Christofer’s memorial happened last weekend. I hadn’t realized the stress that put on me until Friday, when i just wanted to call it off. I, my whole family, have been grieving for nearly two months now, and it felt like opening the wound all over again. Not to be gross, but going with the wound analogy, it was more like draining an infection. Maybe it had scabbed over, but still ached something awful. It hurt, draining it. Bad. But when all was said and done, it was really, really for the best.
Some people I would never have thought would come, did. Some I expected to be there, weren’t. All in all, it was a packed house of people who love us, who love Chris. There was so much love and light in that sweltering train station, no one cared they were swimming in their own clothes. Whether or not you believe Chris was there with us, no one can deny how his presence gathered all that love now radiating out into the world. And that’s a positive pulled from this negative.
I didn’t write anything for the event. I started the show with the Rilke poem my friend brought to me the day after his death and then let everyone else speak. I’ve been writing and sharing here since the days following his death. Saturday was really for those who still needed an outlet. Family, friends, professors from WCSU, co-workers from Curaleaf. Some joked, most wept at some point. The beauty of their words touched everyone.
At one point, I saw a group of boys–young men–together, Chris’ friends from childhood, who hadn’t seen one another in years. They joked and laughed, hugged and wept. I could almost see Chris standing among them, smiling. And that was a positive pulled from this negative.
A young man called me a couple of weeks ago, asking about the memorial. He was once a world class martial artist who can now barely walk from room to room without assistance. He told me about the day Chris went to see him, bringing his bow, arrows and a target. His friend couldn’t lift the bow he’d once been master of, let alone pull the string. Chris put his friend’s hands on the bow, put his own hands over his friend’s, pulled the string for him, and let it fly. He did it over and over again, giving back to his friend something he’d forever lost. That is love. That is Chris. Hearing this story, one Chris never told me himself, was a positive pulled from this negative.
Sharing my pain has brought people into my life, people I would never have otherwise known. Some of you might be reading this now and thinking, “Does she mean me?” The answer is, “Yes, I do.” Friends of his, old and new, I’d never have met or reconnected with, who’ve shared with me pieces of my son I didn’t know about. Stories of his beauty I’d never have heard. People going through similar events who’ve connected with me. who I already cherish. Shared sorrow creates bonds as strong and as deep as shared joy. Others who simply sympathize, whether connected through a friend or family member, or randomly on the internet. Chris’ death has shown me people I’ve known and loved for years in an entirely new light. These are all positives taken from this negative, and I’m so grateful.
Taking a positive from any negative lessens the power of that negative. I’ve always believed this to my core. It’s not betraying love, it’s validating it. It’s not forgetting, it’s remembering in the most loving way possible. To say there is nothing positive about my son’s death is not only a lie, it’s harmful. Would I give back all these positives and more to have him back? Absolutely. But that’s not an option, so I’ll take every one of these positives, and all the others that come my way, and embrace them with all my heart.
Peace.
Modesty Is For Suckers 
Love in abundance, dearest, Terri.
You are in my thoughts every single day.
xXx
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And back to you, cariad.
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(((((((((((((((Terri)))))))))))))) I was there in spirit. Hugs to you all.
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I know you were, sweetling. ❤
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My eyes fill with tears as I read this post. Not sadness, but joy that through the love of those in attendance, Christopher was in the room and sharing his light. As he always will be. You know my heart is with you every single day, my friend. So please don’t forget I’m here if you need me.
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I have a story to share about that very thing. Wednesday free float, or when we have lunch. 🙂
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That is grace, and joy, and love in its ultimate form. I need a tissue.
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I’ll give you one on Wednesday. 🙂
Thank you, love. Truly.
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Your wisdom and warmth have left me in awe over your time of grief. I know the grief must feel crippling at times, but your soul shines through it, a symbol of hope and real courage.
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That made me cry a little. Thank you, Sarah. ❤
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That was beautiful, Terri-Lynne. You are always in my thoughts and in my heart. Love you. xo
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To the moon and back, Marg. ❤
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Lots of <3, always.
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Back at you, Deb. ❤
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Dear Terri and Family,
I am sorry I did not know about the gathering on Saturday. I hope you know I have been thinking of you.
Sincerely,
Chris Sprindis
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Of course I do. And thank you, Chris.
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I drank in every word you wrote, with tears in my eyes. I, too feel like I knew Chris, because you have painted such a beautiful picture of him. I am learning to cope from all your words, and I thank you for that. I know they are hanging together, and happy. I hope he is teaching Jordan to shoot the arrows.
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Another positive to pull from the negative, Jackie. A huge positive for me. Thank you. So much peace and love.
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Wish I could have been there Terri but I was burying my dad. Seems like it was a cleansing of sorts for all.
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I’m so sorry, Dor. My heart is with you. If there is anything I can do, please don’t hesitate to ask.
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My lovely Terri-Lynne I very rarley read your Blogs but I love the way you summed it up. There was a great deal of love for Chris in so many people that it helps to know what a fine son we raised. I love you my darling Terri.
Your Frankie D
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You’ll probably never get this comment, my Frankie D. I don’t even know how you found your way to my blog! I love you so much.
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I found it and I truly love you and we need each other more than ever. i may even buy you a charm for your empty bracelet if you have one?
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You’re such a goofball. ❤
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Having spent a week in Michigan last week burying my father-in-law, watching his ten sons–including his youngest, a teen the same age as my youngest–carry his casket, I know it is very easy to get sucked away by grief. To see nothing but shadows. That’s why what you’ve written here is both inspiring and an amazing tribute to who you are. So proud to call you my friend.
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Oh, sweetie. I didn’t know! I’m so sorry for your loss. You were so there for me! And I didn’t have a clue. If you need me, you know where to find me. ❤ x a million.
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Your words are often inspiring to me .I am so very sorry for your family’s loss.you are very strong and your family is very lucky to have you.xoxox
How did the time slip away from us …..♡♡♡♡
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Debbie, life has a way of running away with us, huh?
Thank you, love. ❤ Maybe we can get a Blessed Sacrament get together going this autumn?
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