Camping

Tomorrow will be one month since May 27th, the day John left us. I get to learn first hand about grief and loss and I can tell you that it is not like they say in the books and it can not be learned. I have come to find out that if you want to know what grief is like, you have to go through it.
I have heard people describe many experiences of loss in my work and in my friendships and to be honest, I really had no idea. How can you explain what it feels like to be freezing when you have never been cold, or to be drowning in a desert? It's surreal, at best.
In the last two weeks I have had moments of clarity and moving on "ness" where I wake up and the first thought that enters my mind is not, "John's gone. John's dead." but more like "It's morning, where's food? I don't want to get out of this warm bed........... oh yeah, John' gone. John's dead."
I have had periods of time where I am working and I am focused on my task at hand. I am not immersed in sadness. I have a purpose.
My mother went to see a grief counselor who told her that it might not be a good idea for her to come camping with us and the Family Folk Chorale for the weekend. She told her that going away from home so soon after a loss can trigger really intense emotions. We talked about it, she wanted to go. I didn't think anything of it.......... until about an hour in to the drive.
We had gone up for our summer retreat with the folk chorale, a community of friends who have come to be our dearest friends. It was rainy and gross out and I dreaded the whole thing. But the kids were excited and I felt like it would be fun for them. Why not?
Half way through the performance I was crying and at then end Jonah and I had left the stage and were wandering through the strawberry field looking for something that wasnt there.
The thought that came in to my head was that we had left John all alone in the house.
I know this is logically crazy
but this is how I felt.
I kept thinking about that box that my mother had so lovingly decorated with John inside of it. I had picked the box up out of morbid curiousity, how much does a full grown man weigh, when broken down in to ash?
It was surprisingly heavy.
We had to get home.
It was too soon to leave him alone in the house.
We wouldn't have left him alone in the house before so why would we now?
It poured.
I cried.
Jonah got muddy and wild and just like that we were all packed up and headed home.

I couldn't get there fast enough and slept like a baby and when I woke up I heard the birds and thought that John was there
and he was.

Midweek Musings

Midweek musings: Death — and celebrating life


Midweek Musings

The Rev. Arthur McDonald The Gloucester Daily Times Tue Jun 14, 2011, 11:27 PM EDT





I so remember some years back watching a "Star Trek Next Generation" episode in which a scientist from another culture, having finished his work with the Enterprise crew, was preparing to go back home to go through an end-of-life ritual.



Seems that in his culture, when one's primary work is done, and before one becomes ill or enfeebled, he gathers family and friends and has a celebration of life and accomplishments, then ends his life.



As would be expected, the crew of the Enterprise was enraged and tried to talk him out of what they all considered a barbaric practice. But the episode raised great questions around the meaning of life and death, and I was reminded of the fact that in our culture we don't often deal well with death.



We often avoid talking about it and are not always sure how to do ritual around it when it comes. Often parents are not sure whether to include young children in the death and dying process of aging relatives. And only in more recent times, at least in my experience, have we thought of funerals and memorial services as celebrations.



As a minister, performing rituals is a significant part of my pastoral duties. Rituals remind us of what anthropologists tell us, that at base, we human beings are symbol-makers, ritual performers. Truth is, in our lives we do ritual all of the time, both religious and secular. Weddings, baptisms, blessings, healings are all special rituals.



But the ritual I most relish is the ritual we religious (spiritual for those who prefer that designation) people perform around death, i.e., wakes (viewings) and funerals or memorial services.



Death gets our attention; stops us in our tracks. When someone close to us passes on we are often devastated, or, at minimal, deeply pained and saddened. There is a hole in our lives, never to be completely filled.



Yet, in most cases, despite the pain of loss, there is so much to celebrate. And while funerals and memorial services are meant to give expression to grief and sorrow, as they ought, they are also meant to honor and celebrate and the richness of a life, always a gift.



As a minister, it's always a privilege to be asked to lead a memorial celebration. While it's important to bring a certain solemnity to the ritual, I believe it is equally important to bring a sense of joy and gladness.



I recently was asked to be part of a wonderful such remembrance of a local hero, a former "lumper" (a word I recently learned) at the docks in Gloucester and postal clerk, John Mullen.



John died too young — 59. But he accomplished so much in those years. Nothing extraordinary, just special.



Mostly, he was a loving spouse, brother, grandfather, uncle and friend. He always had time for his family and friends. His oldest niece most remembered as a child that Uncle John always took time to play with her when other adults were too busy.



He was a straight shooter; what you saw is what you got. He loved his family, friends and the Red Sox and hated war and politicians who started war. You might have seen him at Grant Circle with his simple yet direct message on a sign that said something like "War is not the Answer."



Big John's memorial service brought tears and pain, but even more so it brought laughter, joy and deep gratitude. There were moments of profound reflection, personal stories, and wonderful music and singing.



The church was filled; a lasting tribute to the manner in which this good human being touched others. Everyone left with a rich memory, a trait they admired and which they hoped to carry with them.



John is no longer visible to us but his spirit lives on in those he so deeply touched. And that's the point, really. We learn from one another what it is to be human; what it is to live well; what it is to be truthful and just; what it is to love.



So, once again, I am reminded how rich it is to ritualize life's major transitions, passages: birth, coming of age, partnering and death. And I am reminded what a blessing it is to be in ministry and to be part of a spiritual and religious community.



Death is a rupture and often the most difficult of passages, yet it is a time for us all to assess our own lives and make adjustments where needed. Are we living out the values we claim to aspire to? If not, how to we get back on course.



Celebrating another's life can be that moment of re-direction; "recalculating" as the GPS voice says. To celebrate a life, especially a life well-lived, is a deep gift to the human community, and I pray that as a culture we will all see and experience the value of facing death as just another passage and, despite the real sorrow and loss, to learn to celebrate our lives and loved ones as the best way to honor their legacy.



The Rev. Dr. Arthur McDonald is pastor of the First Universalist Unitarian Church of Essex