Remembering just how big love is

My parents

A couple of Christmases ago, I was invited to speak at the Tong & Peryer and Terry Longley & Son funeral director’s 2020 Christmas service that they hold for the families they have connected with who have lost loved ones during the course of the year. As part of their rememberance they make decorations with the names of those lost, and place them on a Christmas tree. I have just stumbled across this speech again and thought that here on Christmas Eve it has a resonance and meaning and thought it nice to share it here.

Hi, Kia ora koutou katoa.   My name is Georgina Langdale and it’s nice to see you here today, and I’m also deeply sorry for your loss.

Last year I sat where you are sitting now. My father had died and I came to last year’s service alone and looked for his name on the tree.

Loss is the thread that weaves us all together here today. Even though we may not know each other, we are all connected by the experience of losing someone.

I remember last year. I knew I’d be marking off the first Christmas without my father and that felt like a big hole in my heart.   And then the invitation to this service arrived, and I was genuinely moved. It was nice to be invited to have a special Christmas moment in memory of him. I found comfort in knowing that my loss was noted. These people who looked after our loved ones so gently when they passed, are thinking about us who are left behind. Let’s thank them for that.

Loss is the thread that weaves us all together here today.

They’ve given us a gift today. A sacred space has been created where we can sit with the memory of our loved ones, and we can acknowledge each other… and each other’s loss.

My father had what we could call ‘a good death’ but nonetheless losing him was painful. By contrast, my mother had a difficult death, after a difficult life. And for those of you here whose experience of death has been difficult and painful, my heart goes out to you.

 Sunday was my mother’s birthday. She’d be 81 now. And on Saturday it will be 6 years since she died. For those following five years I cared for my father who had dementia. There was no room to process my mother’s passing. So for me, this Christmas feels like the first one in which I get to grieve for my mum. Now I can grieve for both my parents, whom I love very much. The point of sharing this with you, is to say that grief has its own timeline.  And yes there is pain -  but there can also be moments of gentle and loving remembrance.

Looking back over the past few years, what is it that death has taught me?

I’ve learned we do the best we can, in our own time.

I’ve learned there’s no ‘one way’ to do grief. And I’ve learned that’s OK. We each come to loss with our own stories, and so no one, not even those mourning the same person, will have exact same experiences. And that’s OK too.

I’ve learned how beautiful it is to recall a memory of a loved one and laugh and cry at the same time. Maybe you know that feeling too?

These days I often work with people at the end of life and in bereavement, holding space for them, and I realise that it is my own grief journey that helps fill my heart with compassion for others. And it has also led me to doing some heart-centred work for our hosts here.

But you know what? A key lesson is that sometimes I just feel so lucky to feel such grief for those I have loved and lost, because it reminds me…..  just how BIG love is.

E te Atua, 

I tênei wâ

Kia tau to Rangimârie I runga

I tênei whanau.    

 Âmine

 O Lord,

at this time,

bestow your peace upon this family.

Amen