CELEBRATE THE  EMPTINESS
A Widow Bit – March 23, 2008
By Mary Koch

            It matters to me that the celebration of Easter, which is determined by the lunar calendar, occurs so very early this year.

            It matters also that in Christian tradition, Easter isn’t a one-day holiday, but a full celebratory season known as the Great Fifty Days, ending with the spirited Feast of Pentecost. On the third of those Great Fifty Days, I will observe the six-month mark since John’s death.

            It matters that this milestone occurs during the Easter season instead of during Lent – which would have been the case if Easter had occurred later, as it usually does. The synchronicity of these dates makes me mindful of the sermon delivered by our friend, the Rev. Kristi Philip, at John’s memorial.

            “Practice resurrection,” she’d advised, quoting poet Wendell Berry. The idea was both mystifying and empowering.

            “We practice resurrection when we live a life shaped by our Easter faith.  When we embrace life with courage, faith and hope – as John did.  When we discover and live out our true vocation – a way of serving God and one another,” Kristi said, continuing: “By loving and being loved.  By giving ourselves away.  This is what it means to practice resurrection.”

            I have been less disciplined in observing Lent this year but perhaps more thoughtful. On Good Friday, instead of going to church, I met with a small group of women who inspired me to explore a dream I’d had two nights earlier.

            I rarely understand my dreams, which tend to be partly mystical and partly a reflection of my everyday experiences. After John’s death, I prayed that I would dream of him as he was before the stroke – walking and talking. But when he did appear in dreams, it would be in his post-stroke body, paralyzed, mute.

            It matters to me that this particular dream, which was different, came during Holy Week, those somber days leading up to Easter.

            The everyday part of the dream had to do with the fact that I am in the midst of guiding my mother through a change of medical insurance providers. Because she is leaving her HMO, she must leave a doctor with whom she had developed a trusting relationship. This is difficult for her, and I am deeply empathetic.

            In the dream, however, it is John who must change physicians. With John in his wheelchair at my side, I inform the doctor, who becomes distraught and angry. He reveals his own pain, which doctors are so careful to hide.

            John stands up and talks quietly, calming the doctor, then walks out of the room. I follow, smiling, pushing an empty wheelchair.

            There are many ways to interpret this dream, but I don’t really need an interpretation. The dream provided what I needed, which was to see, as clearly as I can see the words on this computer screen, John walking and talking.

            I needed to see that empty wheelchair—which had symbolized John’s absence—become a symbol of life and healing, just like Easter’s empty tomb.

(Link to Kristi’s sermon)

© Mary Koch, Omak, Washington 2008