From the Camino: On my first pilgrimage to Santiago, while walking with my friend, Fr. Jim Clarke, our conversations often turned to death.
My father had died five years prior, which I had experienced as a very painful loss, but one which I already had a few years over which to grieve. I still had my Mom and was considering how her final years were going to play out. Fr. Jim’s parents, though, had both died just the year before, with enough months between them, to make the loss truly hard-hitting and immediately present to him emotionally.
We didn’t solve anything as we talked. We both spent time remembering, cherishing, regretting and probing the fragile and emotional spaces of our loss. We would put it away for a while, and then return to it, as seemed right at the given moment.
It was an honor for me to walk with Fr. Jim through his recent grief.
John 11:32-36 – 32 When Mary came to where Jesus was and saw him, she fell at his feet and said to him, “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.” 33 When Jesus saw her weeping and the Jews who had come with her weeping, he became perturbed and deeply troubled, 34 and said, “Where have you laid him?” They said to him, “Sir, come and see.” 35 And Jesus wept. 36 So the Jews said, “See how he loved him.
For reflection: The deaths of people who matter to us both form and misshape us. We can move through our grief, learning from its depths, to become people of deep compassion for others, when all goes well. But we can also carry tremendous burdens of sadness, loss and shame as we move beyond our initial mourning, dogged by regrets and even anger.
It’s a sacred process, grappling with life’s losses, lifting them up for healing and renewal, and choosing to live ourselves. The process, though, can feel other than holy, as wounds, when probed, can be painful, tears can be loosed, and guilt set in. With the brilliant, searing truth of hindsight, we may ask ourselves, “Did I do enough?” And because we’re dealing with the life of a human being, the answer will frequently be “No.” What could possibly be enough for another person?
When we survive others, but guilt and regret overwhelm us, we may profit from walking with Jesus, the Resurrection and the Life, working through our past, living focused in our present, yet carrying hope for an unburdened future. He knew grief from the inside out, both his own, for Lazarus, and that of his friends, Martha and Mary for him, as well.
If there is something to learn from our past mistakes, we can commit to learning it, and then let go of what can no longer be changed, and resolve to be our best selves in the future. Perhaps we might finish the process with the sacrament of reconciliation, which is amply available on the Camino, as none of us should be chained to our deepest regrets, our greatest guilt.
Sometimes, though, our issue isn’t regret. It’s the abyss of loss.
Where the sense of loss overwhelms, we find the space on the Camino to do some of the inner work we need to do, to grieve deeply, to weep until our supply of tears have run dry. When we are ready, we might find a sympathetic ear attached to an attentive and wise heart, repeating this whole process of grieving, weeping and sharing, as often as our hearts requires.
Whenever we call to mind our beloved dead, we walk on hallowed ground.
You might well nt finish the process of grieving on your pilgrimage. For the death of a lifetime spouse, the process can extend for between three and five years. Even so, you may make great strides toward significant healing. The empty place, once so very full, will still be empty, and you will never forget, but the ache might be less, even significantly so.
Eternal rest grant unto him, unto her, oh Lord!…May all the souls of the faithful departed rest in peace!
