Remembering

Today is Memorial Day, and I'll confess that across my 40 years of life, I've not done a great job of observing this day for what it really means.

Yesterday in our church, they paused to remember people associated with our church who had died since last Memorial Day. They showed their names on the screen, and as each one popped up, family members were invited to stand in honor of their loved ones. Our pastor reminded us that while we might just be seeing names, those names represent people who were dear to someone. They deserve to be remembered. So as the names flashed on the screen and people began standing around the room, I prayed for those people, because their grief is still fresh.

Even though I didn't know any of them personally, I thought over the past year and the people in my own life who have been touched by grief. I thought of a friend I met through a retreat a couple of years ago who lost her baby son before she even met him. I thought about my friend Michelle's family. They said goodbye to her with such little warning. I thought of my friends who lost a son to suicide earlier this year. And of course there were more, but with each one, a story. A story that deserves to be remembered. A grief that deserves to be recognized.

I think that's one of the hardest parts of grief when you lose someone. You don't ever want to forget what they meant to you, and you fear that the farther you get from them, the harder it will be to remember the specific things about them you loved so much. And you fear that everyone else will forget them altogether, and you know you never will. And how can life ever feel normal when you can't forget and they can't remember?

Remembering matters.

Yesterday was hot, hot, hot here in Indiana, and Ryan and I had a blissful sort of day with no plans after church. We came home, changed our clothes, ate our lunch, and curled up on Mo for movies and naps. I curled up next to Ryan, enjoying the blast of the air conditioner and the perfection of the day, and I began to remember...

...another Memorial Day Sunday eight years ago. It felt just as hot as this one, with the sun beating down mercilessly. I was in the thick of my broken heart, and the day suffocated me inside as much as the heat did outside. I remember feeling so very hopeless that afternoon, taking a long walk through campus, and not even caring about how miserable it was to walk in the middle of a hot day. I remember coming home to an empty house and crying out of hopelessness and despair.

I remember.

And I was so grateful for the comfort of this home and the presence of Ryan next to me. I still don't take him for granted. I haven't forgotten the hurt of the desert days, and I never want to. I remember because it matters. I remember because it shaped me. But I'm thankful for the healing that has come my way in the last eight years.

Remembering matters. It matters for us today as we remember the people who made a very brave sacrifice for us. It matters for those grieving a loss that maybe too many others have forgotten. It matters for seasons that shaped us, even if we no longer live in them.

And so today, I remember.