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| In memory of Jrf |
I’ve been thinking about the old saying a lot lately, "April Showers Bring May Flowers". What is it about the rain that makes flowers grow? It’s not enriched with minerals or contain a unique form of miracle plant food. It’s just a combination of hydrogen and oxygen. So why is it that every time we have a good rain, everything the next day seems so green?
The only answer I’ve been able to come up with is that the rain activates nutrients in the ground that feed the plants and helps bring new life. It’s the soil that feeds the flowers. So, why do we give the credit to the rain?
Our family has had a lot of rain the last two years. Even the good moments seemed to have been staged on cloudy days. So, the question I have now, is what will this rain bring? What, in our hearts, is this sadness and grief activating so that something beautiful can grow? How are the storms we have weathered going to change us and make us better?
My husband’s little brother, Christopher Hanna, passed away on April 20th. He battled a virtually unbeatable adversary and was out gunned. I don’t think any of us wanted to believe how outmatched he was, but my guess is he knew from the beginning. I remember the first time he hinted to the idea that he may not be here one day. It was like someone came out of nowhere and punched me in the stomach. I tried not to show it in my face. I didn’t want him to think his words would cause me to doubt. But the truth was, they hurt.
During his last days, the whole family camped out at his fiance Brittany’s house. Family and friends filled her living room, cooked meals in her kitchen and paced up and down her street when the weight on our chests got too heavy. We all took turns going back to see him. As the visits got shorter and shorter, there was this growing need for more. We had to let him go, and all we wanted was for him to stay, just a little while longer.
So, there we were, waiting for the very thing to happen we never allowed ourselves to imagine. The two truths that lived in all of us were we didn’t want him to die, and we loved him. But loving him meant letting him die. It was a struggle we all were feeling. He gave us a week to resolve this struggle and then he said he was done. He made the decision to take off the oxygen and face the next step fearlessly, surrounded by his family. Now we are left to sort through the emotional residue that loving Christopher and letting him go has left in all our hearts.
We need a reason to get through the cold, sad, and rainy days. The idea that all this rain is for a purpose and will bring beauty to our world is important. I find comfort knowing this tragedy will make us stronger and activate parts of our heart that have been dormant until now. So, if I had to come up with an answer to my own question, it would be this. The devastation of losing one of our own, the one who filled our lives with art and inspired us to see the world differently, is the rain. The memories that he left us and the lessons that we learned from our relationship with him, is the soil. If we can weather the sadness and allow the rain to soak into our hearts, my hope and prayer is that flowers will fill in the hole Christopher left. And as long as we cultivate our garden, he will always remain alive inside us.
