As we grow older, we often love and grieve simultaneously. Seasons of grief aren’t absent of love. Actually, through my experiences of walking with people through death, I’ve discovered love may abound, as does grace.
No one should die alone. Yet, people die alone every day.
I thought about the ad I saw as it scrolled on my screen. The ad asked, “What does wellness sound like?”
In response, I wondered: What does the color of grief sound like?
While it’s been 12 weeks (3 months) since Terri’s sister died, we are still processing the grief, especially with Thanksgiving right around the corner. We used to gather at her house for Thanksgiving. She and our brother-in-law, David, would make the big fixings,like turkey and ham, while the rest of us brought side dishes to complement whatever else they put on the menu. My sister-in-law loved entertaining for the holidays. This year, things will be different, as they were when our niece Natalie died at Christmas 2013. Death changes all relationships. Grief impacts all celebrations, especially when it’s fresh. I know a woman who lost both her parents a few weeks ago. For her, the holidays will be extremely different—and difficult—from now until God calls her home. What does the color of grief sound like?
Similar to music, color has deep meaning to us humans. If I asked you to conjure up a chord that embodied grief chances are you’d hear a specific sound in your head; something familiar that you associate hearing, and feeling, with death. Grief is intense. Losing someone you love quakes and shivers through every fiber of your being. You tend to remember what you see, hear, and feel forever. Like the morning my father died; the sun came out and it was a beautiful spring day. “You picked a good day to die,” I thought as I drove from the hospital to pick up my mom. And now, after the death of someone I loved or knew well, I notice the weather immediately after. I look for the sun to come out. You’re mourning someone’s death as you are celebrating their life. What a weird conundrum.
Traditionally, we understand the color of love is red and the color of mourning is black. These are universal concepts, but they are not exclusive. Different cultures and traditions celebrate grief incorporating blue, purple, and white colors. Yes. Celebrate.
The connection existing between color and music was inseparable for visual artist Wassily Kandinsky. I’m told he perceived this relationship so vividly that he associated each musical note with a specific hue. Kandinsky once remarked, “The sound of colors is so precise that it would be difficult to imagine anyone representing bright yellow with bass notes or dark lake with treble.” Kandinsky, a Russian painter and art theorist, believed that art contained the power to evoke deep emotional and spiritual experiences, transcending our physical world to connect with something greater. And I agree with him. Experience has taught me that colors and sound are powerful conduits for connecting deeply with others. Combined, they help break barriers and tear down walls, opening the floodgates of what it means to experience being human.
People tend to stay away from you after the funeral (or memorial). They keep their distance as if death—or worse—grief is catching. We are uncomfortable with grief, yet it behooves us to learn how to sit in it. Truth is, we’d rather not because it reminds us of our own fragility and transience.
People die and life goes on for the still living. That’s the hard truth of it. Life has repeatedly taught me you’ll incur people wounds immediately after a loss. Grief doesn’t give you a truce from reality. Similar to when my dad died, I’ve acquired work wounds after my sister-in-law went to be with Jesus. It adds to the pain of loss without alleviating any of it. I’ve found it makes grief a heavier burden to bear than it already is but what’s the world supposed to do—stop spinning?
Life is dynamic. Change remains the lonesome constant.
Friend, I don’t know where you are, spiritually speaking. I just know where I am. One day, I came to the end of myself and recognized my need for Jesus. It’s Jesus who helps me through the grief. It’s Jesus who stands by me during tough times. Otherwise, I’d be more of a terrible mess than I am.
Life is messy.
Until my next post…
Grace and peace,
Rainer Bantau—The Devotional Guy™
#Bloggers4Jesus
#collab4Christ
The Devotional Guy™ 