“Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul
And sings the tune without the words
And never stops at all” — Emily Dickinson
Some days need to be subdued. In the silence you can hear your thoughts – jumbled though they may be, scatological and spontaneous, making sense maybe, perhaps not. Maybe it’s the mind’s way of trying to integrate contradictory stimuli.
Is it the phases of the moon or just the stages of life that bring four of my cherished friends to the ragged edge of loss this weekend? Remarkable people who have never met, marking anniversaries of loss, experiencing the passing of a beloved family member, and/or finding themselves staring straight into the sea of frightening inevitability which we deny for as long as we can? And why does life’s corollary have to be so untenable? I have no idea.
I don’t know if there’s a heaven; I have a hard time conceiving of hell. I think I’m very faithful, for I believe in many things that I can’t see – and for me, it is the simplest way to embrace something as indescribably huge as faith. And love. And hope. I know that when we have to let go, we never really do. One of my friends was relating the conversation she and her brother had with their dad, telling him that they were okay, that they would be okay…My sister and I had similar discussions with our parents when they were arguably between two worlds. And yesterday I thought to myself that sometimes the idea of leaving is untenable because we don’t want to leave our children with no barrier against mortality. The thought that they have to assume a different and arguably scarier position when we are no longer physically here. The mere thought is anathema to me. Life – that is all that we want our loved ones to embrace. How dissonant to suggest that our abdication requires their assumption of a new place in line? Perhaps one of the greatest acts of love is hanging in there if one can, with the invisible, powerful hope that we are still protecting those we love beyond measure.
I believe that some souls come into our life for a brief time, and leave indelible imprints on our hearts, our approach to each day, etc. Some remind us that we are loved, when we doubt it; others nurture us when we have forgotten how to do this for ourselves; defiantly protect us when we are emotionally over-exposed. Are they angels? Their miraculous arrival and elusive departure suggest they could be. Is there a better way to define a lifeline when it is provided and holds you together with unshakeable confidence and purpose?
I know the canned answer is that the experience of sorrow somehow makes the moments of joy all the lovelier. Loss underscores our appreciation of that which we have. It sounds good enough to become a cliché, though like most trite comments, it doesn’t necessarily resonate in the heart. Hope however, has wings. Hope that forever is a place, that love remembered is a blessing and love extended is a gift. I wish it didn’t have to hurt so damn much. I wish that tears weren’t necessary. The daffodil shoots are stubbornly insisting on breaking through the frozen ground – indifferent to the reality that greets them when they appear. They persist – with faith. They will flourish in the spring – with hope.