Grief’s Lesson: Serving and Blessing the Living!

Can I, An Ordinary Man,
Serve and Bless?

During the last Friday night service in May, when we commemorated Jan’s Yarhzeit, Rav Uri shared a passage about the valuable lessons that grief can teach us. It wasn’t the first time I had heard the passage, and I’ve used it in a post or stream before. He spoke about how grief can be a great teacher, leading us to serve and bless the living, offer counsel and comfort to the grieving, know when to keep silent, and offer words of love and concern. As many of my friends and readers know, I find comfort in reading, writing, walking, and worshiping, seeking to absorb as much wisdom as possible.

For the past three years and almost three months since Jan’s passing, I’ve been on a journey of personal growth, determined not to be overwhelmed by grief. This transformative path, shaped by the profound lessons of mourning, has led me to where I am today: feeling hopeful and inspired five years into retirement and three years since Jan’s passing. In April, my friend Danny made an observation that sparked a new perspective.

You are an incredible person! You are a new person! A better person! Jan, although not here physically, has done so much for you!

During my morning walks, I pondered Danny’s comment and the passage about grief being a great teacher. The idea of serving the living and blessing them has been weighing on my mind. I extend a heartfelt invitation to you, my dear friends and readers, to join me in this contemplation. Your insights and perspectives are not just welcome; they are crucial as we embark on this journey of reflection and growth together. The passage Rav Uri read resonates with me as I walk around Cranford, reminding me of the strength we find in our shared experiences and the support of our community.

Grief is a great teacher when it sends us back to serve and bless the living. We learn how to counsel and comfort those who, like ourselves, are burdened with sorrow. We learn when to keep silent in their presence and when a word will assure them of our love and concern.

I understand that the passage tells us to comfort those who, like ourselves, are burdened with sorrow. However, I have adapted it to include family, friends, and the community, not just those who have suffered a loss. I explained this to Tom, a friend who worships at St. Michael’s Catholic Church in Cranford. That is your ministry, and you are doing that the same way you have approached every other task in your life,” he said.

What lessons has grief taught me, an ordinary, flawed person? Although I live solely in the present, I have noticed various changes taking place within me. In each instance, the impetus for change began when I listened with my ears, embraced with my arms, and walked into the future with my feet. Many changes are still underway, and I welcome support and encouragement as change is challenging without the help of family, friends, and neighbors. This ongoing journey of personal growth, sparked by the transformative power of grief, is a testament to the resilience of the human spirit and the potential for positive change.

Family First

I strolled into the serene atmosphere of the Glen Ridge Country Club and quickly realized that I had arrived before Mike, Elyssa, and Nick to the gathering. A wave of thirst washed over me, prompting me to order a refreshing ginger ale. Unfortunately, in my haste, I forgot to request no straw with my drink. As I gracefully meandered across the deck that offered a breathtaking view of the immaculate golf course, onlookers couldn’t help but mistake my beverage for a cocktail due to the presence of a straw. Taking in the stunning vista of Manhattan’s skyline against the backdrop of the luscious, green landscape, I savored each sip of my drink. Amidst this tranquil setting, I found myself pondering how time had flown by so quickly, leading to the realization that my oldest grandchild is a thirteen-year-old middle school graduate.

As I turned toward the interior of the building, my eyes fell upon a poignant scene. Mike was carrying Wes, followed by Elyssa and Nick. I couldn’t help but remind myself that after tonight, Nick would embrace her birth name, Liliah-Rae. Despite having grown accustomed to calling her Nick for over two years, I wondered how long it would take me to adjust to using her original name.

The veranda felt incredibly spacious, almost like a sprawling racecourse. It was quite a sight to behold Mike running after Wes, evoking memories of Mike’s younger days in contrast to his current middle-aged self. Nick and her classmates seemed to be dressed beyond their years, appearing older than their teenage selves. Most of the twenty-two students were female and looked mature for their age. As they sat on the dais, I observed the audience, trying to gauge how many people, apart from a few teachers, were around my age.

As we gathered around the table with full plates of delicious food from the buffet, I thanked Mike and Elyssa for including me in the celebration. Mike warmly embraced me and said, “I’m so happy you’re here to celebrate the graduation and this special occasion with us. We’re all family, and it’s important to celebrate together.” I thanked them again and inquired why they had four seats. We had to get one for Wes,” Elyssa explained. Wes, of course, was sitting on his dad’s lap during the event.

The newly graduated students were so happy and excited that they began to dance and leap around while cheering spontaneously. My son Mike mentioned it was time to take Elyssa and Wes home because it was late. I couldn’t help but wonder when the tables would turn, and I’d go to bed earlier than Wes. Elyssa made a playful request for us to save dessert for their seats, teasing that Mike would probably devour all the sweets if given the chance. As the wait staff brought out our food, I reminded her that my family of three would be returning soon and would want dessert.

As the evening’s activities gradually came to a close, I found myself immersed in deep contemplation. I vividly recalled the moment I cradled Lilah-Rae in my arms when she was born. Little did I know then that I would one day commemorate my eldest grandchild’s graduation from middle school. Amidst the unpredictability of life and the world, it was a profound realization to acknowledge that I was present in this moment. When Mike returned, I expressed my gratitude once more and shared my hope of being there in four years for a high school graduation and in ten years for Wes’s middle school graduation. “It will be twelve years for Wes,” he gently reminded me. I was caught off guard, hurriedly reaching for a napkin to conceal my surprise.

In four years, I will be seventy-nine, and I am hopeful that I will be able to witness Liliah-Rae’s high school graduation. Looking further into the future, I am still determined to be there for another four years, but I am determined to be present for Wes’s graduation in twelve years and his little brother’s in fourteen years. As I drove home, sadness engulfed me like a fog rolling across a quiet golf course. Taking the Cranford exit off the Parkway, I came to terms with the unpredictable nature of life. Whether I partake in these future celebrations, I can only cherish my time and shower them with love and blessings, one day at a time.

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