Grief

We gathered over the weekend to remember and pay some final respect to my Aunt Norma. She went home on May 6th, home to Jesus and her dear husband Bill who went home in 2006. Her three children, five of her six grandchildren, spouses, her twin brother and his wife all gathered Saturday for a service and then time at her home, time filled with memory, laughter and some sorrow. Even as I write this I feel the tightness and weight of grief settle in. I've missed Bill now for three and a half years but with Norma's homegoing a new grief has risen. A place in my life has passed leaving only memories.

Grief, a common thread for all humans weaves through our lives like a dark thread. This morning, during my time at the park I wrote this:

Salty wet memories wash over me
as 303 asphalt miles flow beneath
the tires tearing me away.
With each wave of memory
my heart aches under the constriction
of loss.

They really are gone.
Another tear forms.
I gasp for breath,
blink and let it fall slowly,
mute testament to this grief.

Parting was always painful,
a yawning chasm where hope retreats,
joy, fun, laughter diffuse to grayness.

I felt this loss painfully as a boy
sobbing beneath the willow tree
that arched over the boyhood pond.
That training made my heart,
whenever we drew together, revel in
hope, joy, laughter and
ache at every parting.

Now, the asphalt miles have done their deed,
but the waves of parting still crash,
my throat tightens and my heart squeezes out
one more salty wet memory
to roll down my cheek

And I am reminded that you, even you, Jesus,
wept.