The phone call changed everything for me. “Sorry to hear she died.” We talked for a few minutes more before saying goodbye. Immediately I checked the local funeral home obituaries. Yes, there was her picture. But what does one do in this COVID-19 era? What is the risk? Would I, could I go?

I began to think about how all of this would happen: masks, distancing, waving, throwing kisses or demonstrating hugs and . . . standing alone. I decided that I could do any of that or all of it. But, there was something else to consider. I hadn’t been out of the house much since March lockdown, and this was June. I hadn’t driven, and I wasn’t even sure what health rules had changed since the last time I’d heard the news.

At the appointed time, I drove to the cemetery. I walked by some people that ordinarily I would have moved directly to them to offer a hug. But that was not to be. My worries faded as I made my way along the public road past familiar tombstones. As I grew close to the open grave, I had the opportunity to offer condolences to the immediate family through distancing and proceeded to space six feet from anybody.

This was the new normal, and I had found my way into it with a certain amount of ease. I didn’t feel alone or lonely, even though I stood by myself. Within view were my family plots, and around me were known names written across tombstones. The minister’s clear voice comforted me with familiar scripture passages introducing a message. Several family members spoke, telling the rest of us about holidays on the farm and favourite meals. At the appropriate time, the minister, along with the funeral director, offered the committal. The clergy closed the service with the blessing. It was the familiar that led me through step by step with ease.

Everyone stood quite. A man walked to the gravesite and put a small speaker on the casket and a fresh lyrical country tune filled the air.  It seemed without further words, we sensed oneness with each other. When it finished people continued to distance while talking and some walked back to their cars. More than me had managed the new normal. Sometimes, it takes a decision to do it.

Is there something in your grief process that would begin the process of healing with a decision? Jot down some notes and see where it takes you.

Even though grief is a natural response to loss, it doesn’t always give a person much warning. Granted if you’re walking someone along the unpredictable path towards their death, you have the opportunity to plan, to think and to make decisions.

However, if the death happens unexpectedly and you’re caught off guard, tremendous feelings of helplessness can fall into place. It is here that the body provides endorphins to give adequate energy to do what has to be done. Drawing support from other people is not always possible. Preparing a list of people to call, writing notices to inform while remaining in touch with one’s own needs can be difficult to keep the path straight in front of your feet. Even though tragedies, as far away as the other side of the world beg attention through the media, those who capture your heartstrings in your community, faith circle and family, warrant loving care.

A family situation can draw you quickly into memories.  That’s where I seemed to go in a recent experience of sorrow, regret, and love. Often those three emotions scramble for first place while making sense of any death. This is normal and can be counted on to appear at the most unexpected time. Honour them, give them a place . . . for a while, and except for love, release the rest. Grieving is a normal emotion — part of who we are. We grieve because we have loved. We would not want it any other way.

Drawing on good memories are winners every time when we walk the grief path. When I think of the one for whom I grieve, musician, writer and faith come to mind. Guitar picking as a master, barre chording as a pro while turning his first finger into a capo; a natural composer of songs; one who strove to understand the mind of a child to carefully explore setting and dialogue; and sketched images to life.

Rest in Peace: Daniel Guy Mann: November 30th, 1969 till January 22, 2019.
Son, brother, father, nephew, grandson, cousin, friend, and child of God.
You are loved.

Remembering our nephew, Daniel.

If you were to write about the impact of the last person for whom you grieve, you would make your own list. And with each talent, skill or interest you will stir up memories to stand in for your loss. Look for good thoughts. They are helpful and life-giving.

Life is filled with options, priorities and decisions. It is steeped in trade-offs, right? Enjoying one recipe often costs a few pounds in the wrong place. One poor choice can cost financial breakdown or birth a happy occasion. Some options cause grief, some take a person on a road less travelled, and some cause the death of spirit, mind and soul.

Summer is for enjoying the sunshine, beaches, camping, sitting on the back deck watching the bird feeder, or so we can tell ourselves. So what’s the trade-off? Lawns don’t get cut, flowerbeds fill up with weeds, bank accounts deplete and there are no fresh biscuits in the breadbox.

I returned from a week’s camping – and to tell the truth, while away, I didn’t once think of the consequences of the warm sun with lots of rain on my flowerbeds. So I had to make a choice this morning, pull weeds or see how I’d look as a couch potato. Choice-priority-option.

Some people don’t want choice; others have given choice away while there are those that mental and physical conditions have robbed choice from them. All of these factors cause grief. How do we grieve for ourselves? How do we give self care in times of grief.

Might I suggest, being faithful to our own needs that give our health first priority? What is healthy about grieving for self? It keeps us from making poor choices, adding poor decisions to already toxic situations and sinking into depression and damaging trade-offs.

Maybe as you sit on the balcony, deck or back step, think about the power of choice and look for new ways to guard it carefully.