Learning from Loss
February 8, 2010 by Anne Maybus
Filed under Living Space
Last week we buried one of our own. She was a beautiful and well loved seventeen year old girl who went to school with my children. She and her father were killed in a tragic accident on the highway. Her name was Jaime. In a community as small as ours you can feel the impact wherever you go. Even Facebook was vibrating with grief.
I watched a crowd of black-clothed 16 and 17 year olds farewell Jaime at a funeral held in the main hall of their school for the church was just not big enough to hold the mourners. This was not the way any of them had expected to be leaving school.
The kids looked grown up but they were all looking so lost, wandering from group to group as though looking for someone to tell them that it wasn’t really happening. Each little group was strung together tightly with emotions that they shouldn’t have to experience at that age. I could still feel the shock lurking in behind the tears – shock that it could really happen and shock that it took one of their own. They looked like adults but I could feel childhood in their hearts.
I cried for Jaime’s mum who lost both husband and daughter. I cried for her brother who has had to grow up so suddenly. I cried for the shattering of a family that could just as easily have been mine.
This week I have found myself noticing so much about my children. As though my senses have been heightened I can hear and feel each child. I feel vibrations coming from them and straight into my heart. Does loss make us more in tune with each other?
My handsome big boy has a heart that is soft, loving and expansive. At 16 he is sometimes a man and sometimes yet a boy. My gorgeous middle child is clever and quirky, with a smile to melt your heart. He, too, has a heart that is full of love and he has a brain that is thirsty for knowledge. Then there is my lovely daughter who is my rock. Strong, clever and independent, she knows exactly which way to go and how to help everyone get there with her.
We are travelling through teenage years and the road isn’t always smooth, no matter how perfect the child. This week things have been different for me. I see things differently. Every little disagreement is a celebration that my child is alive and well. Every messy bedroom is a sign of presence. I cherish every connection to my children that I can find. Even the annoyances have become a sign that all is well in our world.
Today, when I dropped my kids at the bus stop and they all gave me a goodbye kiss I thanked my lucky stars that they were mine and that they loved me. I watched three tall, healthy school kids climb onto the bus and felt my heart swell, filled with happiness for me and with sadness for a mother who has to come to terms with the loss of her child.
Oh Anne, what a hard way to be reminded of just how precious life – our own and our loved ones’ – is. But what a very special lesson for us all. It’s something we all know but which gets lost in the routine, the rush, the everydayness.
Thanks for sharing your loss with us, so that we may all learn and grow, and hold our loved ones tighter tonight.
OH Anne
I’m back in the moments of other funerals like this. The one where our friend’s daughter was killed when the bus rolled on the school trip to Central Australia. And the one where the only child was killed in a car crash. Or the one where a 4yo died from cancer!
Each had their own lost and shocked siblings and friends. Each of them with parents destined forever to live that loss and regret.
Your own appreciation of the messy bedroom the annoyances and disputes has us all vibrating too with your relief at a merciful escape as much you vibrate with compassion for parents and friends.
AS always Anne your writing captures it beautifully and what better place to dhare this than at Calm Space. Where else could we get the true meaning of Cherish. Thanks Anne for some poignant reminders of Cherishingb those who can cause us most irritation!
Hugs from the east
Chris
Hi Anne .. that must be so tragic and you’ve described it so evocatively – it really rung home. I feel sadness – we do feel for others at times like these – it is so sudden and so unexpected. Your thoughts are appreciated and make my understanding of a) the suddenness of loss, b) the family left and c) your children .. I think you should keep a copy of this post for your children to read in years to come – may be a generation away. It’s so personal .. amazing read ..
Thank you all for your beautiful comments. You made me cry. Chris, Calm Space is probably the only place I would share this. It is a warm place where we can analyse life and find the positives, isn’t it? I know that the people who are here will really understand what I write about.
Thank you for this beautiful reminder, Anne. As you may know, I’ve been having a writing and blog-reading break so that I can get my balance and physical strength back, refill the creative jug and give my family the focus and presence they deserve. This beautiful piece was a sign from the universe that I’m on the right track.
Oh Anne. I so feel for you and your friends family; I am sorry for the sadness and grief that has forced its way into your lives and in such a tragic manner.
Thank you for reminding us how fragile life can be, and that we should cherish each other and every moment we have together.
Love & blessings to you.
Dee x
Thank you, Dee. It is sad that it takes something like this to remind us of the fragility of life.
Janice, I am glad that my piece was of value to you in some way. I am looking forward to reading your words again.
Hi Anne
What a beautiful post. It is such a reminder when tragedy strikes to appreciate what we have and cherish it so. I lost my son in a car accident 3 years ago. I remember at the time saying to people what I learned most from his death was to:
* Show love and be love to all those who matter so much in your life each and every day
* Live life for this moment……that is all we can know for sure
Blessings
Maureen