A Summer of Loss

I wrote a to-do list while savoring Sue’s special coffee brew. As two-parts Hazelnut and one-part French Roast woke my soul, I put on my comfy shorts and a matching shirt. But then I passed my MAD Camp t-shirt and changed my mind.

Dressed in the sweet memory, I headed to Gordon’s to sing. Once settled on the piano bench next to my aging friend with dementia, I opened our favorite book and sang Amazing Grace. From there we belted Blue Skies, Danny Boy, This Little Light of Mine, and many more.

The twice weekly routine has proved a nice respite in the midst of a summer of loss.

It started in June, when I sang for a short graveside burial for my daughter-in-law’s grandfather. Since my husband often says, “Everyone should spend time in a graveyard once a month,” I relished the moments to focus on eternity—especially when an 89-year-old woman spoke up and explained how she'd come simply to honor her deceased spouse's best friend. 

But even with cloud cover, the heat settled in. So, I hurried off to pack for the beach.

At some point during the week away, my dad promised to set a date to bury grandma. Her cremated remains had been sitting in his office closet for over three years. Why? Because my grandparents donated their bodies to science, postponing their burial until their remains arrived via Fed Ex years after their death. With the time lapse, interrupting life to walk through a cemetery proved easy to ignore.

But true to his word, Dad set a date when we got home, and I marked my calendar.

Then not long before the big day, I read that one of my son’s former class mates died of an overdose. Unable to attend the funeral, I made an impromptu visit to his parent’s home to leave a card. His mom and I visited for over an hour instead. 

The sweet re-connection in the valley of the shadow offered renewed perspective. But when we learned only a few days later that Don’s former sister-in-law had just days to live, the shadow started feeling a bit ominous. 

We buried grandma under blue skies—the day before Kathy died. 

Dad stood at the front of the covered pavilion and read familiar passages while mom and I sat riveted on the front row of metal benches. When cued, I stood and played the song I wrote for grandma from my phone and tried to sing along. As the composer, I never understood till that moment how well the song captured her life. Listening to it so many year later opened a file of sweet memories that led to tears. In fact, we all wiped a few tears before taking her to where grandpa waited.

I’ve shared a lot of memories with my parents. But those twenty minutes will always remain high on the list. The sacred place allowed for lingering emotion. And in that space, we stood on the shoulders of all my grandparents—faithful pilgrims who stayed the course in plenty and in want.

By noon the next day, Don and I were planning a trip south for Kathy’s funeral. As I sat on a piano bench in the funeral chapel, preparing music to avoid the viewing, I glanced at Facebook where I learned of another tragic loss. A couple we attended church with years ago lost their son in a tragic car accident. Hours later, I learned of another wreck the same night that took young lives in our area.

Overcome, I searched for Don and shed a few tears. Then I finished the song. 

Looking back, it was hard to blog during that time. Sometimes in the valley, you don’t realize how much you’re affected until you climb a little higher and the view changes. I found my way back—as I often do—while writing, performing, recording, and sharing this song. 

I’ve been amazed at the reaction on Facebook. As of today, FB statistics claim it’s been viewed almost 1500 times since I loaded the video last Thursday. While I'm convinced that number has to be exaggerated somehow, still, for me, that’s quite a reach. 

Ironically, I almost didn’t finish the song because I felt like writing my thoughts might be an imposition on the family's plans. But then my nephew, Drew, called from England while I was floating in my sister’s pool. As we caught up, I mentioned we were leaving for a funeral in the morning and he asked, “Have you written a song?”

Since Drew never calls my phone, his question caught me off guard and spurred me on. Once home, I went back to work. 

Monday morning I sang it at Kathy’s service and today I'll close by sharing it with you. For there is hope in the place of loss and a loving God reaching out to us all, especially during a summer of loss.


Some photos courtesy of pixabay.com