Day 34
I am a member of a tribe: Parents Who Have Lost A Child. This tribe has a select membership. Only a few, mercifully, are chosen each year. Refusing to join, once chosen, is not an option. Tribal membership is for life. Today, a fellow member of my tribe reached out.
Her name is Liz. She lost a son, Peter, when he was 22. I do not know Liz, but she took the time to write to me and Dawn and express her sadness at our loss. More importantly, she acknowledged our grief for what it is - ours - and for what it needs to be - whatever we need it to be. Liz has the wisdom of insight that comes from having been a member of the tribe much longer than we have. I do not know Liz, but I respect her insight and the stamina she has had to persevere in face of her own devastating loss. By all accounts, Liz (and her husband) has gone on to live a full life since the death of her son Peter. Her letter gives me hope that Dawn and I will be able to do the same. In time.
Later this afternoon, Dawn and I will meet for the first time with other members of our tribe. Like Liz, they too are our elders. We will meet them in person. I have no idea what they are going to say. Either to us or about themselves. I have no idea what I'm going to say to them. But I am humbled to be in their presence. Like me (us), none present tonight have chosen to be in this tribe but there they will be. To provide solace and comfort to strangers. To Dawn and I. The only thing we know about them and they about us is that we share the same terrible rite of passage.
I understand why Liz wrote us a letter, the reason why strangers agreed to meet with us tonight: To let us know that we are not alone. To welcome us as new members of the tribe, not with fanfare and celebration, but with compassion and grace. And to provide a light of hope - hope for a better tomorrow - during what is the darkest period of our lives. For without hope there is only despair.
I thank Liz and the other members of the tribe who are able to provide the hope that I, we, so desperately need. In time I would like to do the same, for others, but for now I am focused on myself. On Dawn. That is all that I can handle. For now.
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