As the rain and the snow come down from heaven, and do not return to it without watering the earth and making it bud and flourish, so that it yields seed for the sower and bread for the eater, so is my word that goes out from my mouth: It will not return to me empty, but will accomplish what I desire and achieve the purpose for which I sent it. -- Isaiah 55:10-11

Saturday, April 2, 2011

The Landscape

I have read so many health insurance policy plans that when I close my eyes they overlay like old overhead sheets on a table. They blur and details are lost, and I wish there were someone to call and ask, "Could you please make this decision for me?"

Could anyone make any decision for me?

A year ago I was the follower, trusting the decisions made that were never topics of discussions, oblivious to the detailed workings of life. Now I am a single mom trying to navigate a country I've never even seen, and when I stare at the latest major thing we have to cross, I remind myself that few things in life truly destroy. They make for struggles, but as life continues, wisdom is gained, and the next crossing will be easier. It is the price of learning life.

The price of learning life.

Thursday I had lunch with Mike and Judy Brisky, and we were discussing the grief process, where I am, how the children are, and so on. I tossed out the fact that people often use the phrase, "when you get past this," as though somewhere down the line at some divine point I will wake and this will be over.

My mom might still be dead, but somehow the missing her will be over, and Rob will still be dead, but somehow the effects will be over, or I'll be over the effects.

I'm not really what "being past this" means. It's not like it is some part of the carwash that you drive through before getting to the next part. You know, you drive through the soapy part, but once you hit the rinse, there is no soapy being dumped on you. The soapy is over. You're past it, and you get to move on to the wind in your face section, and at the end of the journey, you drive into the sunshine, and the carwash is over. You're past it all.

Mike and Judy and I talked about the fact events in life are not over. They become part of the landscape, the bigger picture. The effects are still there. The influence is still visible. Maybe it isn't the whole landscape. Maybe it isn't even in the forefront, but it never completely goes away. Pain and loss is part of the landscape. It isn't something to get past. It is something that becomes a part of the whole picture, part of me, the whole me. and if it is allowed to blend in the right way, it adds to the picture, not becomes the picture. It makes the picture richer, deeper, more interesting to know.

No. I'm not on some carwash ride with parts and pieces I am getting past. I'm living the picture, letting the elements blend from glaring pieces into a stunning landscape, so when peoople look at it, they don't see a moment or an event. Instead, they see how the bright spots and dark places mesh together to become one amazing picture...they see me.

1 comment:

Carmel said...

I had people ask me when I was going to 'get over' Mum or Kym dying. Annoys me.
I used to say you don't get over it, you get through it. And you get through by choosing to live instead of just existing.
The landscape is a beautiful analogy and the big picture is stunning.