Welcome Respite Then, Loss Now

Two years ago

Before Thanksgiving 2014

David’s medical condition is stable, if not sustainable. He's healthier than he's been for months, so Jim and I fly to Utah for the annual Johnston Pre-Thanksgiving Dinner. Sunday night we drive to Shelley, Idaho, and stay in Charlotte’s house on the Snake River. It’s a welcome respite: a quiet day, with no obligations. We have the spacious house to ourselves. Outside the sliding doors, we watch the shining whitewater flow under a wintry sky with pale white clouds. There’s snow in the grass.

After we return home, we attend an intimate concert of Brahms’ Ein Deutsches Requiem  (A German Requiem) scored for piano-four-hands and chorus. I love this piece: Brahms chose comforting scripture verses, in contrast to the traditional Latin text, with its "Day of Wrath", that Mozart and Verdi used. My favorite is a duet between the soprano and choir. The soprano sings:

                         Ihr habt nun Traurigkeit;
                         Aber ich will euch wiedersehen,
                        und euer Herz soll sich freuen,
                        Und eure Freude soll niemand von euch nehmen.

And ye now therefore have sorrow:
But I will see you again,
And your heart shall rejoice,
And your joy no man taketh from you.

And the choir continues with the words of Isaiah:

Ich will euch trӧsten,
Wie einen seine Mutter trӧstet.

                        As one whom his mother comforteth,
So will I comfort you.

Before Thanksgiving 2016

Next week is the program for our annual wreath-making party in our Relief Society (church women’s organization). A small chorus rehearses Sunday evening. In the middle of a Christmas song, suddenly and inexplicably, I feel a constriction in my throat and tears in my eyes. I mouth the words and resist the craving to double over and sob in grief. It passes, but reminds me that grief lurks, hidden, close to the surface.

Jim has been feeling more intense loss this week as well. Perhaps it’s the shorter days. Sunset is at 4:15 p.m. this week. It’s a season of loss, despite the Thanksgiving and Christmas holidays.