On Family

If you know me, you most likely have heard that my cousin, Kristina Hinsdale, died in a car accident last week. My brother, Bryan, wrote a beautiful blog about her the day Kristina died. For the past three days, I was with family members, mourning, grieving and celebrating Kristina's life. I have also struggled with the same fact that my brother discusses; that my most vivid memories of spending time with Kristina are when we were kids. All this weekend, I was doing my best to remember everything I could about every interaction I had with Kristina, and I came up painfully short. I do remember her wide, bright eyes and her affinity for attempting to consume entire sticks of butter as a baby, given half a chance. 

I have a very large family, and spending time with them is becoming more and more difficult. I realized last night that the last time I had seen many of them was at my aunt Virginia's funeral, who passed away a year ago today. Actually, outside of weddings and funerals, I haven't seen extended family much at all for the past ten years or so. As I sat in the living room at my aunt, uncle and cousin Martin's house, I could picture times filled with music, stories and laughter when I was a child. That living room is where I learned about music and my uncle Mark found my first acoustic guitar, which I still own and play. That room is where my grandfather, uncle and his friends would sit in a circle and play bluegrass and folk tunes into the late hours of the night.

On the way home from that living room in Belews Creek, NC last night, My wife and I were listening to my old band's CD because we are playing a reunion show in March and I'm trying to familiarize myself with the songs and parts again. As we listened, I remembered that two of the songs were written in times of grief over the loss of a friend, Alex Naden, who also died in a car accident shortly before we went into the studio. At the time, I was an EMT, a firefighter, and a 911 dispatcher, and I had developed an unfortunate and (as I'm still finding out) long-lasting method of coping with death by shutting down my emotions. It is a strange thing to admit that. That singular fact is the reason I no longer pursue fire/EMS or dispatching, as much as I enjoyed helping others in their times of loss, hurt and grief. I do not want to shut down again.

As I spent time with my family this weekend and as I listened to the songs that had been written about Alex, the emotions related to the grief I feel for the loss of Kristina grew, and my inability to fully grieve over others I've lost in the past began to melt away. As much as they can hurt, emotions are gifts from God that let us know we are alive and that we are able to love.

I was asked to be a pall-bearer for Kristina. We were all given flowers to wear on our jackets and were informed that we could place them on her casket as we walked by the family. Some wanted to keep theirs, but I had a sudden realization; I don't know when the last time was that I gave something to Kristina. This was my chance, as simple as it seems, to give her something beautiful. And in return, she lit the flame that had burned out long ago of truly grieving and being able to feel in a deep way, the pain of loss and the joy of redemption from a place of brokenness and sorrow.

There is a song that has been popular for the past several years and has been covered by several different groups and artists. It was written by John Mark McMillan, and he made a video telling the story behind the song. It is a beautiful, raw and real reflection of what I believe many of us feel when we lose a loved one.