Everything We Love We Lose
A hard saying. An interesting sermon title. A thought to ponder. Pastor Cogan at Cross of Grace Church in New Palestine, Indiana, gave this message last night with this title during the midweek service where the theme is Lenten Rituals.
Rituals are near and dear to me. They are important in everyone’s lives. Some people may not even know they are participating in a ritual or that they themselves have created one. Rituals compliment the ebb and flow of life.
In an earlier Notes of Hope titled “Life Stops on a Dime”, I wrote about my sister Sharon and my grief at her sudden death. Five years later I am still processing that loss in my life. We were close; and, in that closeness, there are many memories. As with anyone close to us, there are times when we agree with them and times when we disagree, times when we cherish being with them and times when we need some space, and times when we need them and times when we strive for independence. As Pastor Cogan’s sermon title says, everything we love, we lose.
Every day for five years I have thought of Sharon. Wanting to call and tell her something, to ask her something only she would know, or to travel with her. Every day. That’s about 1,825 days give or take a leap year.
My “Sharon” ritual, that I believe would be beneficial to anyone remembering or grieving a loved one, would be to walk a labyrinth with them (or maybe some would say “for them”) on the anniversary of their death. I do this every year; however, this year turned out to be special. A new part was added to this ritual, unintentionally. Many rituals do happen unintentionally. We need to be observant and follow through on them.
This year I was in Minnesota staying at my oldest son Jason’s home. He found a labyrinth for me to walk using the World Labyrinth Locator. We drove there on that mild January day and had to do some searching to find it, which turned out not to be easy. Winter had hidden it, not under snow as one might expect in Minnesota, but under leaves.
It was nice that Jason decided to walk it with me; and, as we did, I asked him to share memories of his Aunt Sharon. I did the same. Some made us laugh while others made us sad. We remembered how she loved to give very creative gifts, giving him a Cool Whip container (he loves to eat Cool Whip right out of the plastic tub) full of wadded up money for his graduation. We remembered how family was so important to her, regularly hosting family dinners with beef brisket and Honey Baked Ham. We remembered a picture in one of my photo albums of her giving nine-month-old Jason his first chocolate sucker on Easter, despite my not wanting him to have sugar. A messy, adorable face covered in chocolate caused my anger to quickly turn into laughter. Fond memories.
This unintended expansion of my ritual thus began. Every year now on the anniversary of her leaving us, I will continue to walk a labyrinth wherever I may be and will invite one of my children (or someone else who loved her) to walk with me and remember. We love her still even though we lost her. What a great way to carry on that love and be with her.
