Lindy Thompson

I have become one of The Women.

I remember The Women clearly.
In my home church in the mid-eighties,
there were a handful of really tragic losses.
I can open a door in my mind
and look right back down the years to The Women
gathered around the bereaved mother at the head of the casket —
bringing her water,
giving her crackers,
remaining close by,
assuring her with their presence that they would not let her fall.

Through my young eyes,
the scene did not always make sense.
There would be, among the faces with reddened eyes,
smiles,
a cracked joke,
ladies nudging each other
amid quiet laughter.

I did not understand at the time
that deep grief is not a straight line.

Our chests rise with breath
whether we are glad to be alive in the moment or not.
Though our hearts may be in a state of grief,
our spirits fluctuate in response
to the actions of other people —
a kind word spoken,
a joy remembered,
a story shared.

The truth is,
if we live long enough,
we will each have our chance to become
one of The Supporters.
My memory is of women,
but we will all have a chance
to be there for another
in their hour of need and bewilderment.

Thank you to The Women
for modeling for my young self
what it is to love another person,
to step into the gap when it appears in another’s life
and be a bridge to convey them safely
from one kind of daily existence to another,
from one role to another –

all of us traveling together,
looking out for each other,
being love for each other
when everything else has receded from view.