Roughly 27 years ago, I watched my parents hold each other close and cry. A friend of theirs had died. They were all in their 40s. I definitely thought my parents were kinda old but wasn’t death supposed to be for the old, old people?
Today it’s our turn to experience this collective pain, a friend gone far too soon.
Our local Athens community is still reeling from the tragic death of a local farmer just last week. My FB memories have reminded me that a church died a year ago, and 11 years ago one of my uncles died. We hold each other in our hearts much deeper than we realize until the other person is gone. We wish for more time, more laughs, more music, more…more…more. We talk about hope…
And I’m learning that to sit with grief (which is sometimes seemingly out of the reach of hope or any warm sentiments) is to honor our capacity to love. At some point the chest hurt eases but I’m not grabbing for that moment. I’m here remembering our friend as these lyrics roll through my head…
“Help us to count the days
Help us to make the days count”
