I wake early on Christmas morn and come downstairs to plug in the lights. I feel the loss of those who aren’t near this year – I feel the holes in my sphere and I feel grief here.
And then Love is talking to me, gently nudging my shoulder, embracing me and letting me know I am not alone.
I feel my dear ones gathering around me – those who have passed on, and those still on this plane of existence – I feel their love without distance – they’re with me still. I reach out and hug them back. There are no holes here. My heart is filled.
In my newest book,Looking Forward: More Adventures of the Madcap Christian Scientist, I talk more about my experience with loss in the chapter titled “And Loss Is Gain.” I think that chapter dovetails really well with the short in the Journal. There are details you’ll find in the Journal article that you won’t find in my book, and there are details in my chapter you won’t find in the Journal article.
Here’s the chapter from my book:
“And Loss Is Gain”
“O make me glad for every scalding tear, For hope deferred, ingratitude, disdain! Wait, and love more for every hate, and fear No ill, — since God is good, and loss is gain.” – Mary Baker Eddy, “Mother’s Evening Prayer”
When I learned Andrew and Christina might be moving to, literally, the other side of the world, I went through a period of deep mourning. It felt like someone I loved had died – like another huge loss in a long series of huge losses.
And then I started pulling together all the tools I had been collecting over the years – the insights and healings and epiphanies – and I constructed a bridge for myself over the deep mourning.
I remembered the dream I’d had when the sons had first started moving out of the house and creating their own lives: In the dream I was in some building that just went on forever. I was walking in a leisurely pace from room to room, and periodically this voice would ask, “Karen, do you want to turn around or not?” I’d grin like it was a joke, and just keep moving forward. I didn’t want to turn around. I didn’t want to go back. I didn’t want to be like Lot’s wife in the Bible, who turned around and became a pillar of salt – fixed in time. I didn’t want to yearn for what WAS, but I wanted to look forward to what was to come.
And then I remembered the time when my youngest son showed me yet another tattoo he’d had etched on himself, and I’d felt so grieved that he was covering his beautiful skin with these permanent etchings that I’d reached my thoughts out to God for help. The voice of Love had immediately answered my prayers with these words, “Xander doesn’t belong to you. He belongs to himself and he belongs to Me. What he does with his body and his life is NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS. Xander is fine, and will always be fine. And so are you.” I’d immediately felt the fears and grief lift from me. And when, the next day, Xander showed me the new tattoos on his knuckles, I found myself saying to him, “Oh! Those are cool! What do they mean?” He’d looked a little surprised by my reaction, and then he’d gone through and told me what each tattoo meant – the pine tree represented the Pacific Northwest; the top hat and smiley face represented humor; the mountain range represented our family heritage; the feather represented freedom; and the crown represented purpose. Isn’t that beautiful?
Another tool I pulled out was the memory of a time when my family was scattered out across the United States – I was in Chicago for my Christian Science Association, Andrew was living in Los Angeles, Xander and Scott were in Washington State – and I had a sort of revelation. Did our physical separation in any way weaken my love for my family? Did the fact that we weren’t in close physical proximity in any way make me love my sons and husband less? The answer, of course, was no. And then I thought about the loved ones who have died through the years and realized that death hasn’t stopped me from loving them, either. It became clear to me that NOTHING can separate us from the love we have for each other.
One morning, a couple of weeks after I’d learned of Andrew and Christina’s possible move, I woke up feeling full of joy. I walked out and stood on our back deck in the sunshine, breathed in the morning air, and listened to the birdsong. The thought came to me that something amazing is coming. I realized that not only does God have wonderful plans for Andrew and Christina, and Xander and Kyla, but She has wonderful plans for me, too.
If I were to stitch together a quilt for the last six years – a quilt built of quotes that have helped me survive – it would be a quilt of many colors – a quilt with a lilt – a quilt of words that poets have built. There’d be Newcomer and Oliver, Jesus, Beagle, and Pinney, Osman and Adams and Vonnegut and Eddy, Gandhi, Anne Frank, Goodall, and Tutu, Mandela, MLK, Jr., Gorman, and Angelou. Thích Nhất Hạnh’s words would be on it, and Michelle Obama’s, too. Mr. Rogers would be there, and Winnie the Pooh, and L’Engle, F.H. Burnett, Seuss, and Rick Steves, and in the background there’d be patterns of bright autumn leaves. Autumn brings beauty and autumn brings loss. But “Anytime you learn, you gain,” said the stellar Bob Ross. -Karen Molenaar Terrell
For I am persuaded that neither times of the month nor times of the year; neither astrological signs, nor doubts, nor fear; neither what’s far away, nor what lies near; neither what’s in the past, nor what’s now and here; neither war nor pandemic, nor loss nor tears can separate us from Love and all that’s dear.
