Five Years
I remember the first time I had ever grieved a loss.
It was for Constance*, a dear lady who was quite active in my local church. I can remember her far back enough to my childhood. Her grandchildren and I were practically the same age.
She was oh, so gentle.
But she was also so strong in faith.
I had grown up listening to her read stories, worship, and spread her gentle sweetness to everyone she spoke with. Most people’s personalities show forth in their words. But for Constance, just sitting with her, you could feel the Lord’s love and presence.
Then, there was Milton*, a dear man, also from my local church. I’d only known him for a short time, but he was a precious treasure.
His demeanor was calm and warm. As the pastor’s father, he was also an integral part of the worship team. He played a candy-apple-red lacquered guitar. He always talked with me before Sunday service, which soon became a weekly ritual. He was my communion buddy. I stood beside him on special occasions when we all partook of the bread and cup as a congregation.
In each ongoing year, I see glimpses of him in the eyes and expressions of his son.
Oh, how I miss Sis. Constance and Bro. Milton.
Those two beautiful, beautiful souls.
Their absence has left an emptiness that I’ve never forgotten. I’m sure neither of us will. Sometimes I glance at the pew where she usually sat, and I can almost see her. I look at the platform and pulpit, and I can imagine him playing his guitar. As if neither of them ever left.
Five years ago, however, my sister passed away suddenly, and I grieved more than I ever had in my entire life.
The way she said usual English words but put her own spin on them, which I dare not share because they feel like little secrets.
She was hilarious. Sassy. Bold. Resilient.
I’ve worn a pendant of her thumbprint ever since. I recently bought and started wearing a sterling silver pinky ring and added a unique engraving that only I know, because it’s inside.
I hold things dearly - which were either hers or gifts she had given me.
For years, I couldn’t stop thinking about what could have been.
I never had the privilege of seeing her use many things. In regard to gifts, she once held them in her hands before she wrapped them up and gave them to me. Maybe she smiled when she saw some. Better yet, she might’ve even laughed. How I loved hearing her.
Her spring green-cased Bible. I rarely open it because it holds her fragrance.
A two-toned cross necklace she’d gotten me years ago … the chain broke, and the delicate gold heart that usually fit in the middle has since broken loose.
A Christmas gift, an urban-style pendant of her favorite dog breed, which wasn’t a far cry from her beloved pup.
A greeting card she filled both sides with written promises and sentiments.
For a long time, I stored things like this away. I didn’t want to remind myself of what I’d lost. But I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Memories came rolling back like film.
Scene after scene, I could see her. I could hear her.
Each time I tried to wear the necklace, open a book or card, my eyes welled up with tears. I came to a heartbreaking realization. She could no longer enjoy life. And boy, did she enjoy it. More than anyone I’d ever seen. She wasn’t the life of the party. She was both the life and the party.
While I love these things, they are what they are. Though it may pain me to say, they will eventually perish too.
Jewelry will tarnish and break.
Paper gifts will crumple and discolor.
Some memories may accidentally get misplaced.
They are temporary.
But what matters most is what is not.
The eternal.
Her Spirit will never perish. She is now where I long to be... in the presence of our Lord and Savior, and soon-coming King.
The one who prayed with me that night told me she would be okay. I can say now that's still true. She was okay when she took her last breath. And where she is now, she will forever be that and much more.
So is Constance.
Milton.
Every dear man, woman, and child I’ve known that has since passed on.
Jesus Christ holds that promise. To be absent from our frame is to be present with Him (2 Corinthians 5:8).
And one day, one glorious day …
I will see them again.
Some days it's easy. Some days it’s just okay. Some days it's not. And some days I couldn’t care less. And that’s alright, too. But I can, however, testify that one thing is forever true.
I have been young, and now am old,
yet I have not seen the righteous forsaken
or his children begging for bread. (Psalm 37:25 ESV)
Robert Frost once wrote that nothing gold can stay. Whether we choose to accept it or not, Frost was absolutely right.
Our lives will change.
Our bodies will fade.
It’s our nature.
But we must cling to the truth—the gold we know is not a thing. He is our Heavenly Father. My God has remained the same.
He always will be.
...
If you have been there before, hear this: your grief is seen. It is valid.Join me and find the gold in today by reminding your soul that though you may not believe it for the moment, this feeling will not last. God promises that joy comes in the morning (Psalm 30:5b). —
If you feel comforted by today’s post, please share with a friend or close loved one. :)
Meet Merah:
A.M. Revere integrates faith into everyday life, drawing from full-gospel roots. Her work is often viewed as genuine, encouraging, heartfelt, and even a bit witty. She resides in the Midwest countryside and can usually be found reading, writing (of course), or snuggling up to her favorite feel-good movies and sitcoms.
A reflection on grief and the hope found in God.