On Sadness
...Aging and Relentless Loss
On Sadness
This morning I sat in the Great Hall of St John’s Episcopal Cathedral listening to my brilliant friend and colleague Broderick Greer give his final teaching after seven years of serving the cathedral as Canon. I left right before it ended so I wouldn’t have to try and act like I’m not sad, because I am. I am sad today. Not for any one reason, but for all of them.
A few hours earlier I had sat up in bed with my husband and my morning coffee.
“Just tell me.” He’d said.
I was reluctant to tell of my bad dream from the night before, afraid that if spoken, the words would have a power I could not take back once unleashed.
“I survived a plane crash and you did not” I said, not looking at him, “I just bobbed in the water with my lifejacket on screaming your name over and over as the plane you were in sunk below the surface.”
I’d never in my life teared up while describing a dream but this morning I did and the sting has yet to leave my eyes.
This is why I was teary as I sat in the back of the church hall just now listening to my friend give his final teaching. Because I knew that the next time I walk into the sacristy to put on my vestments, he will not be there to hug me.
That time is gone.
I imagine I will write more about this when I feel up to it, but for those of you who do not know – On Candlemas this year (Feb 3), House For All Sinners & Saints held its final liturgy.
So it is also gone.
(I stepped down from my role as their pastor nearly 7 years ago, but for 11 years of my life I poured myself into starting and serving that community and it will always be the absolute highlight of my pastoral career).
A week ago Eric and I were eating fried chicken and deviled eggs in Dallas with our friends Joe and Suzanne. Joe’s nearly 78 and something he said has stayed with me. “I’m kind of angry that my parents didn't prepare me for how much of aging is just the continual adjustment to relentless loss”
Off the top of my head, here are some (I’m sure you can add more):
The loss of things our bodies used to be able to do.
The loss of times in our lives when we had something really special.
The loss of a future we thought our children would have.
The loss of dreams we had for ourselves.
The loss of friends who go and die on us.