Spring has always meant renewal for me – a time of new growth and baby things and the smell of blossoms. But I found myself feeling this deep sense of loss today as I drove the backroads to take one last look at the tulip fields.
I remembered driving around with my centenarian dad in the car just a few years ago – sharing the sights of Skagit County with him. I remembered chauffering Mom around to her appointments – and I remembered that day when she was trying to remember all the birds she’d seen so she could tell her friends about them: “Trumpeter swans and snow geese and herons.” I remembered the swans that were in that field at the beginning of April, spreading their wings for me. And I remembered the waves of snow geese that were here just weeks ago.
And now the tulips are topped, and the swans and snow geese have started their journey back north, and Moz and Dad are no longer here with me in their human bodies. And for a time today I felt this deep ache when I thought about the loss of all these beautiful forms.
Of course, the essence of all these things – the tulips and the swans and the snow geese, and Mom and Dad – is still with me. And I’m going to consciously wrap myself up in the love and joy and beauty and rejoice. But sometimes… sometimes there’s an ache.
topped tulips stand stark trumpeter swans are gone now April brings mourning
All That Is Gone
tulip petals in the lawn no more trumpeter swans my parents have moved on spring is supposed to be the dawn of seasons, new growth, lambs and fawns, but today I’m remembering all that is gone -Karen Molenaar Terrell
“…our disappointments and ceaseless woes, turn us like tired children to the arms of divine Love.” – Mary Baker Eddy
Topped Tulips in Skagit County, Washington. Photo by Karen Molenaar Terrell.
Loss teaches me there is no separation in Love there is no space between Good and me Loss shakes old beliefs shakes off what is untrue and makes me look at everything new What’s left is real what’s left is true
Love brings loss Loss brings Love – Karen Molenaar Terrell
“O make me glad for every scalding tear, For hope deferred, ingratitude, disdain! Wait, and love more for every hate, and fear No ill, — since God is good, and loss is gain.” -Mary Baker Eddy
Taking down the Christmas tree seemed especially hard for me this year. Every ornament brought back memories – sweet and dear – as I wrapped them up (both the ornaments and the memories) and packed them in the Christmas sack.
Ornaments Mom left me after she passed. Ornaments from former students in my class. Ornaments our sons made of pop-sickle sticks and glitter, macaroni and beads.
I felt the loss.
And I know. I know. I know. I know all the things you want to say: I know that Good is never really gone- It’s here to stay It lives on – in our memories. I know Love never ends – and I should be grateful for all the family, all the friends, all the love I’ve known in my life.
But as I take down the tree I’m missing you especially. -Karen Molenaar Terrell
I brought out the old address book this weekend to work on my Christmas cards. I’ve had that book about 30 years – I can no longer remember exactly where I got it or when – but when I first started writing names and addresses in it I’m sure I didn’t realize how significant it would one day become to me. It has become a chronicle of sorts – a record of friendships and family ties.
My mom was the youngest of ten children and my dad the middle of three – at one time I had 11 aunts and uncles – and their names and addresses are still in my address book, though they are all gone now – Mom and Dad are the only ones remaining in their generation. As I l started flipping through my address book, this was brought home to me. “I don’t have any more aunts or uncles to send Christmas cards to,” I told my husband, sort of in shock. My cousins, Julie and Skip and Chris, are gone now, too. And Craig and Mark. And I’ve lost friends through the years – Kim has passed, other friends have moved away and on, and I’ve lost my connection to them.
For a moment I was overwhelmed by sadness as I realized how many dear ones are no longer walking this earth with me.
But then, as I started working my way towards the back of each alphabetized section, I started finding more recent names and addresses – a record of new friendships and a younger generation of family members with their own homes. There was something about that discovery that lifted the sadness from me a little. Yes, I’ve lost loved ones through the years, but I’ve also gained new friends and new family. In the last ten years I’ve added the names of new friends living all over the world – people I’ve met through the internet or through my books – addresses for new friends in Minnesota, Michigan, Florida, Ontario, Nova Scotia, England, Kenya – people I never could have imagined knowing when I first got my address book all those years ago.
Although the book is pretty full now, I am happy to note there is still room for more addresses, more friendships. There will always be room in my address book. If I have to, I’ll just tape in more pages. It’s cool to think of all the new names and addresses my address book might hold in the future.
Adventures of the Madcap Christian Scientist 