Stopping Time

We’ve all experienced it: that moment when you receive news that a dear friend is gone, and time stops.

We got the call on Thursday and instantly couldn’t think of anything else. Work stress, household issues, achy knees and a hurting world all fell away. Since that time, we’ve texted photos and relived memories with a circle of friends for whom time has also stopped.

I awoke this morning with a memory in my head and searched until I found the picture. It’s of our friend Ralph the night before his wedding. In the picture was my yet-unknown husband; it was at that wedding that our relationship began. I needed to look into those oh-so-young faces again, and the recall made me smile.

The cruel irony is that there is an indescribable beauty to grief. You see, as heartbroken as I am over the loss of our friend and the 45 years I had with him, yesterday on my walk I noticed the lushness of the trees, the cerulean sky, the brightness of the cardinals and the scent of honeysuckle heavy in the air. Grief stops us in our tracks and forces perspective upon us. The blurred edges of our hectic, self-absorbed lives are sharpened, and we find ourselves suddenly so thankful for ordinary days—for the mundane vicissitudes of life. Grief reminds us of the need to remember, to not take any day or any friend for granted. It reminds, requires us to be thankful.

In heartbreak’s wake comes clarity. Unasked for, unwanted, but perhaps what we need.

I have not blogged in quite a while; the last few months have been a cacophony of events—personal and professional—that have consumed me. Perhaps the world’s wisdom lies in the fact that by taking our breath away, grief reminds us to breathe. Slowly. In and out.

Normalcy—or a new definition of it—will soon return. The refined edges will again cloud with the chaos of daily life. But for today, life’s complexities seem so inconsequential, and the colors in front of me have never been so vibrant. For now—until distractions again woo me away from what’s truly important—I’m reminded of the preciousness of friendship, of waking every morning.

And for that clarity, my heavy heart is thankful.