By: Erin M Diericx
A reflection on the big tears of grief.
Six years ago my best friend and soulmate, Nate, made the journey to heaven after being in hospice for a few weeks. It was a miracle Nate lived to be thirty-two (two months shy of his thirty-third birthday). Nate had Leighs Dystonia, which made him medically fragile where a common cold could have killed him at a young age. Nate could barely move his arms and head, and he could not talk, besides audible sounds. However, Nate used his eyes to communicate and show emotion. His empathic ways touched everyone he met. We met in preschool at age three and went to school together through high school. Although life circumstances separated us for a decade, we could always communicate through time and space.
One could say I had thirty-two years to prepare myself for the inedible. Even at a young age, I knew Nate would go to heaven well before me. But nothing prepares you for the most dramatic moment where your better half leaves the world. Six years ago was the worst day of my life. There were big tears late at night when my personal caregiver left. There were big angry tears with pleads to God to give him back. There were big tears of regret for time wasted. The big tears kept coming in waves, and they come even now occasionally.
To say Nate fought to live in the world as long as he could would be an understatement. Nate did everything he could to share his love to those who he loved, especially his mom and dad, his older brother and sister, and me, through his eyes and smile. It was difficult to figure out how to go forward in the world without Nate, though I knew that’s what he wanted me to do. I found a Celtic grieving prayer, where it encourages you to be gentle with yourself and to finish those unfinished conversations with your loved one (see right). With our ability to communicate through space and time, finishing those conversations happened naturally over time.
Over the next few months, I started painting the NATErin series of water scenes with the sun and/or moon, a gold bird, and our signature in gold. The first couple paintings were dark and angry, though eventually a sunny sea scene emerged as the grieving process evolved.
Fast forward to now: with the pandemic, sheltering in place, and the death toll coming closer to home, it has only been in the last year that I started branching out from water scenes to rolling hills to mountain scenes with the sun and/or moon, a gold bird, and our signature in gold. It has grown into a ministry to help others through the grieving process. I make cards with the original NATErin painting and send them to friends and family who have lost a loved one.
Painting each scene connects me with Nate and with others who have lost a loved one. As I paint each gift, I remember the initial pain and the raw emotions with the big tears, and I pray the receiver feels some peace in knowing their loved one is still present in their heart.
If you said six years ago the day held a promising ministry, I would have screamed your head off, because there was no possible way without time. The NATErin ministry is Nate’s last gift to me as we help those newly grieving the lost of a loved one. It is something we built together—first as gifts to his family and now as gifts to others, even after his death. Nate entrusted me with this gift to share his love and empathic ways with others, which is a privilege and honor, and I know Nate will always be in my heart.