Good morning,
There is a club to which I hope none of you ever join. Losing a child is a singular tragedy. Today is the anniversary of that event. It is less about grief for me than it is a celebration of times together.
All lives end, after all; although some tragically end prematurely. We all will die. When we pass on, few of us will be in history books. Most will become fond memories for our children and grandchildren. Then we will reside in photographs, stories, and family trees. What we are will resonate in the hearts of those whom we leave behind.
Some of us will lead full lives. Others will die young. Some will achieve many of their aspirations; others will die with great promise but much left unfulfilled.
I often will have a friend relate the death of their 98 year-old grandmother. Their loss is palpable. As when my father died at age 91, some people will say to them, “you must be so happy; they lived such a long life.” What those people do not yet grasp is that there never is a “right” time to die. Grief knows no age at which it no longer enters the equation. When someone dear to us leaves us, it leaves a hole in the heart, regardless of their age.
On today’s sixth anniversary of Brad’s death, I can look back with some perspective on a life that certainly was cut too short, with so much promise yet to be fulfilled. Yet, I also look at an almost 22 year-old young man who lived much in those years and to this day remains a vibrant influence on his family and friends. Who is to say that his life—or any life cut short—wasn’t filled with richness and value? A lot happened in Brad’s short and meaningful life. I’m glad to have been there with him.
WORDS OF LOSS, LOVE AND INSPIRATION
Mandy Lowell sent me this, with her notation that the author was “a philosopher and physician, born and raised in Muslim Spain. Fluent in both Hebrew and Arabic, he is often cited as the greatest medieval Hebrew poet of his time." She is right.
‘Tis a Fearful Thing
‘Tis a fearful thing
to love what death can touch.
A fearful thing to love, to hope, to dream, to be –
to be,
And oh, to lose.
A thing for fools, this,
And a holy thing, a holy thing
to love.
For your life has lived in me,
your laugh once lifted me,
your word was gift to me.
To remember this brings painful joy.
‘Tis a human thing, love,
a holy thing, to love
what death has touched.” ―
Yehuda Halevi, 1075-1141
I thought I’d end with a lyric from Carly Simon:
“I know nothing stays the same
But if you’re willing to play the game
It’s coming around again
So don’t mind if I fall apart
There’s more room in a broken heart.”
Indeed, plenty of room…
Have a great day,
Glenn
Thank you for lifting up your love and loss as you do, and just generally swimming in choppy waters of this point in time. Mandy Lowell in Palo Alto??? My clients’ sister in law…Parke and I wish you love
I am truly sorry for you loss. It is hard to find comfort when a child dies.