This I believe…that there is something terribly wrong about Death. It hurts in a way that we are incapable of bearing on our own. Without the sticky tangle of people which help us along the way we would be undone.
I do not grieve for the friend I just lost, she is in a better place. I suspect her husband will find strength as he always had. Her mother’s torn heart will hopefully be mended stitch by stitch. I do not cry because I will miss her courageous spirit that always carried a smile.
I cry, weep and wail because there is a wrongness here in this sting of death. I believe there is injustice and blatant unfairness.
I do not fear the uncovered nakedness I felt at the loss of my mother nor do I seek refuge in the empty confidence I cloaked myself with at my father’s death. The “why me?” has hushed itself with time.
Instead I fear that my children will have to forge through this briar patch of pain. I do not want them to seek refuge in shabby built fortresses that crumble. I want them to have freedom from this. I want them to look the wrongness in the face and shout “NO MORE!”.
I believe we were not made for this deep sorrow and I believe God knows the subject well.