Posted by in letters to the boys

Another quote from John Burnside’s essay in Poetry Review, “Travelling into the Quotidian: Some notes on Allison Funk’s ‘Heartland’ poems” (2005)

“It takes the patience – or the perversity – of a saint to live alone in a state of grace; the rest of us want to speak about that bourne from which we have, miraculously, returned. Or rather, not to speak, but to sing. It will seem, more often than not, that our off-map experiences are utterly private and beyond communication.”

Wow and wow and wow.  This what I am experiencing!!

I was recently sitting with a lovely woman, a Quaker, talking about Grace.  I told her that before Ayrie died I had never used the word grace.  I honestly didn’t even understand what  it meant.

But since I have been writing my blog people have thanked me for showing them how to grieve with grace.  I didn’t know what it meant at first but now I think I do.  I think it’s those moments when, in the middle of my longing and pain, I can still search for beauty and I still feel blessed.  It’s when, in the middle of the chaos of having my life turned upside down and feel still and peaceful.  I think it’s the healing that I offer other people when even at the same moment I need to be heal.  It’s accepting every comment or gesture that people offer with gratitude, not analyzing their words or super-imposing expectations.  Some friends have done nothing more than offer a few words.  Some not at all.  And that’s okay.  I think people do what they can and I think some people are frozen by grief, frozen by their concern that their words or gestures might be ‘wrong’.  So I try to appreciate graciously everyone that has love and good intentions in their heart, and to not absorb the negative energy of those that don’t.

This is grace.  And living and grieving with grace feels right.  It feels as though it lets me access a reservoir of strength that would otherwise be unavailable to be.  Have you felt this before too?