Visiting the grave: reality sets in

Today in our Holy Week journey we find ourselves in that strange zone that grieving families experience when everyone has gone home after a funeral and somehow while their lives go on, we are left trying to make sense of what has just happened. It is a numbed place where the reality of the death of a loved one begins to set in. The pain that was somehow numbed by the funeral, the presence of loved ones, the cards, the sympathy now begins to wear off and the reality of the rest of our lives without the person we love begins. They are gone. We miss them.

A visit to a grave the day after a funeral is a sobering experience. Seeing the mound of clay clung like a mounded and body-shaped blanket over the place that yesterday was a hole into which our loved one was laid makes it so real that this is indeed reality. 'Earth to earth, ashes to ashes...'

This photograph is of my father's grave the day after his funeral: his birthday is today...

Today, Easter Eve, there is a strange 'nothingness' as we reflect on the enormity of what God has given to us by sharing the most painful experience of death to give us hope...

And so until tomorrow... we wait...

Almighty God,
your son through his death and burial
hallowed the grave.
Be with us as now we journey on in the hope of resurrection.
Be our companion and our guide.

May we live by faith, walk in hope and be renewed in love,
until the world reflects your glory
and you are all in all.Amen 
(adapted from the Book of Common Prayer,  ©RCB 2004)

The last day of Advent and pregnancy: nervousness, joy and sometimes searing pain

In this last week of Advent I find it a deeply moving time to be working in a Maternity Hospital. I can sense in a way I never really did in parish ministry a deeper connection wit the reality of what it must have been like for Mary and Joseph. I see them in the faces of excited parents as they come for antenatal clinic appointments, ultrasound scans, routine check-ups etc. There is a sense of nervousness and excitement as the impending birth draws near. Hands are clasped, kisses are exchanged, impromptu cuddles and affectionate gestures are openly displayed. There are knowing and penetrating glances between lovers. Mums and dada hold stretched bellys and feel reassuring kicks and movements. Walking through the antenatal ward we can eavesdrop on the little lives of those we have not yet met face to face but whose heartbeats echo via the monitors... A sound never forgotten by parents.

As well as meeting with couples preparing for the birth of their babies, I also met with couples whose pregnancy had ended or whose baby had died before birth. There are no words to describe the heart rending pain this brings. I think of them, all of them, each of them, this evening as I get my children's Christmas presents ready. I have a profound awareness of just how privileged I am to be able to do this.

I was deeply touched during one of the funeral services for a baby that I conducted in recent days by a particular piece of music which was chosen by the little baby's parents. It was Never Say Goodbye sung by Hayley Westenra and is adapted from "Pavane". These words capture something of this loss and the searing pain of saying hello and goodbye to a baby in one breath. So as you celebrate Christmas today think too of those who would give anything to have Santa in their home this night.

The words are: (Click here to play audio)

If I could take this moment forever

Turn the pages of my mind

To another place and time

We would never say goodbye

If I could find the words I

 would speak them

Then I wouldn't be tongue-tied

When I looked into your eyes

We would never say goodbye

If I could stop the moon ever rising

Day would not become the night

Wouldn't feel this cold inside

And we'd never say goodbye

I wish that our dreams were frozen

Then our hearts would not be broken

When we let each other go...

If I could steal this moment forever

Paint a picture-perfect smile

So our story stayed alive

We would never say goodbye 

Hayley Westenra