The Grief Trilogy
For Delaina Jeanne Hodgson
October 25, 1976-October 16,1998
By Angela D. Middaugh
October 1999
Thesaurus
The language has yet to be discovered,
or invented,
that adequately describes or portrays
Grief.
How can one expect in 5 insignificant letters
to express the magnitude,
the utter depth and breadth
of this chasm in my chest?
This chasm that began,
after the numbness wore off
as an ache in my heart, which, nurtured, grew...
and grew...
And grew to such proportions that my
chest
Could no longer contain it,
Until, with no place left to go,
The pain clawed its way out.
Now I grasp for words to fill the
void it left behind.
I grapple and struggle
and rail against fate, and man, but never God.
What other word for loss?
How many more letters before "pain" sounds as
prodigious as it feels?
How long until the expressions cease to belittle the experience?
The Monument
My heart was a lump of clay,
Circumstance carried it in his hands-
Flung it under the wheel, and molded it until
A mangled lump lay still and cold at his feet.
Grief bathed it in color-
Pulled out his pallet and coated it
In grays and greens with a brush of tears until
The passion and the joy were extinguished forever.
Time fired it in his kiln-
Slowly, slowly, over hours and days and weeks
The colors bled, deepened, gained luster until
My heart lay frozen and silent
A vivid Monument to Pain.
Grief is...
Someone once said to give myself a year...then I’d be "ok"
well, it’s been twelve months and three weeks exactly and I’m still waiting...
Someone once said I should be happy...she’s in a better place, she’s happy and healthy and perfect.
well, my tears aren’t for her, they’re for me and her mother and her grandmother and her friends...
for all the ones who aren’t in a better place...
Someone once said not to feel so bad...after all she’s looking down on us and would’ve wanted us to get on
with our lives.
Oh, God, I hope she’s not looking down on us! What a waste! No, I think she’s sitting in a field of
wild flowers, taking deep lungs-full of pollen without wheezing, "celloing" pain-free with a
tummy full of shellfish, nut-chew in her mouth, as kittens wind around her ankles, puppies
frolic at her fee, and a pony rests it’s muzzle on her shoulder...
Someone once said I shouldn’t feel so alone... she’s always here in my heart and in my mind.
well, unfortunately ameritech hasn’t set up phone service to my heart and the post office doesn’t
deliver to my mind, so I can’t seem to reach her there...
People talk like this grief should be some beautiful,
transcendent experience.
Guess what: I don’t feel beautiful or transcendent.
I feel alone and angry and afraid.
Grief is not some gentle and beautiful thing.
Grief is an ocean, awesome and overwhelming and endless in scope.
On my good days, I am distantly aware
of the murmuring of the tide, sort of a soundtrack to my life.
On my bad days all I can hear is the roar as the undertow
drags me further and further from any solid footing,
and all I taste is the salt water of my tears.
Someone once told me that the difference between the sublime and the beautiful is that while the beautiful is desirable and appealing, the sublime is not...it is incomprehensible and awesome and scary and uncontrollable as well.
Well, in life she was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen...In death she is the most sublime...
Do not stand at my grave and weep.
I am not there, I do not sleep. I am
a thousand winds that blow. I am
the diamond glints on snow. I am the
sunlight on ripened grain. I am the
gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the mornings
hush. I am the swift up-flinging
of quiet birds in circling flight.
I am the soft star that shines at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry.
I am not there. I did not die.
From the Lovejoys
Somewhere,
a journey begins
at the end of the worldly
existence we know...
Somewhere,
a path stretches
over the stars
and rivers
of memories flow
Somewhere, a silence
is heard far away
and the brightness of day
fills the night...
Where the trials of life
are resolved into peace--
when a soul finds its way
to the light.
From Franklin Rd Christian School
Delaina
There was a light and you were born.
We cherished the day that we had you to adore.
You have something in you--Something special inside.
There's no way for you to hide it from the world.
You are destined to be something great for the world to see!
Even though you're not here Your still with us inside.
We feel your love, and that makes our pain subside.
If we look to the future, we will see that everything will
be o.k. because you, our beloved, are set free.
