Highs and Lows
I was still riding high from Amy’s wedding when I got the news that Randy had died. Remember my post a while back about Rehoboth? About wide open, harmonious spaces? About eleven colleagues who had become friends – family, even – since fall 2007? Randy was one of those friends, one of that family. I wasn’t ready for this. I miss him. I miss Rehoboth. I miss Virginia.
And I’m still riding high from Amy’s wedding. And glowing whenever someone asks me about it, as if I were the blushing bride instead of just the proud sister. And I’m showing off pictures. I already have one as the wallpaper on my computer at work.
Oddly enough, those feelings – grief and joy – don’t seem to be competing with one another. It doesn’t seem like a choice between one or the other. I don’t feel guilty about grieving for Randy when I “should” be happy about Amy, or guilty about feeling giddy about Amy when I “should” be somber, remembering Randy. Maybe because both people – both relationships – have brought such deep, abiding joy to my life. It is that deep, abiding joy that is the more powerful, underlying emotion that fills me whenever I think about either event – whether it’s Amy’s wedding or Randy’s memorial service. And my relaionship with Amy is so much more and broader and deeper than simply her wedding – it’s what made her wedding the experience that it was. And my friendship with Randy and my memories of Randy encompass so many experiences and so much laughter – lots and lots of laughter – and so much depth. It’s what made his death hurt so much – and it is what comforts me.
And so the joy and the grief co-exist, perhaps even deepening and enriching each other, as each person has deepend and enriched my life. I love you, Amy. I love you, Randy. Thank you for who you have been in my life.
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