the energy of grief

There's always a lot to do in the days between a death and subsequent funeral.

Which is probably just as well.

Grief creates its own distinctive energy, an emotional force which acts as a sort of shield around our souls to guard us from the impact of that asteroid-like debris which a million different memories has formed.

We keep going. Perhaps because it's too hard and sore to stop.

But there are things to do! A load of little routine, formal tasks which soak up all that energy and channel that strange mixture of our gratitude and grief down avenues which somehow help us honour still, beyond the day of death, a person whom we loved so much.

Today's had its share of those tasks. Registering the death. Arranging flowers (I mean, not literally doing some flower arranging, but making sure that flowers will be there to beautify and brighten Monday's worship). Speaking with the organist. Sorting out the details of the lunch we'll hope to have for those who come to share in Monday's service of thanksgiving.

That sort of thing. It has its own inherent therapy, I guess.

All kinds of everything remind us of her (to change the words of the song).

And doing these little tasks provides recurring contexts where the memories are rehearsed: and doing them with each other serves to draw out from the bonds of family ties the God-imparted 'nectar' of both comfort and of strength.

But life goes on as well, of course. And rightly so.

And so I've found that I've been almost juggling different lives today. The life of a son. And the life of a pastor, too.

So while the girls went off (my sisters, I mean!) to attend to things at the Bank, I went round to the school to Primary 4.

They'd sent me a book, along with their letters of thanks, to say how much they had appreciated my going round a week or two ago to answer all their questions on what my life involves.

The Soup Bible. That was the name of the book. A beautiful book it is, as well. All suitably inscribed with thanks.

I found it very touching that they'd thought to give me that. So I wanted to give my thanks and I'd written a card and took it round and had the chance to say to them in person what it meant to have that token of their thanks.

Maybe I'm becoming in their minds the soup pastor! Not inappropriate - I think I have, like most of us, that dreadful inbuilt bias which often seems to land me in the soup!

The hardest thing today, though, was preparing for another funeral service which is taking place tomorrow. Grief is a fiercely possessive thing!

You'd think it would be easy, since there's grief already there within my heart, to feel my way right into all the grief this other family know. Which is what I always try to do. Since God himself does that.

But it doesn't seem to work like that! And I think it's because of the huge 'possessive' nature of all grief.

I managed to prepare the service, though, and was pleased to have that done. That leaves me free to give more concentrated thought to what the service for my Mum is going to be.

I need both time and space for that! And it's those that I'm trying to create. Which isn't proving easy!