She sat in an overstuffed chair sinker deeper into the fabric-becoming smaller and smaller as grief melted her pure existence. She sat at her mother’s funeral as the song of Vince Gill Go Rest High on that Mountain played in the background. Her mom, after a 60 year relationship had died, her husband of 38 years had just left the marriage, and her Dad left his body 2 years ago. Her grief was deep.
As the music played, my friend sank deeper and deeper, alone in her grief, lost in her identity. No longer a daughter, no longer a wife. Deep grief, swallowing her up in that overstuffed chair.
The special moment happened as her eldest daughter, in her own deep grief, rose up and walked over, sat in her momma’s lap, and wrapped her arms around her. Comforting and being comforted.
What happened in the funeral parlor was beautiful, sad, compassionate and pure. As a tear flowed from my heart, I glanced around the room and witnessed a silent, special moment. All the ladies in the room were gently wiping the tears flowing out their eyes, from their hearts. Tears of grief, tears of compassion, tears from hearts of understanding.
We know the pain. We share the loss. We remember. We know the deep grief felt from losing a mother, a child, a grandmother. We know. We are together and united in the mother ring, because we carry within us our mother’s blood that nourished and sustained us at the beginning of life. It sustains us still, and it connects all women still. We share this bond of love, compassion nourishment and support.
We comfort each other because we understand, we know and we remember.
We are never alone.