“Hi! I’m Robyn Banks from Calvary in Memphis.” It seems like such a simple statement, and it’s how I typically introduce myself to new friends at the Episcopal Communicators conference each year. Yet for the past two years, it has been incredibly hard to say. After my husband Bill died in December of 2022, I went from being a very extroverted person to extremely introverted. Whereas once I would stroll into the opening reception for the conference and strike up a conversation with the first person I encountered, I found myself entering the space and immediately scanning the room for someone I knew…someone I didn’t have to be “on” with.
Grief is weird that way—it changes you in ways you didn’t ask for or even want. I loved being an extrovert. I got so much energy from being around people. But, post-Bill’s death, the idea of walking into a room of people almost paralyzed me. Even at places like Calvary. Even knowing and loving so many people here, it was nearly impossible for me to stay for coffee hour or attend events. And I hated that. I felt like a part of my identity had been taken away.
But you all were patient with me. And I kept showing up, standing in corners or immediately walking up to a close friend and staying there. And at a painstakingly slow pace, it got better. One thing (of many!) I have learned about grief is that if I keep showing up, keep going through the motions even when I don’t want to or don’t find meaning in them, things get easier. Showing up for worship when I couldn’t say the words felt strange at first. But you all kept saying them for me. And then one day, I was able to say the words and sing the hymns. Because of this community.
So, when I walked into the opening reception of this year’s conference and introduced myself to someone new, I surprised myself. I felt like me again in a way I hadn’t for over three years. I went on to make two other new friends, and we all went to dinner. It may sound like a small thing, but it was a big milestone on my grief journey.
Grief is slow work, and the results of that work can sneak up on you when you least expect it.
The rest of the conference was meaningful in other ways, too. I attended workshops, listened to thoughtful speakers, and spent time with colleagues whose creativity and faith continually inspire me. At the Polly Bond Awards dinner—which celebrates excellence in Episcopal communications—I was honored to receive Awards of Excellence for Calvary’s Sunday bulletin and weekly e-Pistle newsletter, as well as an honorable mention for the Chronicle.
These awards remind me that even in the harder seasons of life, God is still at work through community, vocation, and the act of showing up. But the work being recognized was never mine alone. Calvary understands communication as ministry, and my colleagues and this community have walked alongside me for 21 years, especially these past three. I am deeply grateful to serve a parish that not only proclaims God’s love, but lives it so fully. Thank you for making God’s love visible in downtown Memphis—and visible in such amazing ways for me.
Robyn, you inspire so many of us without even knowing it. Thanks for all that you do for us.
What a tender and insightful post. Thanks for being so open to sharing your journey. As Betsy says, you are inspiring people without even knowing it. xoxo
Robyn, this is a beautiful and reflective piece and I’m honored to read it. And honored to call you a friend.
Robyn, thank you for your important words. I can empathize with you too as I move through a period of grief and understanding. I want to say that it does get easier, time and friends are certainly good healers.
Again thank you for your words and your important position of information. It is certainly appreciated.