Thirteen Years.

Some things are not easy to write.   Not because I can't figure out eloquent language, or appropriate expressions, but because there aren't any.   There are no words when tragic events happen.  There are no words to describe devastating loss.   There are no words for heartbreak.

It was deja vu this morning.  As I walked into church I was hit with the same wall of emotions I experienced thirteen years ago, but this time, I was thirteen years ahead in my journey of grief these people were just beginning.   Our community tragically lost a young man this week.   His family was not there, but many of his friends were, and I recognized all too well what was going on inside.   The emptiness from crying for so long and so hard.   The pain from losing someone so tragically.   The confusion, the doubt, and the determination not to doubt.

I wanted so badly to have some wisdom to share, something helpful to relieve some of their pain ... something ... something to help share the burden.  But that is the problem with grief.   It does not divide, it is dense, and it lingers ... year after year.   Even though it is shared among so many, it is as though you alone are bearing the weight of it.  Even though it is invisible, it is impossible to see through to the other side.   Even though it comes all at once, in a moment, it never leaves the same way.   

There is an admirable inner struggle that goes on.   The struggle to continue in one's faith and trust in God's comfort, but at the same time, be so confused that God allowed something so devastating to happen.    I looked into people's eyes this morning hoping I had something to offer, but after thirteen years I am still stuck in the midst of it.   After thirteen years, I am still asking the same question of why.  After thirteen years, I am still hurting and missing my friends.  After thirteen years, I am still grasping on to God's comfort and goodness while desperately trying to make sense of it all. 

I miss you friend.