Grief

Dearest God,

Who loved us into being. I have the sad today. It is lingering on all the things I touch. As I wake my kids up, I miss putting them on the schoolbus and the few moments breath between home and work as I travel in.

I miss stopping for tea-coffee for some- as a pick me up.

I miss seeing my friends.

I miss alone time, truly alone, with no one in the house.

I also miss hugging others. How can I miss both at the same time? Only you know Lord.

I miss funerals.

I miss all the kids I’ll see grow: at church, nursery school, elementary school, at the college, and ALL the babies at playgroup!

Jesus who missed sitting by Lazarus when he died, who wept openly when his mother had to leave him to die alone.

I miss not having to wear an itchy mask that fogs up my glasses every time I go out.

I miss touching my face.

I miss not worrying if every small business, theater and church is going to be open next year.

I miss the therapies for my kids. I miss anyone taking over for the kids for an hour or two, I miss babysitting.

I miss talking on the phone for fun. I miss real meetings (Who thought I’d say that?)

I miss sitting in church, and singing and praying together.

I miss my sister coming out for Easter. She already missed last year, to miss two in a year feels a cruel trick.

Jesus what did you miss those three days in the tomb? The friends, the family, the touch. Did you miss the purposeful meaning-making of work? Did you miss your favorite food? Did you miss the beautiful lakes you frequented? Did you have a plan you had to cancel the morning of the last supper, when you realized the arrest was coming that very day? Did you miss a child’s first step or word? A niece or a nephew you had been waiting on?

I wonder if Jesus misses the very  crowds that annoyed him now that he has ascended into heaven?

Grief is the slow journey of realization: That my middle child will never go back to elementary school he will suddenly move to fifth grader, my eldest will never be Peter Pan in Shrek, that my youngest will never get to see his brand new friends–who he just made this year–in school until after summer.

I’m grieving the small overnight trips I was going to make: for business and to see friends, I love traveling.

I’m grieving all the misses and the can’ts: the events, the peoples, the milestones, the simple moments.

I’m grieving not being able to go to the library and pick out a free book, pick up an art supply or even my favorite pasta from the grocery store (shell noodles).

It’s all, every single bit of it, real.

There is no piece of grief too small for Christ. Each one appears in my path, threatening to derail my journey–whether it’s a mountain in the way or a pebble in  my shoe.

Lord, help me journey through my crumbs and mountains of grief I pray.

I lift my eyes to the hills of my grief, from whom shall my help come?

My help comes from the Lord, my God.

Help me I pray.

Amen.

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