grief by toni blackman

make your grief earn its place
don't allow it to take up space without
gifting you something
your existence, your presence a present
be present
make sure your grief is worth the pain

tell your tears what to do
cry on purpose, with deliberate intention
have your tears water your dreams
so that something beautiful blooms in their absence

allow them to flow, never imprison them
too many are drowning from the inside
suffocating from emotional suppression
internalizing oppression

free your/self imposed limitations
set your higher heights for your vibration

let those tears moisten your vocal chords
then moan
all ancestral-like, moan

like black grandmothers in the church pew
moan, make noise
loud enough for the heavens to hear you above
this is not the time for silence

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I received a call today that a friend had died. I was surprised and felt a twinge in my heart space. Then my thoughts reflexively shifted to the doingness of such times. I wondered what I could do. Then noticed the twinge was more like a deep ache. And as a river of memory flowed forward, I allowed myself to feel the sorrow, the grief at knowing I would never again see my friend in the physical, laughing, singing, hugging her wife, or seeing the mischievous twinkle in her eye. Then my grief became infused with gratitude that I’d known her. Then deep sadness that I would never see her again. Back and forth it was. I lit a candle, said a prayer for her and her family.

One of the most sacred acts I engage with in ministry is that of companioning those who are journeying toward death, and also, companioning their loved ones, especially after death.

As most might imagine, this leave-taking is no small thing for those departing and those who have been departed. I am holding space holding hearts holding the sense and senslessness of things. There to help plan, there to answer important, often impossible questions. There’s been a lot of this recently. Perhaps I am mostly easy with it because I do not fear death, and have had the opportunity to prove that true. So I can be, what we folk who do this work call, a “non-anxious presence.”

This is not to say I do not feel sorrow. Being a parish minister who has journeyed with those I’ve joined up with in committee meetings, songs, volunteer work and acts of justice, strategically planned a future for the wellbeing of our community and others besides, co-created worship, facilitated classes, cuddled babies, broke bread together, disagreed with and became annoyed with one another, and the list goes on. Finding the sacred together in relationships created through imperfectly living in Beloved Community as humans do, and attempting to not only create one, but actually live in covenant. Coming to understand together our holiest heart aspirations and missing the mark, the picking each other up. Repairing ourselve. Learning to forgive.

So yes, I am sorrowful at the leave-taking of those I have experienced so much with. But I am reassured, through my own belief, that they have transitioned from the physical we know to a form we might not ever know. Or maybe it's plants and clouds, oceans and meadows. Or some other being.

Among those who have been departed, I often notice the tendency to set the heart aside for now and to matter-of-factly, with a determined set of the body, go about the business of taking care of the business of having had someone finally depart in this most ultimate way. Just as I reflexively thought I would do when hearing about my friend,

I offer a reminder that it’s okay to let go and grieve. The response is most often, “Yes, I know. I’ll do it later; right now there’s so much that needs to be done. If I stop to grieve it’ll be too much.” I nod.

There is so much to grieve these days. So much loss of people, of lives, of worlds we once knew,even when we didn’t like or agree with or fought against what we once knew. This new thing right now is so much worse.

What sorrow. What grief.

Though I read toni blackman and wonder what our grief might be gifting us with? Is it, to paraphrase blackman, our existence, our presence a present?

What are we to do with this gift of grief, we who have been departed by whatever, whoever has left/is leaving us?

Cry, I say.
Especially now.
We need to loosen our tears, free our grief so that it doesn’t become our “emotional suppression
internalizing oppression.”
Then maybe we can be truly freed up enough to take care of ourselves, one another. Really take care of business.

let those tears moisten your vocal chords
then moan
all ancestral-like, moan

like black grandmothers in the church pew
moan, make noise
loud enough for the heavens to hear you above
this is not the time for silence

Aşe. Aşe.

May it be so.

Palms together,
Rev. Jacqueline

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Feeding my heart:

Reading: Night Flyer: Harriet Tubman and the Faith Dreams of a Free People by Tiya Miles
Listening: The Best of Donny Hathaway on spotify
Watched: Sinners, movie by Ryan Coogler and starring Michael B. Jordan
Deeply felt joy: At finally getting my cornbread recipe just right after much trial and error, and taking up gardening. Yes!