Sympathy

Our Pastor's father passed away this past week.  It wasn't unexpected.  That doesn't make it easier.

I lost my grandparents, aunts, uncles, my beloved parents.  Some were gone in an instant, some lingered on.  It doesn't matter.  The hurt is the same whether it is sudden or terrifyingly long.

Expression of sympathy no longer comes to me with difficulty. The words are often the same--I am sorry for your loss.  That is usually all one cares to hear at the time.  Most of us going through loss don't want to talk about it while the wound is fresh. We want to grieve in solitude for the most part.

Later, though, when the flowers have wilted and the last of the casseroles has been tossed is when the urge to remember comes. We look around and the relatives and friends that were there a day ago are gone.  Neighbors are afraid to broach the subject for fear of enhancing the hurt. We feel the aloneness so acutely then.  Where did all the love go?

We are brought up to respect the privacy of the grief-stricken.  Many of us were never taught how to behave at a funeral home or at the graveside service.  We approach the casket with trepidation. We are told to 'be strong'.  We want to help; we don't know how.

Why is it so hard? Most of those who grieve want acknowledgement that their loved one touched a life, or that someone understands that they might not feel like talking right now. You can see it in their eyes--"Hug me. Take my hand. Show me that I am still whole, though part of me is gone."

When my Pastor returns, I will take his hand as he has taken the hand of so many others. I will offer condolences, though he will have so many on this coming Sunday. I will let him know that somebody understands that while he is always in the position to be the strong one...well...sometimes it's OK to let someone else take care of him.

I'm sorry, I really am, for your loss.  I know you believe that our loved ones are in a better world now.  I know you believe that we will be together again. But right now, this minute, you wish you had told them what you felt for them. Just one more time, a glass of wine and a crust of bread.

It gets better. You will laugh again at their foibles. You might cry again for missing them. And you will go on, some days not thinking you can.

It gets better.  Honest, it does.  My heart goes out to you. God bless you and yours, my friend.