You may have heard the phrase, “The calm BEFORE the storm”, but today I want to share a true story about discovering the calm AFTER the storm. This personal discovery helped me in my grief journey. And, oddly enough, I was intentionally seeking a storm – on Lake Superior, on the Minnesota side of the big lake.
As a very brief introduction to my story, I want to say that each year on November 10th, folks along the North Shore of Lake Superior, from Duluth to Grand Marais, commemorate the sinking of the large iron-ore ship, The Edmund Fitzgerald back on November 10, 1975. As a memorial tribute to the 29 sailors that lost their lives that day the legendary Split Rock Lighthouse provides a ‘memorial beacon lighting’ ceremony.
In 1976, singer-songwriter Gordon Lightfoot paid tribute to the 29 lives lost in the sinking of the ship with his song “The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald.”
As a photographer and storyteller, I am drawn to the memorial lighting and to those raging storms that buffet the lakeshore during a time now called The Gales of November. Many photographers have captured the wonder and mystery of those storms on the big lake. And each year, my wife Linda and I trek up to the big lake in hopes of experiencing a big storm, to capture images of those rare and powerful waves crashing onto the Sawtooth Mountain Range that guards the shores of Minnesota.
It’s in those crashing waves something wonderful is revealed.
Through a natural response to various events we may witness, we can see ‘things’ within what we are actually looking at. It’s called Pareidolia, seeing things within other things. Webster’s dictionary defines it this way – pareidolia: the tendency to perceive a specific, often meaningful image in a random or ambiguous visual pattern. (See the two images of large waves hitting the cliffs of the Sawtooth Mountain Range – taken by my friend Paul Sundberg. What do you ‘see’ in the images?)
In November of 2022, Linda and I found ourselves ‘locked in’ during the storm because of freezing ice and snow on the roads. We never made it to the Sawtooth Mountain Range to witness the power of the storm. Instead, we were to wait out the storm until it was safe enough to drive. By then, the storm had passed, and a calm was settling in on the lake.
But during our unfortunate ‘lock down’ we discovered something much different than what we’d been seeking. We discovered images of Peace, Beauty, and Calm – all AFTER the storm. Seeking the Hidden Beauty in things is my mantra, as a visual artist, and especially as a grieving dad. (Remember the hidden beauty of a teddy bear or coffee cup or an airplane at sunset? – all in previous posts.)
As you may well know, the effects of grief are numerous, painful, dangerous, debilitating… I could go on, but you already know the ‘stuff’ of our grief. In my book (not for sale) I call it by its rightful name – The Villian. Am I right? Using the things I’ve learned in my 25-plus year grief journey, and through my storytelling and art I have discovered a new way to cope along the way – seeking and discovering the peace and calm in the Hidden Beauty within.
For years Linda and I were given little tokens of beauty in Adam’s life before his death in August of 1997. Stories of legacy and laughter, items of joy and tears, memories we had not known until someone gifted us with them. All hidden from our sight until ready to be revealed – in time. And when revealed, a calm comes over us as we experience the hidden beauty in them.
My hope and prayer for you is that you take a day-at-a-time experience in your grief journey, allowing you to discover all the hidden beauty in your lives. This road of grief is an unrelenting sorrow, authored by non-other than The Villian of our lives. But one thing the Villian cannot do is rob us of our memories, stories and legacy of our loved ones. Fight back with discovery, fight back with the hidden beauty of your loved one’s story. You’ll be amazed at what you’ll find. I am, continually.
The photos included in this post are mine, Linda’s, and Paul Sundberg, my friend.
