Today was one of those days – haven’t had one in a while – where a red light or smidgeon of blue sky in the inversion-bleh sky could make me cry. It was as if Mom and Dad had just died. The grief just washed over me and I felt completely alone – orphaned in this great big world – even alone in this place I call “home”. Not even a full week into the never-ending darkness and my “woe is me” was at a critical level.
But tonight, I mustered all the courage I had and gathered with a group I once called “my people” before annulment, before covid, before pain took all joy from my life – and I made an astounding discovery! They are still “my people” – and not only that – they were happy to see me!! All my social anxieties about being alone and going somewhere alone and being wondered about because I am alone were for naught!
I wasn’t alone once I joined in.
My God! I thought – imagine that???
I can climb mountains without a thought – but facing the world as I am – that’s a daunting endeavor that terrifies me.
As I left, I felt a wee bit stronger in my own boots and so grateful for the community and the kind souls that welcomed me in. You have no idea how much light your “small” kindness brought to me. Thank you. It feels good to “be back”.
Let your light so shine – always – you never know who might need it.
“This is what the Lord says – HE who made a way through the sea, a path through the mighty waters, “Forget the former things; do not dwell on the past. See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the wilderness and streams in the wasteland.” – Isaiah 43: 16-19
As I mourned my mother and father, I made peace with who I am now – I can be no other than the daughter and woman God created through them 46 years ago. They raised me to shine a light in this world and shine it in honor and love for them I will! This year, I found my voice and my place. Never have I felt so fulfilled and so right then when I am sharing God’s love and the Good News through Word and Sacrament.
I am blessed to have grown up in a family whose ties were strong between parent and child as well as past and present. There are times I wish I knew as much about my future (or even tomorrow) as I know about the past “pre-Erika” times. I was not fortunate to know any of my grandparents well. My grandfathers had long passed away before I was born. My mom’s mother died when I was in second grade and I had only a yearly visit from her to form any sort of relationship. My dad’s mother died when I was in the fifth grade but I only saw her one time – when I was in kindergarten – as she had suffered from Alzheimer’s for nearly 10 years, was in a nursing home, and we lived out of state. At that time, children didn’t visit people with Alzheimer’s. Nonetheless, my parents did a good job of connecting me and my brother with our heritage – both ancestral and cultural. Scandinavia was very much alive and well in our household and in our upbringing. They also ensured, that no matter where we were or what circumstances we faced, that we had a firm foundation in our faith.
It was there that we finally planted roots of place and established a place we called “home.” Indeed, it was the one place (except for my brother who moved there after we did) that we had all lived for the longest period of our lives. For a family who was used to the transitory lifestyle, we quickly planted roots – deep ones – and for the first time in my life I felt the certainty of place.
came to a close, served as a sentimental time capsule of comfort – a collection of our very good life lived as a family and the last days of Dad’s life at home. The older-than-my-dad grandfather clock which had withstood the flames of a barn fire and Morck family formation still ticked away the day and our Baldwin upright beckoned me to play one more song, though time would not allow. I had glanced around making sure I hadn’t left any of my belongings from the “week of death” behind, closed the front door, and hit the road. I didn’t know that it would be the last time I would ever see our home as home. I didn’t know that time capsule of comfort would only be saved to memory by a fleeting glance as I rushed to be on my way. I presumed I would be back for at least one last visit, one more living room session of sentiment, but as fate would have it, that wasn’t to be.
Gone was the cozy living room where Dad and I had that last cherished father-daughter talk late into the night on Thanksgiving. As fast as our lives fell apart in the ensuing months of illness and death, this place had always been a haven, a sanctuary of sentiment. Now it was just a stage from which the contents of our life would be sold.
It has been nearly a year as I write this, since my mother’s passing. March 20th to be exact. The first day of spring and the beginning of Holy Week. Her passing as the death of winter gave way to the new life of spring continues to shape my journey through grief. There was something about my Mom dying at Easter that helped me get through her death with hope and faith. I felt a strength and peace I didn’t know possible carrying me through her memorial on Good Friday and the celebration of her resurrection alongside that of my Lord, Jesus Christ on Easter Sunday. The promise of the new eternal life we have in Him enabled me to push through my grief and resume living or at least tried to.
Having my heart plowed by death also forced me to pause the chaos of life. Perhaps my own health crisis was the final till that cultivated this new sense of being. Through the goodness of grief, I have let go of some of my past busyness and grown more comfortable with being alone. I have learned to relish moments of solitude and carve out time for them. Moments where I can be still and let my emotions be raw and real in the quiet of His presence.
Let Your Light So Shine 