One day the spurning, dispensing and cutting of a life came too soon. It riddled me with pain and devotion to them was all that helped my confused mind. I knew it would never be calmed, or stable, ever again. Grief became King, governing a new identity wrought by sadness, forcing an unwanted dedication to all those called Survived-by. I rather be laughing and celebrating in the presence of my loved one, and the Survived-by to not be affected by my hurting.
Losing a loved one brings confusion that pours into grief, bringing layer after layer of anguish, piling on eternally and making it hard to go on. The heart endures weariness, tagging anytime without warning. Sadness takes hold day to day, night to night bringing a sorrow that will never be overcome. The whole-real of this new scenario is only understood by those feeling the same pain that inclines to epidemic, bringing agony to many.
Comfort is sought daily but ambushed at every turn. Sadness after sadness always lays waiting in the gap, heaping-on uncertainty. Searching for my old self was lost to unending grief, and only with mercy could I go on.
Thanks for the words that brings relief, at least momentarily. “The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit…” Psalm 34:18.
I and others like myself become bearers of the burden and our heart cries and anguishes to no end. From here on, comfort is far to naught and solace comes in spurts and degrees, never sticking, always fleeing and ending up out of reach. A happier tier comes with knowing our loved one is now spared from Worldly scenarios, never to reap or face malady, tensions or anxiety ever again.
Though we are bound to bear life’s crosses and no measure of relief can ever spread great enough to cover the perimeters of our sadness, our reaping is destined; canceling joy and reminding us gladness won’t ever come again.
We are thankful for the divine, bringing merciful good words and reminding us of hope. “Brothers and sisters, we do not want you to be uninformed about those who sleep in death, so that you do not grieve like the rest of mankind, who have no hope.” Thessalonians 4:13.
Yet, we grieved because our joy was replaced with cratered frowns from the moment the thread was cut, and henceforth our days became filled with wishing to end that painful memory that is automatic and constant. We mustered strength, trying to forget, but our mind attuned over and over to that moment of our last goodbye. Pain’s curse took-hold yielding us to gravity’s destruction.
We could see there would be no more uplifting for a while, as we lived in the result of despair. Our heart defined a new reality, with weeping and silent deafening cries, heard only by the ears of the crier. Our greatest ease continually impends from good words from a higher power that speaks to our heart. “Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.” Matthew 5:4(NIV).
It is like law that we are reminded to cling to the solace from knowing that their wish is for us to not eternally mourn, but to carry on.
Still, in days forward, remembrances of that dreadful hour twirled in our thoughts. Such recalling forced us to prepare for what was Worldly-final and came too soon, putting us to searching forever for that dormant comfort, hoping it resided somewhere within.
Our final goodbye hinged in the balance. Preparing came from histories-past, a custom set to eternal, keeping us painfully aware that suffering and nothing less has replaced their absence, and our sprit’s joy will never be healed.
During the time of memorial, flowers and balloon mementos were choice for our final dedication and for our heart’s sake. It was a celebration, worthy of canvas, but glim, dominated, spreading tugging at our heart, eternally pulling, for miseries’ quest and allowing no relief. We came to know from that moment on our pain would be a time-released tradition.
Our eyes unfairly clouded the beauty of the flowers’ spread and tarnished the balloons’ colorful prettiness, bringing a reminder that our future comfort was permanently scarred.
The flowers and balloons arrayed about in their memorializing role delivered little comfort instead brought discord to our hearts, setting us upon a new direction. Distinct to histories creation for what is celebrated, they bring a range of emotions. Regret and grief remind of an interrupted future trapped into endless stillness, making recovery always the goal.
Our mourning retells our story, compounding anniversaries, after anniversaries while our heart cry for any measure of comfort. Automatic to our remembrances, it’s clear whatever the measure, a larger degree will forever be needed. In that period of memorial hearts would rather flowers be for benediction sake, confined as a centerpiece upon the dining table and the pretty colorful balloons confined to birthday parties. Still, of all the expressions of caring during memorial, flowers embrace tradition and affect the heart most. There is something about the way they adorned the mount, Flowers on the Mount.
In this new time, pain, gray and grim flocks from all directions, tagging and reminding the bequeathing custom can never make up for the grief but adds to our brokenness, making our hearts prove over and over their valued worth. It is a needless task because we know undoubtedly nothing values greater.
It was a painful chapter we will never forget when destiny was the culprit claiming right-of-way, forever parting our heart’s joy, leaving us with the biggest task to master, going on in their absence. We thrusted forward where a new tier awaited. We arrayed their favored things for our memory sake, but no comfort lay in the balance because anguish ambushed our heart at every corner.
We tarried onward, keeping mindful of grief’s hidden terms, claiming the right-of-way to forever part our heart’s joy. Then always without warning, anguish shows-up, leaving no escape and bringing no solution. It put our forward years next to unbearable and strength becomes our contract for healing.
Our emotions became uncontainable, making us feel the unfairness of the daily pain, pinning our hearts to sorrow, interfering with our loving memories and making our woundedness most difficult to define. Joy was tarnished from then on, one day to the next, bringing skips in our happiness in all the days forward.
We relied on tier after tier of history’s memorabilia and diversified rituals to honor them, but our hearts rather celebrate with them in-person.
