A Walk In Grief

It was an early morning in August. I received a call from someone, it’s odd that I don’t remember exactly who called. The person told me that my best friend Kathy’s husband had been killed in a paragliding accident. I made a quick decision to take the day off of work and drive to her home out in the country.

Kathy’s daughter, Kaya, was four at the time and she wasn’t aware her daddy was never coming home. She was seemingly content, playing and going through her usual routine. Everything felt very surreal, like it was all a dream. Kathy had to deal with the formalities of getting her husband’s body out of Canada and making funeral arrangements. Tasks that felt huge and difficult to comprehend for all of us, and especially for Kathy.

Kathy’s husband loved to paraglide. He was a stay-at-home daddy and would escape off into the mountains to paraglide whenever he could. There was a place fairly close to their home perfect for paragliders but he loved to explore new places and take on new challenges. Knowing this, Kathy made surprise arrangements for him to go paragliding at a special event in Canada. It was a birthday present.

Two officers came to her door very early in the morning and somehow she knew why they were there. She said, “no, no, no!” and shut the door. Understanding this wouldn’t make the news any different she opened the door again to let them tell her John wouldn’t be coming home. He was found deceased after some stormy weather caused him to lose control and crash into a river.

We all sat there in her living room at a loss for what to say or do. Being there to play with Kaya, let the dog in and out, and make snacks was the best anyone could offer in these early stages of grief. Being there and being available for whatever was needed was the action. There weren’t any special words or deeds sufficient to lessen the pain. The grief tidal wave was upon us and only time would reduce the force.

In the early hours of that first day, Kathy asked me to go for a walk with her and their big, beautiful dog Kodiak along the river near their home. I remember the sound of the gravel under our feet, the breeze rustling the leaves of the big trees, the crisp country air and the peaceful sound of the river next to us. I wondered what Kathy was thinking and I let her know I was there for anything she needed. I didn’t say much as we walked quietly in the fog of grief and the surreal feeling of going through the motions in what feels like a dream. Then Kathy said, “It’s so unfathomable to think about all the people on this earth going through this much pain right now.”

The thought was a bit overwhelming and at the same time, connected us to all of humanity. We are not alone no matter what we are going through. I was in awe of her beauty in that moment. The beauty of her mind, heart and soul. She was thinking of others and experiencing deep compassion during one of her darkest days.

In any given moment there is pain, death, anguish, birth, joy, enthusiasm. The ability to see the whole picture, beyond the tiny patch we are standing in, offers a glimpse of peace and strength in the most difficult times.

Our walk in grief on that August day changed a piece of me and added to my already immense love of my friend Kathy. It seemed we had seen it all in our friendship that had already spanned our lifetime but there were bigger experiences, and awareness around the corner we never could have foreseen. The only thing constant in life is change and we have the choice to open our hearts and minds to see the whole picture.