“Grief, I’ve learned, is really just love. It’s all the love you want to give but cannot. All that unspent love gathers up in the corners of your eyes, the lump in your throat, and in that hollow part of your chest. Grief is just love, with no place to go”.

At our mid-lives, we begin to see the beloved players in our stories fly from the chapters of our book. It matters not if that departure was expected or unforeseen, a death is a final blow from which we struggle fiercely to understand. And often times, we will never comprehend the finality. We will always wonder.

This week, we had a friend taken from us with a surprise force that was hard to reckon. It brought us to our knees, knocked the wind from us, left us reeling and aching. This was unexpected. This was an exit that tore us apart; will leave us all in tatters, maybe until the end of time. Some of us will struggle to get up off our knees and become whole again. But we will, for her.

She was a person that never met a stranger. Everyone was her ally. She touched a plethora of lives in the most positive of ways, never a harsh word passed her lips, not a negative thought flitted though her mind. She was that rare bird that made you feel like you were the best player on the field, the smartest person in the room, the funniest comedian in the club. She was truly laughter and light.

Related Video

She was Maureen.

The reality of death is that it is often unfathomable, inexplicable like a moon landing, indescribable like a double rainbow, brutal like a dark abyss within a field of poppies. It ruins you, it guts you and some days you will not know how to raise your head from the pillow, but you will because that’s what she would want.

Her grieving friends and family and acquaintances lined the streets of West Pittston to share their stories of unbridled adoration with her beloved, stoic family. We’ve never witnessed a wake with so many placeholders of love. The stars in the sky reflected the sadness lining the roads, the twinkle rotating around the moon that night was her. She was high above us, still nurturing and hugging us through the blankets of agony we all wore. She shone, even in death.

Her legacy is her daughter. This child is her. This child is destroyed, for now. She may not see anything but darkness for some time, but her mother burns bright within her and she knows this will save her own life. Every step she takes, every dimple, every laugh; this is her mother telling her: “It’s okay. Go forward. Set your own world on fire. Do it for me. As I did it for you.”

We all suffer loss. It’s as inevitable as the full moons and the rains in April. It’s a pain for which there is no antidote, except time. Is time enough? I just don’t know. But I do know she will cocoon her husband and daughter every single moment of their lives. She is the wind blowing around their injured hearts, she is the sun that heats their beaten souls, she is the cardinal that rests on their windowsill, she is the laughter that will come again through the brightness of her daughter. Her life will not be erased, it will be celebrated with every breath of her family and every morsel of joy that is left to explore. Grief is really just love. And on and on it goes.

https://www.psdispatch.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/04/web1_Maria-Heck.CMYK_.jpg.optimal.jpg

Life Deconstructed

Maria Jiunta Heck

Maria Jiunta Heck, of West Pittston, is a mother of three and a business owner who lives to dissect the minutiae of life. Send Maria an email at mariajh40@msn.com.