Pound Cake and Coffee (Celebrating Loss)

Grief is such a beast. It pounces and shreds like a colossal feline. It mauls and tears as if our souls were tender morsels of fresh meat. Our emotions force their way out of us like gushes of arterial blood, soaking into the ground and drying hard. Our hope and sense of self evaporate–life and essence are as fleeting as a wisp of smoke.

Then we are slammed with the realization that although the emotions resemble death and devastation, we are still here, fated to carry on. Forced to accept that we must go on, we take small and exhaustive steps with a significant portion of ourselves severed from our being. We are left behind, lost, and directionless. Our sense of self stands alone and incomplete.

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After a hard couple of weeks, I was looking forward to a Saturday day trip to the coast with my wife. I was experiencing some new grief due to the passing of my dear friend’s older brother. And some old grief, as my friend shared that his nephew was having to deal with moving his father’s remains to their home state. It reminded me of my experience dealing with my mother’s passing. I hurt for this dutiful younger man, and I also re-experienced pain for my younger self.

As the weekend approached, I realized Saturday would be the 15th of October, my mother’s birthday. On Friday, I walked into my wife Anthoni’s office and said, “Tomorrow will be my mom’s birthday.”

She responded,  “We will have to celebrate her birthday. What was her favorite food?”

A few years earlier, we celebrated Anthoni’s mother’s birthday by driving to the beach and eating white powdered sugar-covered donuts. I always value finding creative and uplifting ways to honor our loved ones who have passed on. I remember thinking we would have to do this for my parents sometime in the future. 

My first response was, “Collards and biscuit sandwiches. That was her favorite midday snack. But I don’t want to eat that.” I thought about it a little more and said,  “What I saw her consume the most was coffee and pound cake.”

My wife smiled and said,  “That will be perfect! “

As we got going Saturday morning, I found myself melancholy and not very celebratory. My emotions were chaotic and explosive. I was having trouble trusting my decision-making. I thought a lot about my mom. I also began to think about my younger brother. While my wife went into the grocery store,  I texted him, “Anthoni and I are having coffee and pound cake and driving to the coast to celebrate Mom’s birthday. Wish you were here.” 

His reply was sad but uplifting, “That sounds really nice… and I wish we were there… I lay in bed all night thinking of what today is….sad…but happy that she was our mom…she made us part of what we are today…”

As my brother’s words drifted through my mind and touched my heart, tears flowed from my eyes. At that moment, I knew I was not alone. I realized it was okay to feel sadness and appropriate to release my sorrow. And most importantly, I acknowledged my mother will always be a part of me. She lives in me. She lives in my children. She lives in my words and desire to touch others with the hope of healing, recovery, and God’s love.

The rest of the weekend was filled with joy and celebration, as we had hoped. I began to comprehend how the repression of one emotion can lead to the repression of all feelings, even the good ones. Letting grief out is sometimes necessary to get to the joy and connectedness a loving creator intends for us.

Celebrating loss is letting go of the past and its crippling pain. Owning my witness of trauma, grief, and hardship has made me the man I am today and opened the door to healing and recovery. Acknowledging my sadness and resentment incentivizes me to abandon the futile hope of a different history. Disentangling myself from self-imposed suffering is no longer such a difficult task. Painful still but not debilitating. Tears of heartache and sadness mix with tears of joy and the elevation of my spirit.

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Discovering joy in the midst of sorrow requires a commitment to the belief in God’s hope. The hope demonstrated “In Christ.” The notion that my loved ones are gone forever is a spiritual sickness. It requires a spiritual remedy. The blessings of the Gospel hold the key. In Christ, sin and death have been conquered. In Christ, all the (spiritual) gifts of the kingdom of heaven have been cultivated within me and others. In Christ, all the parts of me that were severed have been revived. I am made whole. In Christ, I will know the “riches of grace,” the “riches of glory,” and the “riches of Christ” (Ephesians 1:7, 3:16, 3:8.) A hope and peace and joy that surpasses all understanding and knowledge.