I hear the care and concern in people’s voices when they ask
how we are doing. It is genuine.
And I answer, “we’re doing okay.” And we are doing okay, for the most part. In
some ways, I feel as though we should be ready to move on, and yet it is not
really possible, not yet.
A couple of weeks ago, I went to Back-to-School Night. It
was something I had always done by myself so I didn’t think too much about it
ahead of time. By the end of the evening, I felt raw. I had not prepared myself
for all the caring, compassionate encounters with parents who hadn’t really
seen me since Jeff’s death. In those moments passing in the halls, or sitting
in classrooms, they conveyed their condolences. I received them, hopefully
graciously.
In some ways, nothing has changed--I still do the shopping,
planning, supervising of homework--but in reality everything has changed. There
is a hole here in the fabric of our lives, and sometimes it is just too much to
conceive. We’ve been rearranging lots of things in the house, in our lives.
That’s kept me busy, and yet it can’t really assuage the feeling of absence, of
loss.
So how are we…really? We’re doing okay, as well as can be
expected, but even if we don’t say it, not even to ourselves, we are still
staring into this gaping hole that we don’t really know what to do with. There
will likely come a time when we find healing. Right now, the edges are still so
raw that, as much as we would like to pretend that everything’s fine, we can’t
ignore them. Even as we engage in the normal things we have to do everyday,
there is always a nagging pull. And right now, that’s how it must be.
Psalm 13:1-2a
How long, O Lord? Will you forget
me forever? How long will you hide your face from me? How long must I bear pain
in my soul, and have sorrow in my heart all day long?
1 comment:
My good friend just preached on this passage a couple days ago. It is a hard psalm to consider, but fitting in times like these. Praying for you all.
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