
The whole, but how can it be? I only saw them a few short weeks ago; smiling and being who they were.
How could they no longer be here?
How could their life with so much ahead be wiped out in an instant?
Whilst my head knew there was no explanation, no reason, no sense to be made of the situation, my heart still sought it.
As I spoke to my best friend who I trained with, she asked me, ‘Jo, are you angry with God?’. I said quite possibly, but I couldn’t access it if so.
Later that evening as I drove to meet another friend, I discovered that yes, I was actually very angry indeed. I was angry at the injustice, the cruelty, the loss, the senselessness.
I realise God doesn’t have to justify Himself to any of us but at that moment, I felt angry about that. I wanted to understand something that quite simply cannot be understood. It can only be grieved. And I wasn’t about to deny or suppress the anger aspect of my grief.
The service was the next day less than twenty four hours after I heard.
The tears came as soon as I saw the hearse and they didn’t stop coming throughout the service. I hid away at the back.
It was beautiful and full of humour. It reflected the character of the one whose life it celebrated. But it was of course desperately sad too. Such an enormous gap would be left for so many people. I couldn’t begin to imagine their loss.
There was a wonderful line read out at one point which jumped out at me. It was a reminder that when grief comes, not to ever push the feelings down or away but allow them to come and to go as they need to. I loved the simple truth and wisdom of these words. For we must indeed learn to welcome our sadness as we welcome our happiness, for each are fleeting emotions worthy of our acknowledgement and compassion.
Anyway, nearly two weeks later I am still struggling to get my head let alone my heart around this.
My stomach continues to play up, reminding me that I am not leaving enough space to digest or process anything. After this weekend, I’ll be in a position to have more space and I’m looking forward to that.
Death is such a painful reminder of the fragility of life. None of us know how long we have. Any of us can be taken in an instant.
The challenge to balance living life to the full, with a refusal to ignore the painful aspects of grief, remains sharper than ever.
I’ve stopped asking God why and started asking Him where He is in this. I still don’t understand and I never will. But I see His hand right from the moment I heard the message. I could see two friends in the coffee shop who I had intended to speak to after finishing my messages. I could speak, cry and have a hug with them before leaving. I saw Him in the subsequent phone calls and meetings with friends.
He was there when the person unhesitatingly responded, ‘I’ll be there’, when I asked them to accompany me to the service. He was there in so many other ways too. Whilst I will never understand why these things happen, I know that when I’m willing to really look, I will find God right there in the midst of whatever with me. And that knowledge and experience humbles and breaks me every time.
Death has a way of forcing a re-evaluation of that which is important in life and that which is not.
All it really seems to come down to is trying to be as loving and kind as possible to the people around us, including ourselves, especially when they or we are hurting. To attempt to spread something life enhancing that recognises the value of each human being and the fragility with which our lives hang. And to give of the gifts of our truest selves, without holding back.
For what else really matters?
