Resilience

I have a dear friend who in less than three years has lost a sibling, a child, and a parent.

I wonder if that made you take in a bit of breath; I know it would for me. It is a bit overwhelming to even think that much sorrow could happen to a person in such a short period of time.

Most of us have known loss, and loss that is close, painful, and deeply sad. The anniversary of my mother’s death only recently passed, and even though it was 16 years ago I remember it all quite well and I am still sad at not having her. I think she’d have liked visiting London, and I know she’d have loved Tim. And the loss of a spouse, even years later, still has a sombre resonance. Not every day or every week, but now and then, gently reverberating with a note from an old friend or some event that drops a reminder at my feet to pick up, pause, and then replace back into memory. It’s a very different feeling now—not raw, loud, and persistent; just slightly heavy, a bit muted. The gift of time, no doubt, has lightened the burden.

But this post isn’t meant to be about loss, but rather more the title. When my friend lost her father, I thought to myself, how is that she is managing, having yet another significant loss in a short period? But then I think, I know—she has resilience. I admire her at the same time I feel for her; even with all the support, it cannot be easy, particularly in the quiet moments we have with our own thoughts. Yet I think I know her well enough to say that she’s not putting on an act of courage; she has found enough strength to sustain her and been able to, once again, recover.

And yes, she has a wonderful partner, someone who has been with her during each heart-breaking event. She has good friends, of whom I’d like to count myself one, who don’t have to say a lot but are just there to have a coffee and a conversation and make life seem a bit normal.

A university friend posted a note on Facebook commemorating the anniversary of her husband’s loss of siblings in a horrific fire when he was quite young; another friend posted about whether it was time to shred some papers after losing her husband a few years ago. If Facebook has done nothing else it’s given people a community to express themselves, to reach out and find solace, and also to remember, to honour. It’s not a substitute for the comforting hug from someone, it’s in addition to; another form of emotional healing. I posted a photo of my mom on the anniversary of her death, and had the loveliest responses back, one from our across-the-street neighbour growing up. We always felt like we had two sets of parents watching over us back then, keeping us on the straight and narrow (which was actually not a bad thing). What a wonderful way to remember her, through him.

Reminders of others’ pain can often reminders of my own, and each time I want to reply, be strong, it gets easier.

I wanted to write this because it has been on my mind and while it may be a bit awkward or perhaps morose, I couldn’t seem to clear it out of my head to write anything else.  You never forget completely; the actual date may become hazy, and the anniversaries that had significance before may go by without acknowledgement, eventually. When a moment of recollection does happen, I experience a bit of contemplation, relive the particular memory in my mind, and experience some emotion that befits the recollection.  (For me, I find now it is often a wry smile.) And I count my blessings and carry on with a bit more determination to make the most of each day.

I like to think I am resilient. I know I am fortunate. Some people might even say I am lucky. Whatever it is that brought me to today, happy and buoyant, I acknowledge as a gift. And it makes every day matter that much more; makes every friend, every relative, everyone who has touched my life that much more important and worthy of some of my time and some of my heart.

May your Easter be filled with family, friends, fun, food, and love.  Crème eggs optional.