Today is Grief Awareness Day. There's a little stab to the heart in that fact. A wince. An ache. Aren't we always aware of the grief we carry with us? The heaviness it adds to our souls? The weight in our hearts?
It is strangely appropriate to think of loved ones lost today, because today is the 5-year anniversary of Shelby's death. A day none of us who knew her will ever forget. Shelby was a spark. A flash of light in a dreary world. She is unforgettable to me. I have felt her presence so many times in the last five years. The feeling of her, right next to me. On the gurney as they wheeled me into my second eye surgery. As I spoke at my mother-in-law's funeral. As I prayed at my grandson's graveside service. At both of my daughter's wedding ceremonies. In the temple with her daughter. Times that I just know she is there. I miss her, but I know she is with our loved ones on the other side of the veil. I am aware of my grief, but I am also aware that my relationship with Shelby is not over.
Two years ago, my dear friend lost her mom on this very day. A woman I admire. A woman I would do well to emulate in my life. A woman so like my own mom that I can't help but think they are heavenly friends. She lived a spectacular life and raised an amazing daughter. It was a blessing to know them both. And now, this day will forevermore be an anniversary for my friend, too, the kind you wish you didn't have in common.
It is also a strangely appropriate day for grief because it is my Aunt Betty's birthday. She passed away last year, and this morning Facebook reminded me to wish her happy birthday. She was my dad's only sister, and she was another one of life's sparks for me. When I think of her, I think of kindness and compassion. She always called me "Jannie" and told me the best stories of my dad's childhood shenanigans. For my cousins, this birthday will now be celebrated in a different way - a different kind of anniversary.
When we lose someone we love, it slows down the clock. We count the hours in the days. It takes such a long time to get to the one-week mark. We look at the clock at the moment we learned of their passing, and falter at the realization that it is only a week-iversary. And then we count the hours to the next week-iversary. After a time we begin to mark the month-iversaries. And finally, we survive the grief to make it an anniversary. We never stop missing those loved ones, but in time we realize that the heaviness in our souls and the weight in our hearts is the fullness of the memories we're carrying, and the heaviness becomes comforting, because we're moving through life with them, rather than in spite of them.
Before my father passed, he said, "At my age, I've got more family on the other side than I do, here, and I think it's high time I tip the scale." As I carry these weighty memories of those I love through my life, adding to the load when another moves to the Other Side, I feel that shift of balance taking place . . . the weight of grief.
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