Close Ups and Mosaics
I have a LOT of photographs in my house. Little ones, big ones, absolutely huge, life-sized ones – on the walls, on the fridge, on desks, stuck to computers, sitting on dressers in every room you can imagine (yes, even the bathroom!)
I love art and I also appreciate the beauty of sunlight dappling a bare wall with moving shadows in the late afternoon. But the family I married into had a tradition of huge family portraits and in my effort to sew our blended family together, I kept all their pictures and then added to the portrait gallery over the years; old friends and new friends, babies and new arrivals, weddings and celebrations, all sorts of happy occasions fill my walls.
And yes, pictures have been added since Peter passed, pictures of just me with my girls – a reality which once would have caused me such pain to contemplate but is now simply a record of the lives we are living, the memories we are making moving ahead into the rest of our days.
Of course, some of my favourite pictures are close-ups of Peter and me, just the two of us on the beach at the cottage, celebrating our anniversary or sitting on the couch at home, wrestling over the remote. These casual snapshots of a life capture the bond between two people who love and trust each other deeply and delight in each other’s company.
Being married means having one witness to the dailiness of your life, one person who cares about everything that happens to you, large or small. And when you are happily married, your spouse fills a lot of roles; best friend, lover, confidante, cheerleader, inside-joker, intellectual sparring partner, popcorn sharer, dinner companion, giver and receiver of affection, soft place to land, comforter in sorrow, yin to your yang, the other horse in your two-horse team pulling together through life.
When you lose your spouse, it can feel as if you’ve lost all that. It may seem as if all the beautiful close-ups of the two of you have shattered into a million pieces. And yet, in art as well as in life, beauty and meaning can be found in putting pieces back together (perhaps in a different way) to form a new picture. It’s creating a mosaic of your life from the pieces that remain.
Of course, it seems like a very tall order when your spouse meant so much to you. But I think the trick is in understanding that no one person, activity, experience, spiritual path, environment, relationship, passion or interest can replace what you had. But perhaps, taken together, they can make a start and help form a picture of the life that lies ahead.
As I have slowly reconstituted my life since Peter’s passing, I have begun to realize how all the pieces could fit together. Each of us – whether married, widowed, single, divorced, older or younger, from every walk of life and in every circumstance, needs to put together the mosaic of our lives wherever we find ourselves. Each one will be unique and the picture will change over time. But I have come to realize that the image it forms can indeed be one of happiness and contentment.
A Person Is a Puzzle
A person is a puzzle. Sometimes from the inside, it feels like some pieces are missing.
Perhaps one we love is no longer with us. Perhaps one talent we desire eludes us. Perhaps a moment that required grace found us clumsy. Sometimes, from the inside, it feels like some pieces are missing.
A person is a puzzle. We are puzzles not only to ourselves but to each other.
A puzzle is a mystery we seek to solve – and the mystery is that we are whole even with our missing pieces. Our missing pieces are empty spaces we might long to fill, empty spaces that make us who we are. The mystery is that we are only what we are – and that what we are is enough.
In the gray stillness of this morning, into the accepting peace of a still sky, let us offer our failings, our inadequacies, into the silence. And let us know that we are accepted, by God and by this company, exactly as we are. Accepted – missing pieces, and all.
Rev. Mark Mosher De Wolfe
Ask yourself – who can I call when I’m having a bad day? Who is great at fun and distraction? Who gives good advice and wise counsel in important discussions and decisions? Who makes me laugh and who do I trust with my tears? Who shares my intellectual interests or hobbies? Who likes to do the things I like to do and wants to do them with me? Who shares my sense of adventure or is close by when I feel like being a homebody for a few days? What’s on the horizon that I still want to explore?
More personal questions abound as well. Where will you get your hugs and need for affection? Your sexual expression should you wish it? Your desire to care for others and make a difference with your Love? Where will you find meaning, the sense of making a contribution and being of use, a reason to get out of bed in the morning that so often we find in the deep spiritual experience of loving and being loved?
What in the world beyond other human beings sustains you? The beauty of the natural world, animal companionship, losing yourself in art or finding solace in music, meaningful volunteerism or going back to work, new endeavours as yet untried or purposeful causes dear to your heart that you can finally find time to champion? And (whether sooner or later) what’s your plan for ageing well into your third act? How will you arrange your life so you’re safe, happy, connected and content? Over time, each one of these and all of them together can begin to form a picture of the life you now have.
Every friend or family member that reaches out, everything you choose to do with your time, your talents and your love, form the mosaic of your life as it is now. Yes, your wonderful memories are a big part of the picture, but so are all the new ways that love and life, joy and possibility appear and are still to come.
What are the many pieces that make up your mosaic? Can you begin to see the picture of happiness emerge from the many parts of your life that still remain? It’s still a beautiful picture and you’re still in it. And so is a whole lot more!
