I’m feeling weepy this morning, with a lump in my throat that is ready to burst into emotion at the first sign of lowered defenses. Perhaps I am hormonal this week, but on this Monday morning – the first time I have slowed down enough to process since returning from Minnesota – there is much weighing on my heart that I have pushed aside in the busyness of the weekend.
I feel for my mom, who was so sad to return to an empty, quiet house when we left, magnifying her loneliness for Gordy; I think about my own grieving process, and how it feels to spend time surrounded by all the things that Gordy once touched – there are memories everywhere in that house; I am sad for my friends who have a sick baby, and are tired, and ragged, and discouraged, and afraid; I am sad that my house mate left this morning for new adventures on a different coast – she has left a hole in our hearts and home; I am sad for a friend’s broken relationship, and for another friend’s loss of hope in life.
On Saturday evening, in the midst of hearing some of this news, I busied myself with a new purse I bought on clearance. I chattered on endlessly to Bryan about all the pockets and zippers and places to keep my things, as if the bliss of something trivial will stave off the tragedy of more important things. It was shallow of me, and I knew this, but somehow it was my way of not falling apart when there was no time to do so.
But today I seem to be falling apart, and I seem to have the space to allow that to happen, so I likely will.
If you pray, please remember those who grieve, those who are sick, those who are helpless, those who are giving up, and those who love each and every one of these people.