A few years ago Marcus and I experienced the season of weddings. We married young, so we were the first of our friends and cousins to tie the knot. But others quickly followed suit, and it wasn’t long before we spent every weekend (or so it felt) celebrating with friends and family as they embarked upon their lives together.
Logically, the season of babies followed. Not only did we eventually have three children of our own, but we welcomed cousins, fellow Demon Deacons, and friends and neighbors. To be frank, when it came to kids, our proverbial cups runneth over.
And now, like it sometimes happens with real seasons, I suspect that Marcus and I are preparing to encounter a difficult season ahead in our lives. Both in our early thirties, we’ve been blessed to bring our children into a world where they are surrounded by loving family, including both grandparents and great-grandparents. And this week, we lost their first great-grandmother and Marcus’ grandmother. The blow has hit us all hard, both in what it means to us as a real loss and what it says about the road ahead.
My post isn’t meant to be about what a wonderful woman Grandma was (and she was a wonderful woman) or how much she’ll be missed (by so many, more than words can say). It isn’t meant to talk about all the wonderful things she did for the Cuban community (and she did so much). It isn’t about her beautiful daughter, sons, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren (and they are all amazing). It isn’t about her devoted husband (and he is an amazing man, too). There are children and grandchildren who could sing her praises much better than I.
Instead, it’s about this season that I fear is upon us. The season where I realize that we’re mortal and where we learn that death is all around us. This is the season when I will have to explain to my children that someone has died. It’s the season where I fear one death may be followed by another.
I long for the seasons of weddings and births.