GRIEF

2 a : deep and poignant distress caused by or as if by bereavement

Someone I love very much is dying and I am sad to see her go.  She was diagnosed with cancer a mere two weeks ago and the girls and I visited last week.  I got a call last night to tell me the bad news - that the cancer is taking over - and as I stood in the kitchen, on the phone and crying, B and K came over, stood beside me and just hugged me.  They didn't know why I was crying.  They only knew their mom was upset, so they offered what they could.  I hung up the phone, explained through tears and accepted more hugs.

A bit later, we sat down at the table for dinner.  As our soup sat cooling, I asked K to pray.  She bowed her head, started to pray and after a few sentences burst into tears.  "I'm just too sad to pray," she sobbed, doubled over with grief.  I knew just what she meant.  Sometimes there are no words.  In the Anglican church, there is a breath prayer that I sometimes use at times like this.  As you inhale, you pray, "Lord, have mercy" and on exhale, "Christ, have mercy."  Even that prayer is hard when your breath comes in gasps from crying.  Like K, I find I am just too sad to pray.

My mind is foggy, unclear.  I've wandered through today in a daze, doing laundry because it seems to be a task I can somewhat manage.  But my heart is heavy.  I keep thinking of the person I love - of her house, her dishes, the things she likes to drink and eat.  My daughters have found me crying more than once and I've just explained that I'm still sad.

I told K last night as she cried that it was good for her to cry.  Her crying meant she loved and was sad.  This is worth our tears, but that doesn't make it any easier to bear.  We live hours away and can't drop by the hospital with a book, a card, flowers.  I am so thankful for our visit last week, for the gift that was to us.  All we can really do now is remember and grieve. 

And somehow that just doesn't seem like enough.