My friend Jean Tutor passed away one week ago today, one year to the day that she learned she had breast cancer. In that year those of us who love her were uplifted and inspired by her courage, her strength, her love, and most of all by her unwavering faith. Her death has left a void in our lives that can only be filled with all of the incredible memories of her love and laughter.
Twice this past week I caught myself saying we lost Jean. We haven't lost her. When something is lost, you don't know where it is. We know exactly where Jean is. She is safe in the arms of Jesus, and reunited with loved ones.
Our pain is not because of where she is. It's because of where she isn't. She isn't here with us. She's not here planning our next get together (Our motto: Any excuse to get together and have a party). She's not planning her next holiday mega shopping excursion or devising a plan of attack for a yard-sale-ing expedition. Jean was always in the middle of all that we do. And now there's a huge hole in the middle of all that we do where she should be.
In the movie "Shadowlands," the film adaptation of C.S. Lewis' A Grief Observed, Lewis (played by Anthony Hopkins) recalls that his wife Joy told him that the pain he would feel when she was gone is part of the happiness he felt when she was with him. I understand that saying more fully today. The pain we are feeling is precisely because of how much we love her and how much a part of our lives she has been. The blessing is that as time passes, the pain is replaced bit by bit with the happy memories we have. And boy do we have them. 15 years worth in the case of my family.
We miss you, Jean.
Whereof the one, that with us trod
this planet, was a noble type
Appearing ere the times were ripe,
That friend of mine who lives in God,
That God, which ever lives and loves,
One God, one law, one element,
And one far-off divine event,
To which the whole creation moves.
(from "In Memoriam," Alfred, Lord Tennyson)
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