You are with God now, that we know, for in our hearts God tells us so.
Just remember we all love you and we'll never forget you.
You give us inspiration and hope and the strength to live on.
You affected us all, with your heart of gold.
Each of us have a piece of you inside of us, you'll always be
with us in our hearts, minds and souls.
And when it's my time to be taken away I won't be sad or afraid
because I know you and all of those we love will be there to
meet me at the gates of heaven, and once again I'll see your loving
caring face.
Charles Eugene White
From morning suns
and evening dews
At first thy little being came:
If nothing once,
you nothing lose,
For when you die you are the same;
The space between, is but an hour,
The frail duration of a flower.
From the Scarbroughs
Perhaps God is a poet
who writes with words
of flesh and bone and leaf and flower.
Every hour of every day,
words pour out of the poet's heart,
and every word is beautiful
and true and worth the telling.
And when each
poem is perfect,
and there is no more which ought to be said,
the poet gently takes the words
back into his heart, where
they are safe forever...
and then begins again.
From the Mikas
On the day that you were born, the angels got together and decided to create a dream come true.
The Earth is lot large enough to hold all the strength and courage and wonderment that you create and explode in your wake. So...
Go Girl...go to "your place" with the Lord--the Lord you love so much...
From Grandma Middaugh
My life is but a weaving,
between my God and me;
I do not choose the colors,
He worketh steadily.
Ofttimes He weaveth sorrow,
and I the underside.
Not till the loom is silent,
and shuttles cease to fly,
will God unroll the canvas,
and explain the reason why.
The dark threads are as
needful in the skillful
Weaver's hand,
as the threads of gold &
silver in the pattern He
has planned.
From Debbi Palumbo
May my life be
like a finely tuned
instrument upon
which the
Master Musician
creates a melody
that brings His
peace to all
that may hear
From Jennifer Rosier
'Delaina'
I.
Why is it that I mourn so much for her?
She was your firstborn, your daughter.
She was a sister to two others.
I being only another,
mostly a stranger.
She was a young neighbor girl
growing up amongst other people's houses,
she was a student living with her peers.
I am on the fourth floor though,
she was on the first.
She knew much pain.
She had cancer, the kind of pain
that starts easting away,
first from the body and then
toward the soul.
I know much pain, but
pain of a different kind.
Mine started in my soul
and will finish, eating away my body.
She was working to help others,
she was going to guide them to strength.
I am working to find a means,
a means of fighting for my life.
She was a cellist,
I am a cellist.
She smiled when I saw her.
II.
Now four months have gone
and her pain is distant.
I can freshly remember the sadness.
My longing for a loss far-gone
before it disappeared.
It was strange to mourn,
for a loss so confusing.
But it was good, it was whole.
Till this day I am not sure
what it is I lost. Maybe nothing,
or perhaps I gained something.
I know part of what you,
her mother lost.
I don't fit in the picture though,
the one with you and her father
alongside her two brothers,
the one taken two years ago at Halloween.
I was never there.
I will never be there.
I am here though.
I am here and have just now gained,
an understanding of the beauty
of something come and gone,
but never had.
It sits with me and waits,
for a time when we will both have a purpose.
Ellen Bronder
Preface
In our Judeo Christian belief, we traditionally believe that God
dispatches an angel to bring back the soul of the believer upon
their death.
_____________________
Ed Chinoski
On October 17, 1998, I was about my Saturday chores, cleaning
the hot tub in the back yard. Inside the house, I heard the phone
ringing and Joyce picked up the phone saying "Hello." Sometime
after that, she said "Good Bye" in tears and shock. She came
outside to me, where I was cleaning the hot tub. She then
proceeded to tell me the horrific news, Delaina Hodgson had been
killed in a tragic vehicle accident involving two(2) tractor trailer
trucks.
I have enjoyed a closer walk with God more than most and in so
doing, I have on occasion received different visions from God,
revealing himself to me with ideas or thoughts where I could be
used of God. Upon receiving the news of Delaina, I received such
a vision. The scene was Jesus Christ sitting on the right hand side
of God the Father. God was in the process of summoning an angel
to depart to the tragic site of the accident in Toledo, OH,
when Jesus Christ said, "Wait Father, I’ll go and get Delaina
myself. She belongs to me!."
