Things are changing again and I am embarking on a long season of endings and goodbyes. Today was my first last in a year that will be filled with them. As I got ready for bed and reflected on the many special moments today brought, my heart felt a mixture of glad and grieved and I thought to myself, “what a gift”.
Some might think it odd but I need this long, slow ending. We get so few of them in life. The most significant ones often blindside us: a diagnosis that steals our illusions of health in an instant; a phone call that brings devastating news. Even the ones we can anticipate often are ambiguous and we aren’t prepared when they finally come.
Greg’s death came so suddenly that it was happening before I could wrap my mind around it. No, he wasn’t doing well. Yes, things were very precarious and I was starting to prepare for the worst. But I thought we had time. So much more time. I never imagined he’d be gone within hours of calling hospice to help manage his pain. That very night I thought to myself that I needed to start thinking of things as the last: last Christmas, last birthdays, last anniversary. But he didn’t even make it to midnight. My world fell apart in an instant. Everything changed and I was woefully unprepared.
So to have an ending scheduled and on my calendar is as settling as it is sad. This time, I can prepare. This time, I’ll know when it’s the last. This time I’ll treasure the moments because I’ll understand how fleeting they are. Which means I’ll grieve more… now… instead of being blindsided then.
I can take it slow. Choose my endings. Take my pictures. Cry my tears. I can know there’s good ahead instead of being dropped into the unknown, clumsily searching for something to hold on to. I can talk to Jesus about my fears one by one instead of being swallowed by them and too overwhelmed to pray. I can let my heart be heavy and glad; hold both the future and the past in my heart while living in the present.
What a gift it is to have a long, slow ending.
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