Resilience

I am back in Bowmanville today to officiate at a funeral service. The church closed and the congregation disbanded but I agreed to be available for funerals until people find themselves connected to their new congregation. The gentleman who died would have turned 83 in August and he was married to his wife for 59 years. Those are big numbers.

Perhaps that it is that I am dressed in my black funeral clothes. Perhaps I am thinking of the family as they prepare to go to the church for their time of good-bye to this one who had been the pillar of their family. Perhaps I am still jet-lagged from a recent trip. Perhaps it is because I am staying for the morning with my niece in the farmhouse where I grew up but, whatever it is I am feeling reflective.

I stood at the kitchen window washing out my cereal bowl in the sink, the sink where I washed dishes during my growing-up years. I watched my great niece walk the lane to the barn, her rubber boots rubbing against her calves, her arms swinging and I thought of my mother who would have stood at this kitchen window by the sink watching her kids walk down the lane to the barn. This is an old house. Other families owned it before my parents did. I wondered how many generations of women have stood at this window and watched their children make that walk, carrying a milk pail or an egg basket, off to do the chores.

I am just back from two weeks in Europe. We visited Hungary, Austria, Germany, the Czech Republic. We saw beautiful, historic buildings. We heard over and over. These were destroyed by the bombing of World War 2. This was a shell of a building after the war. There was significant damage here during the war. All now rebuilt to their former glory, but occasionally still bearing marks of damage done but, to the unpracticed eye, now glorious in their splendour.

All this considered I am struck by the resilience of humanity. Loved ones die, we mourn, mark their passing and life goes on. Buildings get destroyed, we shake our fists and we rebuild. Children grow up and the next generation comes along and take up the chores of collecting the eggs and feeding the hay. It is not a maudlin thought. It is a powerful thought – the remarkable tenacity of the human spirit.

Standing at the kitchen window, cereal bowl in hand, I am moved to gratitude for the many women who have stood here and watched their children carry life forward.