Grace

Grace is not top of mind when you are shocked out of the illusion that life is bopping along as promised, not that it doesn't have its challenges, there are plenty of those, but when knocked hundreds of miles off the path you were on by death or fire or grave illness, grace is not the first one to the table. Others move towards the feast at a quicker pace. Despair, Sorrow, Fear, Dread-- they all show up in their finest black tie and ballroom gowns. They look around, hungry, impatient, like toddlers being told they can't get back in the pool because they just ate. They talk too loudly, take up a great deal of space and you wish they hadn't been invited. But you realize you didn't invite anyone to this party you didn't want to have.

As the host you try, unsuccessfully to make small talk, but when the tears come unleashed you give up and excuse yourself. There are quiet ones here as well, in the shadows. They have little to say because they know what is going on here in this stuffy room. One of them catches your eye and invites you over. You hesitate. "Do I know you?" you ask under your breath, afraid to admit you did not have their name at the tip of your tongue. "Yes, yes, you know us, but it's ok if you don't remember right now. Have a seat." And with that, you are welcomed into the shadows of grace, where you sit in silence, being held by a force so utterly accepting that you feel your shoulders melting. You slip off your toe-pinching heels and place your feet on the carpet, then lean back and feel the support of so many arms.

How long did you rest there, in the arms of Grace? Time... it's a funny thing. All you know is that when you slip back into that party, the gathering of guests known and unknown, you have the strength to sit at the head of the table and with your presence alone, call all the guests to attention. You raise your head and slowly look into the eyes of every single guest, acknowledging their presence with your warm, sad gaze. The table is set with an odd assortment of items-- smudge bowls and smoothies, pink bottles of bubbles, photographs of your child as a baby- chubby and bald-headed- all the way up to the lanky 21-year-old with long hair and a dazzling smile. There are bottles of acrylic paint in every color and brushes and bottles of water.

"Thank you for coming to this sacred gathering," you say softly, with tears already pooling in your eyes. "It is time to say goodbye to the body of my child. I was unable to do this when he died... unable to know what I needed or how to make it happen. I was in shock. So now, almost nine months later, with your love and support, I'm ready. I could not be here without each of you and without all of those, here and beyond, that have been with me on this journey. I know and trust that my child's soul lives on and that only his body has been placed in the ground at Riverview Cemetery, on the shady side of the Jewish section, next to the laurel and maple. Giving myself this ritual of goodbye to the child whose body was created by the alchemy of spirit and biology within my womb does not mean I will walk away from mourning. No. It means that I am honoring this place along the pilgrimage that will last for the rest of my life. I walk with grief on one side and death on the other. They have always been there, I just wasn't aware of them. Now, we are companions. They are my teachers, inseparable and steady, kind and understanding. Come now, it is time." And with that, the table dissolves and you are in a forest, standing in a circle around a fire. You are handed a doll swaddled in white and you hold it while haunting music, flute and drums and voices sweet and sad, wafts into the branches of the trees and through the hearts of all the guests.

You walk slowly to the circle of guests and, beginning with the hardest, you look Despair in the eyes and say, "This is my child, I love him with all my heart, and I let him go." Despair's face is kind, her eyes are moist. She nods her head and places her hand on your heart, allowing you to feel her love. You take a deep breath and move to your right, so you are standing in front of Sorrow. Your eyes lock and you say, "This is my child. I love him with all my heart and I let him go." She is weeping and she takes her tears and blesses your eyes, your throat, and your hands, then stands up a bit taller and gives you the strength to move to the next guest.

You move slowly around the circle, at times uncertain you can keep going, knees buckling, arms weary, yet the fire urges you to continue, and so you do. The very last guest you stand before is your wife, and though you want nothing more than to fall into her arms and not do what you know you must, she holds your eyes with immense love and after your exchange, you turn to face the fire.

Slowly, reluctantly, you step towards the flames. The circle steps with you and you feel tightly held. You embrace your child one last time, and in a voice strong and strange you speak to the fire. "I offer you my only child. He is yours now. I let go of the body that I knew and loved, I let go of ever hearing his laughter or seeing his smile again. I release him. Hunter, I release your beautiful, sensitive body and all the joy and suffering you experienced here on earth. I let you go." And with that, you lovingly place the bundle into the fire and watch as flames surround and engulf it. For a moment you watch the dancing swirls of blue and orange, then turn around and walk into the arms of Grace, into the arms of those that have held you safe during this sacred passage.