Broken Blessings

Several times in the past few weeks a petite blonde woman in her early to mid fifties walked by my deli perusing the days offerings and seemed so farmiliar to me. I watched her come and go with her little cart out of the corner of my eye, and thought about her when I drove home from work. Yesterday she came in again and approached the deli case. I decided I would chat her up a bit, see if she recognized me or if her voice would trigger my memory. I figured maybe she was the mother of an old friend, or a friend of my own mother. I asked her how her day was going and what her plans were for the weekend and mid sentence, as the words came from my mouth, all of a sudden it hit me, I placed her. And as far as I know, our paths had never crossed. She does, I don't think, know me or my family or any of my friends. Newspaper articles and evening news clips came suddenly rushing into my memory; images of a family ripped apart at the seams by the tragic kidnapping and disappearance of their daughter, a young, pretty, smart young college student. The young woman of whom I speak is Brooke Wilberger, the woman who I scooped potato salad for and chatted with, her mother. When I was in college, Brooke was kidnapped from the parking lot of the apartment building across the street from my own and it was later discovered that she had in fact been murdered. As I looked into her mother's eyes, I wondered how she has carried on knowing the tragedy with which her child's life ended and missing her presence in the world more than any words could ever express I'm sure and a deep well of reverence and respect and compassion flooded my insides. I have a special kind of compassion for people who have lost a loved one suddenly and without warning because I know first hand the shock to one's system and the years it can take to realize and come to terms with what exactly has happened.

This past winter I took at theology class that met one night a week. One session we were working in small groups and one of the women in my group revealed that her own father had taken his life. I later found out that not to many years ago, she lost her son as well, the causes of which I'm unaware. Imagine if you don't already, the tragedy of knowing that someone you love was so miserable in this life that they took their own and that no matter how much you loved them, you couldn't keep this from happening. And to loose a child as well on top of your already grief.

I got an email at work today that at young woman who worked at another one of our stores died on Wednesday. And then came the news, unofficially, that she had been murdered. There are over one hundred coworkers currently grieving the loss of their friend not to mention her family and friends outside of work. How horrible it is to have such a young life cut so tragically and violentely short.

I suppose the truth of the matter, one of the very big truths of our lives, of our existence on this planet, is that bad things do indeed happen to good people. People die. They die naturally and they die suddently and sometimes they die violentely. They get sick and they die old and they die young and they die everywhere in between. And yet, somehow, those left behind, those who loved those who died, most often carry on. We grieve for days and weeks and months and yes, for years, for the eternity of our days often. We learn to live in the world with a permanently broken heart, with a missing piece of ourselves. And often in the process, as in my own experience of dealing with a tragic loss and grief, we grow and we learn things that we would have never learned about ourselves and those around us that we wouldn't have without having experienced such grief. Everyday people go out in the world after having experienced tragedy, suffering quietly on the inside. They step out into the world with newfound courage, whether they realize it or not, and in doing so, their souls often expand exponentially. They often grow in their ability to have compassion towards others, and in their strength in themselves to perserve despite their shattered or crumbled hearts. Sometime people never get over the loss of someone dear to them, they never learn to be happy again, to function in the world in a healthy, productive way. But more often than not, they do.

As for Brooke Wilberger's mom, I will never know what's in her heart or the pain and loss she lives with on a daily basis. But I do know that many years after the murder of her precious daughter, she is still here and that is an accomplishment in and of itself. And she is out in the world and she smiled, I saw it. And even if it was for show, I smiled at her and it wasn't. I hope she felt that.

As for my friend from class who has lived through the suicide of her father and death of her son, she now is a hospice chaplain and helps others who are dealing with illness and death and loss cope. Imagine, the new light from her soul that now shines through the cracks in her broken heart to help comfort others; what a gift. I will never forget the conversation I had with her when she told me despite all the tragedies that have happened in her life, she knows there is still goodness amid brokenness; that she still sees the daffodils come up out of the ground every spring and is reminded that life is always there continuing to go on if you only stop and pay attention to it and make the decision to participate. She said this is just one little reminder to her of the interconnectedness of all life. And I couldn't agree more.

As for the young woman who was murdered a few days ago, only time will tell what lessons the ripples of her life and of her death will spread out into the world. I can say that already hundreds of people have stepped forward, showing up to her store to work from all over the Portland area to let those who loved her and are grieving her missing presence in the world take some moments for themselves to reflect upon this loss. I can say that I have seen a community of thousands of people come together in a matter of minutes in the way that people so often do when tragedies strike. And I wonder, why so often, does it take tragic loss, for us to be fully compassionate and sacrifice of ourselves for others?

In truth, many of us are not much different from the people I've mentioned above. Many of us have experienced the tragic death of loved ones, of lives seemingly cut short. If not that, most all of us have experienced some death in some way even if it be of that of a grandparent who died of old age in their sleep or have witness a friend go through the loss of one of their loved ones. If not death, than illness, job loss, and a myriad of other things that can in the moment make life hard, that can make life a series of growing pains; a continual breaking of the heart that often in hindsight, cause the soul to grow into previously unimaginable places. And as hard as life can be sometimes, these dark moments are often the very things that make us realize how valuable our lives our; what a gift and a blessing they are. And hopefully, make us grow in our compassion towards other people and learn to value their lives more as well. I can say for myself, that while I would give anything to have my mom alive, the lessons I have learned and the compassion I have grown and the strength I have gained as a result of her death are almost indescribable in words. Her sudden and violent exit from the world, while having taken years to even process, is for me, as strange as it may sound to you, in many many ways a blessing in my life. While her death shattered my heart completely and made me question very much the evidence of goodness in the world, over time there as been and continues to be a slow, gradual healing of the soul. As a wise woman once said, it's only when our hearts are broken, that the light of our souls is able to finally shine through. And for me, who's broken hearted grief has helped her realize her calling in the world, this statement rings truer the many. And I am thankful my heart has cracks and chips in it; I've grown to like and appreciate very much my battle scars.

I wonder, could all learn to have deeper wells of compassion for our fellow humans at all times, not just in the moments when we are suddenly struck with the awareness of someone else's grief, and if so, how might the world be different? If when interacting with other people, we always kept in the back of our minds that no matter the person's demeanor towards us, that we never in fact know what they have been or may be going through, how might the way we treat our fellow humans change? I am certainly no expert at this and get frustrated and easily upset when I feel like people are unduly rude or harsh or nasty towards me and I often take things too personally when they actually have very little or nothing to do with me. The truth is life is exceptionally hard and challenging sometimes, and most of us are just doing what we have to do to get by in this world and looking for glimmers of hope, for moments of peace, for snippets of joy, and for the love that can be found in the communion of souls. Because the truth is also that these moments exist; they are everywhere really. Even amid unfairness and grief and brokenness, beauty exists. Even amid our sadness and our grief and our stress, the daffodils continue to push through the earth into the light, showing us that we can break through the surface of our grief and let our souls shine out through the cracks of our broken hearts. Often going through tragic loss or hardship gives us the gift of being able to learn to search for moments of life's beauty with more intensity and find a deeper well of compassion within ourselves for those traveling on this journey with us. May we all try to go out into the world aware that what meets the eye is often only a miniscule piece of the people's story, to see the sometimes startling beauty in other's broken hearts and growing souls, and to approach each other as our paths cross, with a gentle, compassionate, and graceful spirit.