What Death Cannot Snatch Away

Grief isn’t simply a loss of what was. It also is a loss for what might have been if mother, father, husband, sister, brother, grandparent or friend had lived.

Because of this, life gives us endless opportunities to reflect on our loss. And yet, as I celebrated 10 years of marriage to my husband last week, I instead embraced a celebratory attitude.

In other words, I didn’t let what was not let ruin what was. I can’t say I’m always capable of doing that, but this time I really let my hair down, sort of speak. March 28^th was a grand day.

Nonetheless, it was not without pause. Why? I mean, what does my wedding anniversary have to do with the loss of my parents? There again, grief’s complex nature lies in wait.

For one thing, 2019 also marks 10 years since my mother’s death. She died 16 weeks after our wedding. Thus, my wedding and her death are unassailably tied.

For another, I did not consider when we set out for the lobby of the historic Peabody Hotel in downtown Memphis that I’d be walking in the shadow of a memory. As I passed the hotel’s French restaurant, Chez Philippe, I glanced inside and thought of my parents.

I’d dined with them there on one of their anniversaries in the late 1990s. I had thought I might be a bit of a third wheel, but I readily accepted their invitation. Until a few weeks ago, I didn’t understand why they’d want me along on this most unusual celebration. Usually my parents exchanged anniversary cards and kisses and left the celebration at that. For the Chez Philippe dinner, my father dressed in a white tux and my mother in a sequined two-piece outfit she’d designed and created herself. I wore a long gown with a slit in the side.

I didn’t fathom that years later the Peabody would play a significant role in my life. On a second date, Richard Wansley and I toured the lobby and examined the artifacts in glass cases. We laughed and carried on. I had so much fun, I decided I’d take our developing relationship seriously. Take a chance. Go up to the plate and swing again. Several months later, Richard brought me back, took me on the rooftop and proposed to me.

All these years later, as mine and Richard’s 10^th anniversary approached, I finally understood why my parents wanted me to come along to that dinner at the Peabody. Now I wanted our beloved neighbor children with us for our anniversary date on March 28th. Richard, too, wanted them to come along.

I’m still trying to grasp this development, however, I realize that at the core of this is love. We love those kids like we might our own children. They are family to us. And loving them together is a bonding agent. Love is inclusive. It draws wide circles, not little tiny ones.

While the kids were not able to come with us, I felt as though my parents were with us as we passed the restaurant and hung out to see the famous ducks march from the lobby to rooftop pens. Death divides but love unifies. I carry the love of and for my parents with me everywhere I go. Death could not snatch that away. Grief will not snuff out my connection with them.

Instead of grieving, I smiled on March 28th. I laughed. And only later did it all come together in my head, and then years and years sat on the head of a pin, possibly in just the way the eternal God sees the passing of the centuries. And I’m sure my parents were smiling, too, from a perch in heaven, to see it all come together in such a delightful way. With such meaning. It took the sting out of death. The sting out of grief. We were all there at the Peabody – because of love.

Think of a time that you drew a wide circle because of love. Did you see loss differently because of that experience?

 

Copyright © 2019 by Toni Lepeska. All rights reserved. www.tonilepeska.com