On June 17, 2016 (at 11 minutes after midnight, to be exact), we posted this picture on our Facebook page. The grave belongs to Florence Irene Ford who died at the age of 10 in 1871.  Florence had been terrified of storms during her brief life, so at her death her mother had a special space constructed at the head of her grave and a glass window installed in her casket.  When storms began to brew, her mother would make her way to the cemetery, descend the set of stairs that were included in the design, and sit there throughout the storm, comforting her child.  Metal doors were used to close off the space, protecting her from the same storm that she braved in order to be with her Florence.

That post was seen by 14,039 people, compliments of having been shared 92 times. It was liked by 259 people; 32 loved it, 29 hit the WOW button, and 21 indicated they were saddened by it.  And 72 comments were added, ranging from “this is really creepy” to “this just goes to show that a mother’s love knows no bounds”.  Those numbers may not seem like a lot to the standard Facebook user, but for our little page it was a bunch.

My daughter came to visit the following day and I showed her the post, mainly because I thought it was fascinating and because of how many people seemed touched by Florence’s story. In scrolling through the comments, I noted that most of them focused on her mother’s love and how her actions spoke of that.  Kathryne looked at the picture, contemplated the history, and then commented “It seems to speak more to her need for a good grief counselor.”

Now, as right as everyone was who commented on the post (including the ones who used the word “creepy”), Kathryne also hit the proverbial nail on the head. The love Florence’s mother held—and the grief—drove her to lengths most normal people would not even consider.  The part of Florence that was so fearful, the part that caused her to tremble at the fury of the storm and run to her mother for reassurance, no longer walked this mortal plain.  But the body that provided a home for her spirit was still very real and very present, even if it was safely tucked  away in the Natchez City Cemetery in Natchez, Mississippi.  Florence’s mother may have intended to comfort her child but in truth it was the mother who was comforted.

Grief is real. It is agonizing.  It can take a sane human being and turn them into a nonfunctional mess.  And there is nothing we can do to stop it.  Grief must run its course and must be acknowledged.  It demands to be recognized as the force that it is and failure to do so will only prolong its stay.  Florence Ford’s mother found a way to cope with her loss and as strange as it might seem to us, for her it was the only way.  By offering comfort, there was comfort to be had.  By reassuring her child, she found her own personal peace within the storm.

Not everyone is fortunate enough to find that comfort. Not everyone is blessed with peace during the storm, and no matter how much they struggle, it will not come.  Hence my little Kathryne’s observation.  Hence our SUNRISE Aftercare program and our grief counselor.  Not every battle can be fought alone nor should anyone ever feel they must.  For every storm there is a port where the waters are calm . . . for every person that port is different.  You just have to search until you find yours.

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