The Life-Changing Moment

The Well of Grief

Those who will not slip beneath
the still surface on the well of grief

turning downward through its black water
to the place we cannot breathe

will never know the source from which we drink,
the secret water, cold and clear,

nor find in the darkness glimmering
the small round coins
thrown by those who wished for something else.

— David Whyte, in Where Many Rivers Meet

Nineteen years ago a phone call shattered my sleep and my heart, changing my world forever. I woke up immediately at the sound of my sister’s voice, explaining that Corrinne, our youngest sister, was in the hospital and that we needed to go right away. Something was definitely wrong.

When I first saw Corrinne, I could not breathe. I felt like something was suffocating me. It was not the sight of her that did it, though the purple streaks appearing throughout her body were not a calming sight. It was something much bigger. The doctors did not know what was wrong. They were running some tests. We returned to the waiting room and I remember the nurse coming over to me and asking if I was ok. I must have looked horrible. I got up and called a friend. “Please pray,” I uttered in a great panic, “I think my sister is dying.” I wanted to take back those words but could only say, “The doctors haven’t said anything about that, but…please pray.”

The second time I went in to see her, the room began to spin. What was going on? I can only explain it as I sensed a great evil in the room that was moving violently to take control. It would be hours before the doctors confirmed what I already knew. Corrinne was dying and she did not have long to live. The tests confirmed that she had an aggressive form of meningococcemia and spinal meningitis.

My siblings, Corrinne’s partner, and I were stunned. The day continued in slow motion. Our parents were away and we tried hard to find them. They had gone to the United States for the weekend. They finally went back to their hotel after an incident with a store clerk that only could have been divinely inspired. There they found the hotel manager anxiously awaiting them with the news.

The day unfolded with many blessings despite the horror. A stupid, faithless priest happened to be on chaplain duty that day. He made my journey traumatic but others carried me through the day. The Grey Nuns surrounded my family and protected us with their prayers. Their kindness of getting us a private waiting room proved to be a balm. A friend arrived just in time to stand with me as the priest who doubted gave her a final anointing. Friends were praying in the chapel at my church and later gave me visions and prayers that sustain me until this present day. I have no doubt that Jesus himself welcomed Corrinne into heaven.

I remember sitting alone in the waiting room at one point, now over 14 hours since that phone call woke me. I panicked. I had all these people praying that my sister would live. I knew I had to supercede these well-intentioned people and prayed that God would intervene and take her home in mercy. It was only a few minutes later that the doctor came to say, she only had a few minutes left of life.

Standing at her bedside, after her death by myself was one of the most painful experiences of my life. I felt so guilty for not being able to be there as she took her final breath. I am not sure I have completely forgiven myself for that cowardice act, and yet, almost every Easter I understand why the disciples were not there. Seeing her lying in the bed, recognizable only by her red hair, so ravaged by the disease that she was like the suffering servant, took courage. Our family had been through a horrid experience in those fourteen or so hours. That day was only the beginning of a journey.

My aunt sent me a book with this poem in it. The poem would remain with me as I wrestled with all the tough, toxic, and unanswerable questions over the years. There were many times that I could not breath. In the year that followed, there were 13 deaths in 13 months. I felt like Job with all the crises I was facing.

However, I did know the source from which I drank in order to not let the darkness overwhelm me. I raged against the One who should have intervened many times but did not. The one fact I knew was that I was held lovingly the whole time. For that I am grateful. I would have wished for a different outcome. I would have wished to have switched places. I would have wished to have woken up from the nightmare that seemed to have no ending. I would have wished for several different endings. None of those wishes came true.

No, instead I have collected the small, golden coins that I found at the bottom of the well. I decided that if I had survived the experience and was given a chance to live myself, that I should transform it into something precious. I made this a conscious choice. It is not without resentment at times. I would rather have a red-headed beauty with big brown eyes laugh at my jokes, growl at me when she was annoyed, show off her fashion flair, and share stories from her day than all the gold nuggets from the experience. After 19 years, she is still deeply missed. My life is less than whole without her in it.

The photo was taken on Christmas Day 1986, six years before she died. While I had talked on the phone with her, I had not seen her in the weeks before she died as we were both so busy. That in itself is a lesson to stay in contact with the people you love. She had just moved in with her partner three weeks earlier. She was the happiest I had ever seen her. She was in love, had an amazing job, and was at peace with family issues for the most part. That would be the juncture most of us would want to exit this world, I suppose.

The gold coins I gathered have allowed me to reach out to others with compassion and help heal their grief. When I was in Africa almost three years ago, one of my tasks was to train trainers on how to facilitate small groups on grieving. The reason I was standing in front of these groups of people was not lost on me. When I look back over my life, I know that the sessions on grieving that I have given have been some of the most important work I have done in my life. The sharing of my own pain and the dark journey has been the work of the Kingdom. I am most proud of the lives that have been given hope, the hearts that have found a healing balm, and the sorrows that have been lifted because of my willingness to step beyond my own grief. I believe that this has been the best way to show that Darkness does not get to win.

I can honestly say that though she is still very much a part of my heart, I have broken through the surface of the dark waters of the well of grief, gold nuggets in hand in recent years. As I approach the second decade, I am aware that the pain does not overwhelm me like it did in the first decade. It seems like such a long time since I picked up the phone to call her or to sit across from her and listen to her funny stories. I have so many wonderful memories of her. Twenty-six years is not a long time but she was choosing to seize the day well. In many ways, her life was just beginning. She could have been an awesome wife and an amazing mother. She was excelling at her career. She was a faithful friend. She was beloved in our family--I think of her as Beth in Little Women. She is able still to inspire me. I am honoured to pry the gold nuggets out of my clenched fists and shake the dark water from my hair in order to share the gift of her life with those who need it.

I remember you lovingly and gratefully, Corrinne. Your light has never gone out.

Peace,

Suzanne