________________________
Jesus Christ, Himself, was at the crash site and was witnessed by
several at the crash scene. Sgt. Murphy, police officer with 30
years experience with the Toledo Police Dept., said he never felt
such emotion as he did that day. He said that when the trucks
were pulled apart, Delainas’ eyes pierced into his soul and said "I
love you!." Angels cannot express such emotion. Michael Downs,
a professional poet who witnessed the terrible crash, wrote a poem
titled, "A Strangers Passing," to Delaina while waiting for the
police and firemen to clear the site. He spoke of the tremendous
emotion(he has left a comment in the Guest Book). He testifies
that he and God have come to "an understanding and he owes
Delaina a big "Thank You," when he greets her in Heaven."
My Delaina
I really do not have enough computer space to put all of what this girl
meant to me. She was wonderful, pretty cute, and most of all a strong woman in Christ
She was tragically taken on October 16, 1998 in a road accident. She was
on her way to see her parents in Detroit. I almost fainted when I heard the news...and
grant it took me a long time to cope. Heck, it is a daily struggle for me...
but I know that she is watching over me, because she lives on in my head and
in my heart. She has influenced many while alive and she continues to this
day. I have a signature on my email that is to her. People often ask "Who is Delaina?"
When I tell them the story...people will say, "She wa special," or "Wow, I wish I could
have known her a lot better." I want her parents to know taht she did not live her life in
vain...not at all. I can only wish that when I leave this world that I would have
accomplished half as much as she did. Delaina...girl...I think of you all the time...
and I know you are watching me...and I am so happy that you are with our Lord and Savior.
YOU OWE ME A LOT OF HUGS!!! I'll see you when I get there!!
R.J. - Classmate of Delaina
The Bumper Sticker
It says, "My sister died and went to heaven and all I got is this lousy Jeep."
Wait; let me start a little bit earlier.
Picture the mother collapsing to the floor. Her son, barely awake, is trying to
figure out who these two men in his house are. "Where is my dad? What's going
on?" His eyes, groggy from a restful nap can barely make out the badge on the younger
man's shirt. Someone is dead. Who is dead? "Man, this is a messed up dream," he
thinks. "My sister is dead? No, Delaina is on her way for homecoming. Why is a priest
here? The intensity of the moment has totally caught him off guard. "My sister can't
be dead...I'd like to wake up now...I *said* 'I'd like to wake up now.'" the boy never
woke up from his nightmare, because he was allready awake.
My sister died in October of last year. A trucker fell asleep at the wheel. Needless to
say, this past year hasn't been the easiest for my family. We got a bunch of money out
of it though (note my lack of enthusiasm). "Truck drivers have a responsability on the
road. They need to know when they are too tired to drive." Did I mention yet that I
love my jeep?
My car at the time was an '89 Honda stick-shift with 261,000 miles on it. It figures
that when asked what I wanted to do with my money, I said 'buy a new car.' I call it my
Christmas present from Delaina.
Picking out my new car wasn't very hard at all. I've wanted a Jeep Wrangler ever since
I was old enough to know what it was. My father and i spent a month discussing what
options and color to get. I think we really bonded. By the time we walked into the
dealership, I was able to slam a sheet of paper down on the desk, point to it and say,
"I want this. Don't try to sell me anything off the lot. I want this." In four weeks
I had my brand new 2000 Jeep Wrangler Sport.
It is jet black, with a black hard-top. I also have a soft-top for the summer. I wouldn't
even dream of putting any decals on it, but if I did, I would have to customize one.
Have you ever seen those tacky souvenir T-shirts, "My Grandma went to Nepal and all I got
was this lousy T-shirt?" My sister took a trip too. I think my souvenir is a little
bit better than a T-shirt. "My sister died and went to heaven and all I got is this lousy
Jeep." I like my jeep.
I used to take family for granted. A sleeping truck driver changed that for good. My
family has grown closer through this tragedy. We say, "I love you" a lot. In addition, I
recieved a gift that can climb mountains.
