Take Comfort

Hazel passed away on October 17th at 6:08 pm. My aunt said that there was peace throughout the house when it happened. Logically, I agree with that. I am happy she is released from her suffering. But, being a simple human, I am sad for everything we have lost because she isn't with us anymore. When I stand outside of the whole thing, I think I am lucky to learn something about comfort right now. I'm seeking it for myself, and finding that it looks different than I have always imagined. I found comfort in sleeping at Hazel's house, in her bed, imagining that I was a child curled up beside her. I woke up, and she wasn't there. I found comfort in recalling her memory with family, but it led to guilt about all the missed opportunities. I found comfort in sharing her home and a meal with family, only to realize that I was experiencing the last gathering we would have like that. I find comfort in faith that God has set life in motion and His hand in our life is intentional, loving, careful, steady...though no offense to God, I find His plan too slow for my taste quite a bit of the time. On Monday morning I found comfort in a chocolate cupcake. Honestly, it lasted. I think it is because I sought it out in despair (sounds dramatic, I know...it was a rough Monday morning, okay?), and the goodness of the cupcake did offer something. Other than that, nothing anyone says or does, no experience I give to myself has provided lasting comfort. What I learned this week was that even if no singular thought or action does provide lasting comfort, efforts at comfort do seem to gain something in collective form. I often hesitate to write sympathy cards, because I feel it is egotistical -- what could I say to make someone feel better about real, definite loss? Now I understand. It is impossible to take away loss, but being reminded of the goodness of life -- being reminded of friendship, of the unwavering love that is family -- being reminded of the goodness in this world is a wonderful distraction.