Today came the tears. The flood of emotion held in check for the weeks on a medical roller coaster and the hours and days since Tom's death broke loose this morning in a slow, steady stream of salty tears. A crack seemed to have opened in my soul and the tears flowed, painful, needful, sad and healing. It was without sobbing, free of sound, simply a river of feeling.
I arrived at church early to prepare, gently draping his robe over the chair, adding his glasses (which in his life were NEVER where he needed them when he needed them) and a gift box made for him several months ago by the children. Carefully attaching the circle of flowers I had arranged to mark his presence and his absence, I looked at the lovingly prepared scene beside the alter as the crack opened and tears came as water to a parched and weary land. Thank God the physical nightmare is past for Tom. O God, now to learn to live without so incredible a human being as part of daily life! Dear godbywhatevername, help me be strong, help me be, help me.
There is no shame in the tears. Shame would be if a person such as Tom died and no one cried. Shame would be if the only emotion were a selfish sense of personal loss. Shame would be to allow the story to be only about these final weeks of illness. There is no shame in the tears, for they are testiment to who Tom was and whose he is.There is no shame because this is not merely about my own grief, but also about what this world has lost in his passing. There is no shame because the story is about millions of moments when this man touched the hearts and wounds and pain of others with his compassion, care and counsel. The story is about one who teased and joked and laughed large, about one who sang from the depths of his soul causing those around him to sing better than we were able. There is no shame in the salty droplets falling for they mark not despair but sorrow and bear witness not so much to the end of "here" for this friend, but more refresh the soil of his beginning "there."
Today came the tears...and there is no shame....
I arrived at church early to prepare, gently draping his robe over the chair, adding his glasses (which in his life were NEVER where he needed them when he needed them) and a gift box made for him several months ago by the children. Carefully attaching the circle of flowers I had arranged to mark his presence and his absence, I looked at the lovingly prepared scene beside the alter as the crack opened and tears came as water to a parched and weary land. Thank God the physical nightmare is past for Tom. O God, now to learn to live without so incredible a human being as part of daily life! Dear godbywhatevername, help me be strong, help me be, help me.
There is no shame in the tears. Shame would be if a person such as Tom died and no one cried. Shame would be if the only emotion were a selfish sense of personal loss. Shame would be to allow the story to be only about these final weeks of illness. There is no shame in the tears, for they are testiment to who Tom was and whose he is.There is no shame because this is not merely about my own grief, but also about what this world has lost in his passing. There is no shame because the story is about millions of moments when this man touched the hearts and wounds and pain of others with his compassion, care and counsel. The story is about one who teased and joked and laughed large, about one who sang from the depths of his soul causing those around him to sing better than we were able. There is no shame in the salty droplets falling for they mark not despair but sorrow and bear witness not so much to the end of "here" for this friend, but more refresh the soil of his beginning "there."
Today came the tears...and there is no shame....