The First Year
A young man died recently in the lake. He had always been afraid of the water but went in with friends on a hot summer's day just up to his knees. What he didn't know was that he stood on an underwater ledge that was about to end. When he took one more step into the water, there was nothing underneath his feet, sending him plunging into the water over his head. He panicked. He called out and his friends tried to help, but the depth of the water, the fear in his heart, and the murkiness that made it impossible to see underwater all contributed to his death. He drowned at age 18.
Over 1,000 people showed up for the wake and hundreds were at his funeral. From the time of the first phone calls from the lake to the burial, his parents and sister were surrounded by family, friends, and neighbors who did their best to support them — five days of unbelievable sadness and grief.
Every death, no matter if sudden or expected, leaves in its wake the first year. For those grieving, the first year without the loved one brings . . .
the first Christmas, Easter, birthday, family party.
the closet full of clothes that never get worn.
the bike in the garage that no one rides.
the plane ticket to college that will go unused.
the empty bed.
one less place setting at the table.
the call that won't come on Mother's Day.
Sarah Hart has composed an unrecorded song, "Child of My Heart," in which she sings:
I weep for all we will not share
For sweet memories that won't be there . . .
Who on earth can fill this empty space?
For one's life can never be replaced . . .
My friend Amy understands the first year. She understands how each day the family experiences the loss all over again. She knows that close friends and family will be around for the holidays and big events, but she is dedicated to the simple moments. She told this young man's family (her neighbors) that she would stop by each day to check in. They could invite her in or send her away. It is up to them. But Amy knows that soon the alumni newsletter will arrive in the mail, addressed to their son and it may bring a flood of tears that just won't stop. She knows that just as one parent is able to face the day and perhaps even smile again, the other one will find that same smile unbearable in his or her grief. Amy knows that a teenage girl will be the only child in the house that has always had two, and the burden of that loneliness will sometimes be too much to bear.
Amy knows about the simple things because she has done this before. Last year, a different young man, also her neighbor, died after a long illness. Amy checked in on his parents day after day, month after month. She knows what the first year can be like because she wasn't afraid to walk it with them. I am not sure why Amy is so unafraid of grief, but I think that she is comfortable with the chaos of life and the unexpectedness of emotions. She knows that there is nothing neat and orderly about grief, that it can't be reasoned with or set aside.
I know I have missed a bunch of chances to be an "Amy" in the lives of those who have grieved the loss of loved one. I guess I just needed Amy to tell me more about the journey and help me to see how I could enter into it. Perhaps the next time I will do better. I know that I will try.
Let us pray for the hundreds of thousands of people who are journeying the "first year" on this day:
Loving God, be with those who mourn, those who weep, those who find the agony of grief to be overwhelming. It is your strength that is needed, your loving embrace that will begin to heal. Help us to not only reach out in prayer, but to also reach out in physical ways to those who need us during their time of grief. May the promise of heaven be a source of hope for all. Amen.
Related Links:
- "A Grief Observed," from Sarah Hart's blog
- The Mystery of Suffering: How Should I Respond, by Kenneth R. Overberg, SJ, Catholic Update
Spirit Compass reflections are developed in partnership
with the Center for Ministry Development.