by Chaplain Julia Rajtar, MAPS, BCC
Less daylight, cooler days, glorious sun rises and sets, and colored leaves escort us into the season of fall. This time of year reminds me of the last fall my dad was alive.
After the kids moved away, my parents took over the chore of raking the leaves that fell into the yard from the two tall trees next door to us. Sometimes, it was just the two of them; sometimes, it was an adult child or two with them; and sometimes, it was the grandkids assisting or playing in the pile of leaves.
Before Dad’s health changed, he raked leaves, blew them into a pile, bagged them, and eventually took them to compost. The last fall that Dad was alive and at home, he couldn’t rake anymore, but Mom could. So, they reversed roles…Dad made supper while Mom and I raked, blew, and bagged the leaves. We finished in the darkness with the backyard spotlight guiding our way and a temperature that said winter was nearing. Upon locking up the garden tools in the garage, we entered the warm, fragrant kitchen, meatloaf filling the air, heat pouring over us, and light glowing over the shared family table.
The season of fall is one of those times that activates a memory of Dad for me. Yes, it still makes me sad he is gone, but the memory now brings comfort rather than intense pain; it is now more fulfilling and joyful, a memory of time spent together. Another bereaved person spoke about music as one of those things that activate the memory of their deceased son, who loved to go to concerts and enjoyed many genres of music. Someone else shared that anytime they look at their car, they remember their son, the family mechanic who loved to and could fix anything with four wheels.
There are always times, events, and special dates that will bring back memories of our deceased loved one. Initially, those memories bring deep sadness as we grieve & mourn their absence. While grieving, we give time and attention to that loss, learning how to carry it with us. As we grieve and continue to move forward, we find that the memories become less painful; the tears may not come instantly or the pain changes from a gut-wrenching sadness to an accidental pin prick. We will always miss them. Memories are a tool in our hope chest of mourning to help us adapt and adjust to the loss.
We express memories in many ways – cell phones and Facebook tend to bring up photos at certain intervals of the calendar year. Someone created an ornament with their special person’s name on it – painted on, and they hang it on their holiday tree every year. Another person has a pendant that opens which holds a photo of their deceased loved one. Telling stories is an essential form of memory and is encouraged, especially with children. Sometimes children hesitate in sharing memories, because they don’t want to cause the adult pain. The adult can model the sharing of stories, encouraging the children to do so, even though it hurts and causes sadness, which is a natural part of grieving. Adults can model for the children, the sharing of feelings, the sadness, the pain, and how to express them together.
There will always be times, moments, days, and events that activate a memory of our deceased special person, even years later, and that’s ok. Telling the stories, sharing the memories is part of the journey to learning to carry that special person with us, into the future.
Lost love is still love. It takes a different form, that’s all.
You can’t see their smile or bring them food or tousle
their hair or move them around the dance floor.
Memory then, becomes your partner.
You nurture it. You hold it. You dance with it.
LIFE HAS TO END. LOVE DOESN’T.
Sources:
¹Albom, Mitch The Five People You Meet in Heaven, Hyperion, New York, 2003.
Dougy Center: The National Grief Center for Children and Families, Ten Tips for Supporting Children Who Are Grieving, Dougy Center, 2023. Accessed October 11, 2024.
Haley, Eleanor, Grief Triggers and Positive Memory: A Continuum, What’s Your Grief,
https://whatsyourgrief.com/grief-triggers-positive-memories-continuum/, 2014. Accessed October 11, 2024.
Rowland, Joanna, The Memory Box, A Book About Grief, Sparkhouse Family, Minneapolis, 2017.
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