“All good things got to come to an end
The thrills have to fade
Before they come ’round again
The bills will be paid
And the pleasure will mend
All good things got to come to an end”
At least that’s how Jackson Browne puts it. Quite beautifully, I might add.
And he’s right too. Life is short. One moment we’re here, the next moment we’re not. One moment we’re holding babies in our arms, in my case, the palms of my hands practically, the next we are sending them off to school and on and on. We say things like remember when, and collect and stare at old photos, wishing we could go back in time.
Regardless of the many differences we have, the one thing we all have in common, the one thing that unites us all is, we will, with certainty, all have to account for the brevity of life.
I feel as though I should apologize for the heaviness of this post, but unfortunately worlds seem to be colliding for me as of late. You see one of my dear friends has recently lost his wife after a very long battle with MS, and within a few days another dear friend suffered the passing of a father. As if that were not enough, the frailty of my own father has been once again brutally brought to the surface. His time of creating awesome experiences and impacting the world around him is coming to an end.
I’ve known it for a while. My whole family has actually. It’s no secret. Whether it’s the Dementia, Parkinson’s, Shingles, Arthritis, or any of the many broken and crushed bones having never fully healed through out his life, they all are contributing to the inevitable.
To say this is difficult would be the grossest of understatements.
Words just don’t do justice sometimes.
This is one of those times.
But it’s forcing me to ask yet another hard question of myself. How am I going to respond to Awesome’s Ending?
Have you ever thought of it that way?
That awesome does in fact have an ending. It’s both bitterly painful and abundantly joyful. All at the same time.
I’m reminded of Amy Grant’s words about the passing of her mother, and her father’s battle with dementia. She describes it as the last great lesson we’ll ever learn from our parents.
Those words bring me to tears, just writing them.
And those of you like Cliff and Norm of Cheers, who are regulars to Creating the Awesome, have heard me say this often, but to those who are not, one thing you’ll find is that I never claim to know all the answers. To do so would simply be arrogant and wrong. There are roughly 164 million other blogs out there, all proudly proclaiming that they single-handedly have the answers you seek and need. That their products and their services are the best because they are the best.
Well, sorry, but this isn’t one of those.
And while there are many things I can speak to as an expert, some which, undoubtedly, would help meet a need or solve a problem, I’ve found that I’d much rather participate in the journey with you.
I believe that’s where true beauty is found, where authentic healing is received and where awesome is really created.
Did you catch the power of that word, with?
So this is where you come in.
We’ve all dealt with loss somehow, whether that’s a parent, a child, a sibling, a friend, pet, or any other version of a loved one.
And with what I know to be certain of the future, I’d very much love to hear your stories of how you responded to awesome’s ending.
Were there things that you wish you would or could have done? Said?
What are the things you are grateful for that you were able to do and say?
I quote Frederick Buechner a lot, probably too much to be honest, but in this case, once again, he gives us a beautiful glimpse of glory. He writes in Telling Secrets, “My story is important not because it is mine, God knows, but because if I tell it anything like right, the chances are you will recognize that in many ways it is also yours.”
That is why I ask the questions above.
Would you bless us all by sharing below?