"The story tells of a mother whose baby dies. She is so distraught that she carries the dead body strapped to her chest and travels around attempting to find someone who would be able to breathe life back into her beloved infants body.
Eventually she finds a holy man who says that he can help her, but only if she can bring to him a handful of mustard seeds from a home whose inhabitants have not suffered the loss of someone they love.
The woman begins to search but is unable to find any home that has not been marked by the dark shadow of death and loss. Yet, in her futile search something truly amazing happens. For as she hears the various stories of these different people she slowly begins to come to terms with the death of her own child. After a little time she is finally able to let go and bury her infant in the soil of the Earth."
Contrary to what may come natural, giving a word of advice or trying to find the right thing to say, isn't what comforts someone grieving. I have found the arms that aren't afraid of my tears, and the eyes that cry with me to be some of my most safe and comfortable places. Sometimes we need to hear the stories of those who have also walked through the valley of death and dying.
I have found that through the stories of suffering and loss there is also peace. Though it will never make the "unfair", fair again, or answer the deep questions of why, I can find solidarity with others traveling this life. As I open my heart and ears to those around me, I am constantly shown there are many lives that know grief all too well. Grieving is a much lengthier process that I would have imagined. Though warm tears still soothe me to sleep, I am feeling more like myself again.
This photo is from my trip to Wisconsin to see my friend Jodi. Thanks for all the hugs, shared laughs and tears and tell your mom thanks for sharing her Dove chocolates!
I love you Lys, thanks for sharing your story with me!
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