She dies all over again - Marking the anniversary of a loss

The morning began with a poignant post from Maureen Desmond, who is marking 40 years since her sister, Kathleeen, died.

This line felt true-and-resonant to me:  

Every year, when the calendar flips to August, Kathleen dies over and over again. It'll be this way for the rest of my life. And that's ok. She's still with me.

Grief is forever. It becomes a part of you, step for step, breath by breath. I will never stop grieving for her because I will never stop loving her.  That's just how it is.

Grief is love expressing itself over time...and anniversaries can feel particularly poignant.  

Our family is marking another anniversary of loss today.  One year ago today, Coach Jack Meachum died in a head-on collision.

Known for his intensity, enthusiasm, and willingness to help, Coach Meachum powerfully intersected with our family as well as hundreds of others through the lacrosse community.

Throughout the year, my son (Magnus) wore a reminder of Coach Meachum on his helmet at every game and practice. And so did many, many others.

Death leaves you powerless - unable to control outcomes and left to pick up the pieces.  And, as a parent, part of the work of grief is to walk with your children through the barren landscape.

In the immediate, messy, tear-soaked days before the funeral, there was a memorial service for Coach Meachum.

My son came off the field after a moving time of reflection, tears streaming down his face, and said, "It just felt so good to cry."

These young men are learning about death and loss and the staying power of a community that comes together to remember and to mourn.

And tonight, I am going to make time to create some space.  Perhaps it will be over a Wendy's frosty (one of Magnus' faves) or on the couch, and start the conversation -

"I'm remembering Jack tonight. It's been a year and I'm feeling the impact of the day. Have you been thinking about him too?"

And I'm going to do my best to remember my own content and not be a Fix-It Frank (trying to come up with a solution to hard feelings).

Or a Cheer-Up Cheryl (rushing him to what is good/what he's learned).

Just hold space, listen, and say something like, "I miss him too; death is hard."