The Unlikely Messenger: A Slice of Life with Debra Brown
There is a time for everything, and a season for every purpose under the heavens” – Ecclesiastes 3:1.
As the steam rose from the pavement during the August rain, I thought, “I didn’t expect to grieve every time Meredith left home, but I did.”
I felt sad when Meredith left high school for college. When she graduated and moved to Asheville, the house felt empty again. But then she came home to help care for my elderly parents and stayed as we built our business together. So when she later moved to Texas, it felt final, like a chapter had closed. And I stood in the hallway, holding on to old pages.
Each time, the house changed, too. The once noisy, chaotic, and full-of-life home became calm, quiet, and often too still.
At first, I missed everything: her singing behind closed doors, shouting from the next room, and even the laundry piles. I missed the rhythm of someone else’s routine echoing through my own.
That’s why I dodged puddles and hurried to meet my friend Joyce for lunch. The deli bustled with the noonday crowd, and the aroma of fresh-baked bread and simmering soups filled the air. Oh, how I needed this girl’s lunch.
My friend waved from a booth, her face beaming. I nodded, placed my order, and slid into the seat across from her.
Crowded tables dotted the center of the sun-filled room, with a row of booths on either side. The sound of orders called out, the clink of glasses, and lively chatter provided a backdrop for our meetup.
I hesitated to mention how much I missed Meredith. It felt silly. Seeing Meredith thrive and pursue her dreams filled me with happiness, but even joy had an ache around the edges.
So, instead of mentioning it after we picked up our salads, I said, “I love pretty food.” I focused on my bowl of fresh baby spinach, topped with sliced mushrooms, boiled eggs, tomato chunks, and chopped bacon. “Yum.”
“So, how are you?” Joyce asked. “It’s been a few weeks since Meredith left.” She took a bite of her food. “I’ve meant to get together sooner, but I’ve been so busy.”
“I understand,” I said. “And to answer your question, I’m OK. But I didn’t know how much I’d miss the sound of Meredith’s laugh. It was infectious.”
I speared a bite of spinach and egg, the sweet tang of dressing drifting upward.
Joyce nodded, her eyes soft and understanding.
“Right now, you miss the noise. The chaos. Even the shoes scattered everywhere.”
“Exactly,” I said. “And every time I open something, I find a memory spilling out.” Feeling all the emotions, my salad sat forgotten as we chatted.
She smiled. “It’s like our homes have a heartbeat that changes each season. It doesn’t mean it’s over, just different.”
She paused, taking a bite, and I mirrored her, savoring the moment.
“When the house settles,” she said, “you’ll settle, too. And then you’ll be ready for the next chapter.”
The banter warmed my heart as we moved on to lighter topics. We discussed plans for the weekend, laughed over my cat Toby’s antics, and enjoyed girl talk. I felt grateful for a good friend and meaningful conversation as we finished our meals.
Joyce’s encouragement stayed with me; just one more gift from a friend who always knew what I needed, even when I didn’t.
She was right. The heartbeat of our home hadn’t stopped. It had simply slowed down and changed tempo.
I heard subtle things in the quiet: thoughts about new interests and nudges of possibilities. When life found its new cadence, space for change appeared.
So, when Joyce called to check in, I said, “I’m fine, or at least I’m getting there.” I took a sip of water and brought her up to date. “It was nice lingering over dinner with Allen last night. We talked about our day like we used to before life got hectic.”
Maybe Allen had been concerned about me. Warmth bloomed in my chest. I knew he missed Meredith, too. Even the cats stared out the window, waiting for her to return.
“We’re also planning a ‘mate date’ as Pastor Tony encourages couples to do.”
We giggled, tossing around ideas for new restaurants and movies. So many choices stretched before us.
I found new routines: coffee with friends, walks for exercise, and quiet mornings filled with journaling and prayer.
When the quietness felt like something was missing, or more specifically, someone was missing, I fixed a chai latte, lit a candle, and gave thanks for the memories we made in the craziness of active family life.
Missing Meredith didn’t vanish when the house settled, but it softened.
In the quiet moments, I’ve found that silence isn’t emptiness, but a space for connection, creativity, and self-discovery. Amidst grief, I’ve uncovered a new harmony that blends sorrow with gratitude, reminding me that every season has beauty.
Debra Brown’s motto is “Be the Spark.” She has a passion for family, her 3 cats, flowers, pretty food, and health & wellness. Devra is an author, UGA honors graduate/The Citadel MBA.