Jacob Garry Hodgson
December 15, 1998
Dear Friends and Family
There is an old Chinese curse: May you live in interesting times. As most of you know,
1998 has been an interesting time for me and my family.
Last January I left the relative safety of "Nanny-hood" and took a job as a pre-school
teacher. I am now working as a Teaching Assistant for the UAW-Ford Child Development
Center. In August I got a new car-yay me-my "dream car," a turquoise Saturn sports
coup. In September I transferred to Eastern Michigan University, where I am now officially
a Junior. Christina, my god-daughter, began pre-school (which was more traumatic for me,
I think, than for her); and her brother DJ, my god-son, started 2nd grade. All of these
changes have been interesting.
Now this is the part of my annual Christmas letter where I update you on my family. You
know, the part where I say Val and her family are all healthy, happy, and accounted for--
more or less depending on the day and time. Mom and Daddy are getting by. Vicki's boys,
Daniel and Jacob are awesome. Which is to say, not only do I look at them and say "Awwww,"
but I look at them and feel awe too. This is the part of the letter I don't even know how
to write this year
In early September my Mom's mom, my Grandma, died. She had been ill for years. In fact she
hadn't known me for many years, so while the sadness and grief--the sense of a lost relationship
--were there, it was easy to say "she's at peace now," and be comforted by it. My sister
Vicki and her daughter Delaina, drove up to the funeral with me. i was so glad that they
did, because Delaina and I wew both in school, I hardly got to see her, except on the holidays
.
What I didn't realize was that the trip was precious for another reason. It was the last
time I saw Delaina. Less than a month later, on October 16th, Delaina was coming home from
chool in Ohio when her car was crushed by a semi-truck. The events of the rest of the year
seem rather pale in comparison.
There are so many things I could say about Delaina's life, and her death. On October 25th
she would have been 22. In those 22 years she survived a broken back, cancer and chemotherapy,
variou strains, sprains and breaks, miscellaneous surgeries...the list is endless. All that
she lived through, to have her die in such a way seemed like a hideous joke. It still does.
There are no words profound enough to express the things I'm feeling--amazingly they are not
all bad. Losing Delaina was the worst thing I could imagine happening. The lack of her
somewhere in the world is incomprehensible to me. And yet, her death was not some meaningless
tragedy. Because I know that not only is she in Heaven, with her Great-Grandma, and her Jesus
who she loved so much, but like a shooting star that burns too brightly to burn for long, she
is taking a trail of friends, loved ones, and even strangers with her. Of the nearly 700(!)
people who came to her Memorial Service, I can witness to at least one soul that was saved.
An Ohio Police Sergeant, the Officer at the scene of the accident, who stayed with her,
accepted Jesus as his Savior. I know that Delaina would have willingly given her life for
that one soul, but her legacy reaches far beyond that. From Ohio to California. From the US
to Hungary to China. Lives were profoundly touched by this tiny little woman-child, and none
of
them will ever be the same.
I had decided not to write a Christmas letter this year. How could I possibly write anything hopeful,
at the end of such a year? then as I drove to work one day I had the most amazing realization:
God is a Daddy. Not only is He our Daddy, but He's the Daddy of a Son he watched be born,
who He loved, and who He watched die a violent and undeserved death. And if any love we have
for each other, for our children or firneds or spouses is only a pale reflection of the love
He has for us...then how much greater must His grief have been? And yet He gives us hope
every day, with each sunrise, with each newborn baby. And knowing this, how can we not celebrate
Christmas? How can we not celebrate the birth of the One who died for Delaina, and that Police
Officer, and you, and me?
If you take one thing from this letter, besides a thumb-nail sketch of a year in the life, let it
be this: Jesus Christ is not a myth. He is not a "good man" who lived 2000 years ago, and He is not
dead. His power is as real today as it was when he rose from the dead. And it's not about "Religion,"
it's about a Relationship. We don't still celebrate the birth of that common baby 2000 years ago for
no reason...
That is my sermon for this year. Now I wish you all a peacefull, prosperous and boring 1999.
Angela Middaugh
