It takes a village.

The commonly used expression to indicate that no human, or even a set of humans, can fully raise a child. It takes many to set examples, to love and teach, correct and encourage.

A week ago on Mother’s Day, a thought washed over me, carrying with it a past memory.

Beauty in loss.

Ruth Ann Young.

A force of nature in many ways with a huge vibrant personality until her last day, she is the link to my first awareness that beauty in loss exists.

When the unexpected death of her daughter shattered her world, she exemplified the delicacy that can be seen in great loss. The shockingly harsh brokenness of time stopping, ripping back the layers of the unimportant and revealing the valuable.

The vivid memory of her at Tisha’s funeral and the gathering at her home after has been imprinted on my mind for over 30 years, making its way back to me in the randomness that such memories elicit. This is the image that trailed behind the thought of the beauty that can be present in loss.

She wore a soft cream colored outfit that day – a sweater and pleated skirt – with classic jewelry, her short hair curled and back combed with the precision that distinguished this as a special occasion.

She looked beautiful, elegant even, and I remember staring at her in awe. As a very young woman with a two year old son, her grandson, and little life experience with such a trial, I saw her as the eponymous face of grace and dignity staring directly into the eyes of tragedy.

Even the noticeable ache in her expression delivered its own unique kind of beauty as she smiled through her brokenness, small tears forming in the outer corners of her eyes.
I remember looking on in awe as she worked the room, greeting family and friends, making everyone else comfortable in her own special way. I have a vivid memory of walking closely past her and realizing she was handling this so much differently than I had imagined. It was the same woman I’d witnessed at other, happy, gatherings. Friendly. Social. Welcoming.

Now broken.

Given thought, we can all remember the many small moments that create our perceptions about, and connections to, others. This was one that undoubtedly bound me to her in my heart. Her grace, linking eyes to all she came in contact with, creating warmth and unity.

Over the years she mostly never faltered from being that exact same person. Even when, years later, she again experienced the unthinkable, the loss of her other child. Her son.

The formation of that Mothers Day morning thought reminded me of the end of her life. I needed her to be in that same cream shade that had made her look so ethereal on that soul crushing January day in 1993. In another’s view it may have been a boring choice of color for such a vibrant lady with a deep, loud laugh. In my view it was anything but. It was fragile and beautiful, soft and strong all at the same time. It gave a gentleness to a woman that had lived through so much and had so many reasons to be the opposite, yet smiled and lived and loved until the end. It’s a color that exemplified an angelic quality for such a beautiful soul.

As she laid there, finally at rest, I saw that same gentle face, yet no tears were in the corners of her eyes. All the burdens and heartbreak were gone, no more smiles through suffering.

No more suffering.

A woman that had run a good race.
It was a good, God given reminder for me that day. If we allow it, beauty can come from all circumstances.