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1. Window Dressing

Written Sunday, February 16, 2020 / Day 188 / Evening

Those of us in grief understand one thing very well. We live in two worlds.

These worlds are separated by a great chasm. It is quite vast. You really do not realize how wide it is until you get here.

By that time it is too late to tell anybody about it - except for the others of us who are already here. That chasm is the divide between those living with a loss and those who are not.

At first - when our loss was the latest news - everyone was around us as if they understood. It seemed like that anyway. People were there - concern was everywhere. Activity was rampant.

And then it wasn’t.

The world started spinning again. The order of life was restored. Everyone went back to their lives.

Except for us.

We stayed behind.

Everything then became rather quiet. Because no one was there. Or very few.

There were the hangers-on. Some who had a link perhaps - a connection.

Even those - if we were fortunate to have them - living with us on a day to day basis.

But for those of us who are alone - there we were. Alone.

And if that was not enough - the inventory of our loss ever before us.

Loss of that connection that we had with another person.

Those daily conversations. Those daily interactions. All that made up a shared experience.

No longer shared. The connection forever severed.

And there we are.

As the remaining components of our life fall away, the contacts we had who just stop reaching out - those relationships that are now just a bit more awkward than they used to be - the silence falling over our life then becomes complete.

The world moved on.

And there we are - with nothing to move on to.

For me, as has been written in previous essays - I have no context for a future without the one who made my life my life.

So not only are we alone.

We are also “stuck”.

To the observers they just have no clue. They cannot have one. And I don’t want them to. It is just too painful a thing to share. So we don’t.

Not that anyone is asking us at all. Even if they had the wherewithal to even ask - they would not know what to ask.

“So how are you?”, they sheepishly inquire. And what do we say?

Do we tell them of the ache? The hurt of every moment? The relentless pressure of the absence? The hollowness of what was our life has become after the storm?

No, we don’t. We can not. We don’t want to hurt them any more than they want to hurt us.

So neither of us say what we really feel.

We do not hit them with the reality of our situation.

And they do not try to bridge the chasm to see if they can reach us.

We just share pleasantries. How’s the cat? How’s the dog? How are you doing?

The ache just isn’t quenched.

Not yet. Not in this life.

The abject harsh reality of it all is that something new must come and fill the void. Something to fill the chasm. Something that will build a bridge for us back to the others.

What will that be for us? No telling - but it will be something.

In my case I do have a backup. Something to keep me from totally losing it.

That would be God.

He has been with me through all of this. It is not His fault our world is broken. That death is the enemy. That the sting of death is so relentlessly relentless. But He sent an answer. His Son has conquered death for us.

And He will guide us in this life if we let Him.

I’m letting Him.

And He will fill my future with something. To fill the chasm - to enable me to come back.

It is just a matter of time. His time. His way.

Yet, I am scraping along knowing this. It does not take away any of the awfulness.

For now.

But it will because I know it is sure. It is inevitable. It is coming.

Then I can take the window dressing down - that barrier that is keeping me from seeing beyond my world and know that He is leading me to the future He has prepared for me.

And for all of those here in the state of grief who trust in Him.

1. Window Dressing

Written Sunday, February 16, 2020 / Day 188 / Evening

Those of us in grief understand one thing very well. We live in two worlds.

These worlds are separated by a great chasm. It is quite vast. You really do not realize how wide it is until you get here.

By that time it is too late to tell anybody about it - except for the others of us who are already here. That chasm is the divide between those living with a loss and those who are not.

At first - when our loss was the latest news - everyone was around us as if they understood. It seemed like that anyway. People were there - concern was everywhere. Activity was rampant.

And then it wasn’t.

The world started spinning again. The order of life was restored. Everyone went back to their lives.

Except for us.

We stayed behind.

Everything then became rather quiet. Because no one was there. Or very few.

There were the hangers-on. Some who had a link perhaps - a connection.

Even those - if we were fortunate to have them - living with us on a day to day basis.

But for those of us who are alone - there we were. Alone.

And if that was not enough - the inventory of our loss ever before us.

Loss of that connection that we had with another person.

Those daily conversations. Those daily interactions. All that made up a shared experience.

No longer shared. The connection forever severed.

And there we are.

As the remaining components of our life fall away, the contacts we had who just stop reaching out - those relationships that are now just a bit more awkward than they used to be - the silence falling over our life then becomes complete.

The world moved on.

And there we are - with nothing to move on to.

For me, as has been written in previous essays - I have no context for a future without the one who made my life my life.

So not only are we alone.

We are also “stuck”.

To the observers they just have no clue. They cannot have one. And I don’t want them to. It is just too painful a thing to share. So we don’t.

Not that anyone is asking us at all. Even if they had the wherewithal to even ask - they would not know what to ask.

“So how are you?”, they sheepishly inquire. And what do we say?

Do we tell them of the ache? The hurt of every moment? The relentless pressure of the absence? The hollowness of what was our life has become after the storm?

No, we don’t. We can not. We don’t want to hurt them any more than they want to hurt us.

So neither of us say what we really feel.

We do not hit them with the reality of our situation.

And they do not try to bridge the chasm to see if they can reach us.

We just share pleasantries. How’s the cat? How’s the dog? How are you doing?

The ache just isn’t quenched.

Not yet. Not in this life.

The abject harsh reality of it all is that something new must come and fill the void. Something to fill the chasm. Something that will build a bridge for us back to the others.

What will that be for us? No telling - but it will be something.

In my case I do have a backup. Something to keep me from totally losing it.

That would be God.

He has been with me through all of this. It is not His fault our world is broken. That death is the enemy. That the sting of death is so relentlessly relentless. But He sent an answer. His Son has conquered death for us.

And He will guide us in this life if we let Him.

I’m letting Him.

And He will fill my future with something. To fill the chasm - to enable me to come back.

It is just a matter of time. His time. His way.

Yet, I am scraping along knowing this. It does not take away any of the awfulness.

For now.

But it will because I know it is sure. It is inevitable. It is coming.

Then I can take the window dressing down - that barrier that is keeping me from seeing beyond my world and know that He is leading me to the future He has prepared for me.

And for all of those here in the state of grief who trust in Him.

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