Have You Buried Your Dead?

The losses overwhelm me.  I grieve and yet find no release.  I feel myself walking up a hill, my boots heavy on the concrete path beneath me.  The string of coffins drags behind me, tied in a row by chains around my waist.  My days are long, the nights are longer.

Desperately I search for peace, to know once again the quiet of my mind and lightness of heart.  Have you buried your dead, the Desert Fathers said? The question stings like an arrow, piercing the veil of my blindness.  Suddenly I see what must be done.

I set my mind to the tasks undone.  The headstone must be set in place.  The memories left behind must be sorted and decisions made.  What will I take?  What will I leave?  What now belongs to whom?  I reach out to those who also know the loss and discover I can lift their spirit as they lift mine.

The dead are still dead and buried in the ground.  Yet they are also alive as I know them in new ways within me.  Sometimes I still cry, but a smile too finds my face as I think of them now.  My step is quicker, my heart is free to love them in new relationship.  Gratitude shares space with sorrow, as the sun shares space with the moon.