"Blessings Upon You as You Walk the Uneven Path of Grief and Loss"

I am frequently teased or queried about what has become a common phrase that I use to say grace over people who are grieving. That phrase, "Blessings over you and those you love as you walk the uneven path of grief and loss." As a therapist and as a professor, I have been familiar with processes of grief from personal and from academic perspectives. It was publication or maybe a professional presentation by an old friend, Dr. Terry Hargrave, who gave me information and perspective on loss. The grief we experienced is shaped by the degree of closeness to the person who has passed, the degree to which we anticipated the passing, and whether or not the one who has died has fulfilled his/her obligations.

Given those factors, as I have said in several eulogies, "There are as many faces of grief as there are people here in the sanctuary this afternoon." I remember saying those words at my mother's memorial service and again several years later at the memorial service for our old friend, Dr. Robert Hobbs.

It was in a conversation with a niece, my oldest brother's daughter, as we sat in her mom and dad's kitchen talking there in their communal space one afternoon. Everyone knew that her step-mother, her mother, was soon to pass as cancer was seen throughout her body on the latest scan. We were all sad and living in that anticipatory grief space.

As we sat across the table from each other, that phrase, "Blessings over you as you walk the uneven path of grief and loss," just rolled off my tongue. She was caught by surprise and asked what I meant. I don't remember exactly what I told her that day, but surely it was about dynamics of grief and all, those three things noted above, and that life as we live it is sort of a "path" and along that "path" we experience the ebbs and flows of grief. It's not a linear process by any means. On some occasions we are knocked to our knees by a memory or moment of intense grief, and then on another occasion we can be kneeling over in laughter at something funny our loved one said or did.

Some of us have a keen sense that our time on earth is nearing an end. Naturally, none of us know when or how. Frequently, the young die too soon and some of us pass having done what we were born to do. 

This notion captured my attention yesterday when a long time friend called. We had a friendly chat and as the conversation was ending, his comment to me was that "we needed to get together one last time." The comment was especially poignant as both us realized that our time on earth is coming to an end. To provide more "texture" to the conversation, he has been a friend and mentor and as close as brothers in the fight for justice for Black farmers. I am not prepared to say goodbye to him. We both agreed as we laughed, that "we are the aging of America." 

Dealing with death is quite a common phenomenon these days. Farmers we have met through the years were middle aged when we met them. We now call them legacy farmers. Middle aged men and women grow old and pass on to their ancestors. Names come to mind: Dorothy and Eddie Wise, Matthew and Florenza Grant, Richard Grant, and Harry Young just to name a few. Yesterday I got word that two men I have respected for decades have recently experienced strokes. 

Farming is no doubt a hard business, but it should not be harder for Black farmers. 

So, today, I am feeling the words of Isaiah the prophet as he described the "suffering servant," as a "man of sorrow and acquainted with grief." I feel terribly acquainted with grief today, as do many of you my readers. 

This was compounded by Representative Pearson from Tennessee as he is grieving the death of his brother by suicide. What a tragedy that is and how deep must be that pain. 

So, as life and death are realities of life, "Blessings upon all of us as we walk the uneven path of grief and loss."

The Strange Life of Grief

Grief is what we feel when we read the newspaper or watch our preferred news channel only to learn that 17 lives have been destroyed in Florida.

Grief wearies the body

It troubles the soul

It can be about life or death

Or about dreams untold.

It may speak of unspoken hopes

It can be about ideas or places

When it has us against the ropes

It keeps us longing for those other spaces.

It takes hold, sneaks up from behind.

Its clutches are strong and forceful,

It has many things to remind

And no one is respected, no one.

It comes from wherever it comes,

And it goes wherever it goes.

Grief strangles with its hands,

Squeezes the neck of joy.

Wherever it may land

While it removes the colors from the rainbow.

It makes the tastiest of

Morsels taste bland.

Grief asks a lot of questions

It gives but few answers.

It tells us not where we are destined

It forces us into chasms of hang on and let go.

Its forces are vast

And uncontrollable.

It thrives on the past

Its thirst is like the desert or a rainstorm that appears from nowhere.

Its hunger is like an

Animal that is

Lurking about looking for prey.

Grief is like the grave with

No body found down deep inside it.

Grief dulls the senses, robs one of

Words, and

Makes itself the focus as people stare.

Grief keeps us up all night

Filling us with fright.

Grief keeps us occupied all day

Creating things to hold at bay.

Grief reminds us of things we wished

Telling us that all is still amiss.

Grief beats us at every turn

Reminding us that we’ll never learn.

Grief tells us of those who are gone

Reminding us that we’re not really strong.

Grief may let us know who is here

Whispering to our  souls not to hold too near.

Grief is a circle goes round and round

Driving us all right into the ground.

Grief has no beginning or end

When it will leave can only depend.

So, I’ll continue to give voice

To the grief in my soul.

Until that day I’ll rejoice

With all its stories finally told.

Grief. A strange thing.

Grief. A very strange thing.

Grief. It gives us hope.

What Are Those Tears in My Eyes?

What are those tears in my eyes?

