Friday, January 20, 2017

A thousand thoughts

There are a thousand thoughts in my head and even more emotions as I deal with the death of my Grandma. I can't possibly articulate them all or even slow down enough to get them all down on "paper". When I write, I process (as the scrawl on my sermon notes can attest) and, as a result, it is so hard to just get it all out. Some of the thoughts that I have written about death in the past year or two come flooding back and I want to frame them more personally in the light of the peaceful death of my Grandma. I want to go to a cabin somewhere and just write until my fingers ache and until I don't have to cry anymore. 

But these days, this Friday, Saturday, Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday will be filled to the brim with activity after activity that won't let me do that. I can't punch out and meditate on what just happened. I can't sit down in a creaky, straight-backed chair and pound on the keyboard as the thoughts pass through. There is no time for thinking. No time to stop. No time to just breathe and be held.

This is my lot, I know God, if it were not I would not be in the midst of all of it. 

I'll laugh and cry this weekend and into next week. I'll watch my sons as they participate in archery and basketball. I'll referee the little guys at Upwards. I'll see my brothers and sisters and their spouses and family and recall the times we had with her. I'll teach this Sunday. I'll bolt out of church to get to calling hours by 2:00 PM down in Hornell. I'll head home only to go back again the next day. I'll figure out if I am to do the first reading, second reading, or the responsorial Psalm at the funeral. Our family will stand (as tall as we are) like a wall inside of the church where the mass will be held. We'll be comforted by our common bond in Christ and remember that only time separates us from her for distance has been erased. We'll commit her body to the ground and remember that we are all but dust. I'll get my brother to the airport early Tuesday morning in time for his flight back to Wisconsin and then head back home to head out to work again. All of it will hold significant value and meaning.

And then can I breathe, God? Can I write what I need to in order to order my thoughts and process all of this? Will it be then that I can stop this feeling in the pit of my stomach? Will it be then that my brain will stop spinning and my steps will be lighter? Will it all just fade or will I treat this with the sacredness that I think that it deserves? 

I don't know. I just don't know.

2 comments:

  1. Many are the times when I wish to write out the aching groaning thoughts of my heart, yet many are the days when time and circumstance make sorting and recording nigh unto impossible. I hear your heart.
    The loss, the passing, of one deeply cherished makes us long for time to stand still, even if just for a moment. A moment to sit in the heaviness and let our thoughts swirl back through time and memories.
    It will come. The time to think and breathe. With each new wave of grief your thoughts will be set in order, perhaps slowly and painfully, but surely.

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    1. Thanks, Martha. I knew that you would understand. I am not a fan of the sure, slow grinding of the wheels of God. Surely this is what God wants and I need to submit to his sovereign will. He does everything exceedingly well. I need to remember this.

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