A 'Holding the Thread' Reflection by
Rev. Gillian V. Harris, M.S.P.

Posted 10-9-2025
 
It’s been an intense week — life feeling fragile and holy all at once. Two days of funeral activity ahead… and then, somehow, my one-millionth-year High School Reunion. Joy squeaks into the sadness.
 
On one hand I’m reminded that this human experience is so temporary; on the other, that it’s meant to be a good time while we’re here. Didju know that?! Yes!!!
 
This week I’ll drive to a coastal community for the viewing and the repast — that sacred meal after a loss. It’s for Michael, husband of my chosen cousin Angie. Her father and my dad grew up together back East and — by divine choreography — both landed here in Southern California decades later.

Angie married Michael, a Marine who lived courageously with illness for nearly thirty years before crossing over.
 
So now we gather.
We view.
We eat.
We remember.
And we hold each other up.

REMEMBERING HOW TO SHOW UP
When I heard about Michael’s passing, I didn’t call. I remembered when my dad passed — when everyone wanted to talk and I simply… couldn’t.
So instead I texted: “I’m here. Anytime. Any hour. You’re in my heart. Holding you in the highest light.”
 
A few days later I wrote again, about journaling — how it helped me see the magic that shows up in grief, the little miracles that fade if we don’t capture them in writing.
She replied, “I don’t, but I will. Sounds amazing!”
 
That’s how we help each other hold the thread.
 
THE CEREMONY OF PRESENCE
Loss changes us. As we age, Spirit stops being theory and becomes oxygen.
I’ve sat with people preparing to cross — some even excited, realizing they’re the lucky ones. And every time I hear from my dad on the other side, what comes through is bliss. He’s alive, joyful, pain-free — the most convincing evidence of heaven I’ve ever known.
That keeps me going. It’s why I don’t fear the transition.
 
When we show up to a viewing or funeral, we think it’s for the one who died — but it’s not only for them.
On some level, we all know the crossed-over one is present — receiving our love and returning it in kind.
But the ceremony also belongs to the living.
Our presence tells the grieving: you’re not alone. It reminds them that their loved one touched many lives — that others carry pieces of their sacred history too.
That’s what ceremony is — love made visible, shared both directions.
And now I understand:
When we show up, we become the ceremony.
Our love, our light, our energy fills the space where words can’t.
 
THE TRANSITION FOR THE LIVING
The departed are fine. It’s us who must learn the new language — how to hear them. Their words, their thoughts and conversation which continues. How to hear them in other ways, too — hear them in songs, see them in signs, feel them in warmth on the skin.
It’s bewildering… until the miracles begin.
Then the universe leans in and whispers, “See? Love didn’t end. It just changed form.”
We’re never really saying goodbye.
We’re just trading density for light.
And until it’s my turn,
I’ll keep showing up — love first, always.
 
From high school reunions to life transitions, every goodbye is just another hello… waiting to happen. 💜
 
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