Do they take me to another place

or do they remind of that space

and will they help me find the grace

and to continue to trace

the ways so as to someday see your face

or do they give me the energy to continue the race

of life to chase the never ending ways that memories intrude

and when the Holy One exudes

that majestic go and preach to the people beyond your reach

to those whose lives are lived on the edge of the chasm and teach

us that this ongoing battle over who owns

their soul

and who stole

and who throws the stones

and over the world still roams

and yet they have the right to speak

and eat and live and cry and die and not so meek

and before that to feed their children right from the start

and to feel their own need and to give us a generous heart

to heed their yearnings to build them a house

to place the possessions of the man his children his spouse

not by the color of their skin

feeling deeply the sin

of those who dwell within

the house of the evil one

who still lives under the same warm sun

of all of us

but to embrace the grace

that embraces us all

lest we fall

into misery of judgment and hate

and find ourselves with an empty plate

heaped up and running over with the fate

that we deserve

when we failed to serve

and when we have become a shell

on our way to hell

and of what service there could have been

had we loved all of God’s children

less than the big gun

from which we run

and on the walk-ways we see the blood

the deep red blood

where once they stood

now they cower in fear

that the end is near

while we ponder and pontificate

until it is too late

for that which we hate

and while we wait

another one plans the scheme

of which they dream

to tell a story of suffering and woe

and we are the foe

we have become

when our time is near we stop and pause

know that we spent our lives in a sacred cause

and retrieve the world from the grimy paws

of the evil one

because our race is run

but Lord you gave us strength

that brought us from the brink

of doubt and fear

and you were near

every step of the way

of the journey when you fed our souls

and you made us bold

to proclaim the truth

that cuts to the root

protect the babies and in them we hope

that when we are at the end of our rope

that we find strength to cope

with a world gone mad

and we find it sad

that we love our guns

see us make them run

just lead us out of the wilderness

of our own morose and madness into a better place

where we can see your face

because it looked a whole lot like those of another race

and their cries of sorrow and joy

it all began in the stable with that little boy

when evil and good

could be divided like we knew it would

just like that Red Sea of old

when they made it across

and they knew that you were boss

they left behind comfort and all that they lost

and the land was dry

and every tear-filled eye

and every heart was undivided and relieved

but on to the destiny of a wilderness wandering

that would lead them all to pondering

much like today when all around us we see and despair

there is too much to share

so we find our own people

who may not be inside under the steeple

for they may be out and about

looking for things about which to shout

and when I stop and listen

I know I am home

never more to roam

just to stand and sing

and let our hearts ring

for what is true and just

we have found it we must.

We find no peace at the end of a gun

When our race we’ve run

At the grave we stand

Not really part of your plan

forgive us we pray

lead us into a better day

when the life we save

this side of the grave

may be that girl or boy

now playing with that worn out toy

may we find more joy

before the children we destroy

What are the tears in my eyes?

Grief, Loss, and the Land

Over the last few days I have been working on a grant for a photojournalism project. In re-reading the narratives of African American farmers and family who lost their land, livelihood, and health, it occurred to me that grief was a meaningful way to capture their struggles in part, insofar as I could understand it.  These things are still happening in America.  Yes, even here in America.  Grief is a common human experience whether people, relationships, property, or whatever we hold dear.

So, here are the words I wrote this morning about their stories of grief and loss. With apologies for presuming to speak for someone else.

Grief, Loss, Land, and Livelihood

MY VOICE:

 

Grief wearies the body

It troubles the soul
It can be about life or death
Or about dreams untold.

It may speak of unspoken hopes

It can be about ideas or places.
When it has us against the ropes
It keeps us longing for those other spaces.

FARMER'S VOICE:

 

I once owned that land

As far as you could see
Grew those crops to feed
All these folks and me.

I owned those tractors

That were stored in that barn
Worked daylight to dark
Didn’t mean nobody no harm.

The feds they came

With some papers and those guns
Run us all off
Toward the setting of the sun.

My grandpa he owned this land

Bought by clearin’ out those trees
Used those long saws
Till he wore out his back and knees.

Now they’re takin’ it away

And it don’t seem fair
I paid all my taxes
Just to get us somewhere.

Those white folks sure know

How keep a black man down
If they don’t like the color of your skin
They call it a sun down town.

Yes, I’m filled with grief

Buried deep in my soul
I’ve worked this land
And the stories that can be told.

MY VOICE:

 

Yes that old man grief

It takes hold, sneaks up from behind.
Its clutches are strong and forceful,
And no one is respected, no one.

It comes from wherever it comes,

And it goes wherever it goes.

Grief strangles with its hands,

Squeezes the neck of joy.

It removes the colors

From the rainbow.

It makes the tastiest of

Morsels taste bland.
 
Grief asks a lot of questions
It gives but few answers.
It forces us into chasms of empty space
And then lets go.

Its forces are vast

And uncontrollable.

Its thirst is like the desert
In a driving rainstorm that appears from nowhere.

Its hunger is like an

Animal that is
Lurking about looking for prey.

Grief is like the grave with

No body found down deep inside it.

Grief dulls the senses, robs one of

Words, and
Makes itself the focus as people stare.

Grief keeps us up all night

Filling us with fright.
Grief keeps us occupied all day
Creating shadows to keep us at bay.

Grief reminds us of things we wished

Telling us that all is still amiss.
Grief beats us at every turn
Reminding us that we’ll never learn.

FARMER'S VOICE:

 

Grief weighs me down

Down deep in my soul.
I may be black but
Feelings I don’t lack.

That old friend of mine

Living beneath that old oak tree.
They tried to take his land
But finally he is free.

He lost his family

He lost his wife.
The price he paid
Just to have a life.

MY VOICE:

 

Grief tells us of those who are gone

Reminding us that we’re not really strong.
Grief may let us know who is here
Whispering to our souls not to hold too near.

Grief is a circle goes round and round

Driving us all right into the ground.
Grief has no beginning or end
When it will leave can only depend.

So, I’ll continue to give voice

To the grief in my soul.
Until that day I’ll rejoice
With all its stories finally told.

VOICE OF US ALL:

Grief. A strange thing.

Grief. A very strange thing.