A. painting a picture for a friend whose dad was sick

A dear friend’s dad died in July.

(Stop the world for a moment. Don’t we all want that when someone we love dies?).

Throughout the year of his illness, Aidan would finger paint “art projects” for M. (our friend) because “M. is sad.  I want her to be happy.”  When he was finished, he’d tell me what he wanted to write to her.  One time, I think it was something like this,

“Dear godmother, I hope you’re dad is ok.  I hope you get to play today. Love, A.”

A. wasn’t able to go to the funeral.  Loooong story short, me and our little four month old flew out to be with my dear friend while A. and my husband drove up to Boston for a family reunion.  A. didn’t get to see his godmother and say the things three year olds do when we are sad: “I give you hug.  Then you be happy.”

Singing in solidarity

When we got settled back at home, Brian and I were talking about ways to continue to be in solidarity with our friend.  We explained to A. that M’s dad had died.  We knew he wouldn’t “get it” completely, but we knew that he understood that M. was sad and that we wanted to be about helping her “be happy” (that’s “toddler” for “feel supported, accompanied, joined”).

As we were unpacking, I pulled out the liturgical program from the funeral.  One of the songs from the mass was still on my heart.  And in that moment, I knew what we could do:

Sing.

For the month of August, whenever we sat down to eat a meal together, we’d start by singing (* see below. It’s beautiful).

The song became our mealtime prayer.  It became our way of  “holding vigil” with M. and her family for 40 days — after everyone goes home and gets back into their own routine.  It was a way of being in solidarity with a friend who is grieving that A. could “get” and participate in.

When someone joined us for dinner, A. would tell them what we are doing: “We sing for M’s dad.  He died.” And the mystical circle of being in solidarity widened.  (One of our guests later told me that she was still singing that song and thinking of our friend, though she had never met her.  This is one thing that is beautiful about human beings — our willingness to join in the hurt and sorrow of another person, even if we don’t know them).

I can’t say we sang every night — nor did we eat together every night!  But on the nights we were together, we sang.

One night, early into our vigil, A. asked:

“Mom, is M’s dad ‘un-dead’?”

I stopped for a second.  I thought about how his mind and heart must work.  I was taken-aback by the sweet innocence of a three year old — nothing “sad” or painful or sorrowful is permanent to them – not even death.  I thought of how we were thinking we were teaching him about death — but here…here he was teaching us…inviting us to change our paradigm about death.

I said to him, “Well, he is still dead, honey.  We sing for M’s heart.  For her dad’s spirit.  We sing for joy to come.”

But maybe our children got it right:  sadness doesn’t last forever.  Maybe death and separation from our loved one isn’t permanent, it’s just an illusion, that we can sense in this lifetime.  Maybe we just come to know those who have died in a different way.  I don’t know.  It sure hurts like *^(*&^^#%$#.  But I do know this…ultimately death does not have the final word.

I’ll have to sit with that one for awhile.  For now, we will just keep singing.

(*post written with M’s permission)

****************

God of Day and God of Darkness

God of day and God of darkness,
now we stand before the night.
As the shadows stretch and deepen,
come and make our darkness bright.
All creation still is groaning
for the dawning of your might.
When the Sun of peace and justice
fills the earth with radiant light.

Still the nations curse the darkness,
still the rich oppress the poor.
Still the earth is bruised and broken
by the ones who still want more.
Come and wake us from our sleeping,
so our hearts cannot ignore
all your people lost and broken,
all your children at our door.

Show us Christ in one another.
Make us servants strong and true.
Give us all your love of justice,
so we do what you would do.
Let us call all people holy.
Let us pledge our lives anew.
Make us one with all the lowly.
Let us all be one in you.

You shall be the path that guides us;
you the light that in us burns.
Shining deep within all people,
yours the love that we must learn.
For our hearts shall wander restless
’til they safe to you return.
Finding you in one another,
we shall all your face discern.
(Text: Marty Haugen. C 1994 GIA Publications, Inc. All Rights Reserved. Used with permission. Music: The Sacred Harp, 1844.)