At each day’s end we were painfully reminded we have been put at agony’s gate. Going forward relief is not ours to claim and we will never feel whole again. Our pain and sadness will not vanish but the good cry lessens our hurting and at least delays our inevitable breakdown.
The rooted reality is no matter the dialect, pain is termed for what it means and flogs eternal and something that will never be overcome. For days on end, whispering tags us for what we know to be true at all times forward. Our caring narrows close to a dysfunctional psychology, bringing definition to our daily moments of despair. Whispers, tags us for what we know to be true at all times forward.
“She {He} has lost her {his} mind.” We argue not against an identification tag that defines greater than even what is seen.
As we seek comfort, family, friends, and the pastor give condoling words. They encourage, promising time will soothe our heart’s pain but it is simply a retelling of what has already been heard and we still wait on time. We struggle living with hurting emotions, entangling our life from one moment to the next. In forward days, such condoling language becomes history and by now we know that only by faith will we ever rest, again.
No matter the family’s hugs and encouragement by the pastor, his words and sermon, the doctor’s care and even friends and family’s condolences, sadly reminds that comfort will be slow to never. It matters not even if there is a reaching that touches our hurting because it still doesn’t reach far enough to quiet our heart’s anguish.
There is nothing that journeys wide enough to chase deep and ample enough to impact the bottomless pit of agony’s construct. The needed relief is forever foiled. Still, our heart is thankful for the effort.
It would seem that for a hurting so prevalent, remedy for solace and proceeding forward should already be gifted, and owned. Instead we are saddled with knowing the needed fix is often too far off to never, keeping us forever linked to our present suffering, and forever tagging us with sadness. Even when there is the compassionate intent to corral the viable good through talking and remembrances aimed at unbinding the trappings of pain, nothing is ever wide enough to cover the perimeters of our hurt. Soldiering on, we accept the fact there is no human power great enough to avoid the “universal shift” that we must forever be mindful of stepping-off its hidden edge.
Too many days bring notices of what was, especially birthdays. They remind our hurt is sequenced without boundaries year to year. Sorrow expands at any moment, today through tomorrow and agony scatters wide and vague and only those having the experience can piece the puzzle to sense. Our new journey tests faith and strength as we navigate the shadowing of layer after layer of grief piled on and our spirit searches for peace.
Chide us not in our hours of confusion and grief.
We accept that it matters not what brought our pain because the same bad feeling waited no matter the culprit. Whether our lost resulted from an illness, a gun, an overdose, an accident, a drowning, a disease, a turning-up missing, a miscalculated calamity, something based in secret or something simple, or because of something else from the trundle of life’s possibilities, even war. Whatever was responsible it meant the ultimate reality was the thread was spun dispensed and cut and it killed happiness just the same.
From whence it happened to days forward, our hearts succumbed to sadness, subjected to forever brokenness, predictably inevitably. There was no pacifying our mind’s rage. We knew future earthly home comings and reunions were cancelled, yielded to the promise of the day of seeing them again at Bible’s hour. Until then, joy was hidden while we waited for time to draw us nearer to the day when “…There will be no more deaths or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed,” Revelation 21:4. But not today, never in forward years on earth, we simply had to face that it meant, “Diagnosis Eternity.”
Until Bible’s hour, we live with sighs emitting automatically sequenced to an out-of-place guilt, threatening our peace, eternally, constantly reminding of the time and place, when and how it happened. Our consciousness grasps for calm enough to overcome the blame our heart insists upon.
Their demise was supposed to be dedicated to a proper sequence. They should have lived normal-passing-years and had a-normal-passing-away. Instead, it was by a randomness, imprinting us with cratered-wornness and weariness, interfering and turning our old self into someone new.
The secret search for peace never ends for a heart that knows nothing less than pain anymore that comes daily, at any hour. Tread carefully and “be still our hearts” are daily reminders, prompting we must be ever mindful of falling-off-the-cliff that only we know its summit.
Our mind struggles to counteract hurt by keeping our loved ones stored in our psychic and ease the pain of their absence but agony tries to revive our hurt day to day, evening to evening and night to night. From whence it happened, then on, every day of brightness failed to reach the new and shaded trail of our heart, needing brightening from the interfering gloom that shadowed our life, staking its eternal claim.
Little to nothing is ever found that stops one’s decent toward that personal pain that is more real than known. There is no forgetting the epidemic that too many of us faced too early, forever reminding it was supposed to be us first.
There is No medical cure and no social remedy to ease what is wished for, the unpinning from our forever missing making tomorrow better. But not a chance because in the embedded scenarios of life, yet another tier of unhappiness often waited to pile-on.
Daily attacks on mind and thought plagued us to worry of how departure should have happened. Pain continually horizons itself, replacing rest and sleep, arraying so greatly, it threatened our losing those love ones yet with us, called, survived-by. Silence embedded our struggle of un-remedied grief and our unknowing how to un-tilt the scale to end those grief qualifiers that uncontrollably gets in the way of our love, prompting a perceived uncaring by us, making our wrecking more real.
Whether accidental or aimed with malice, the error was marring just the same. Sorrow’s tentacles pierced deep, stirring, making us feel sure in some way, we were guilty of something.
Recall of that day is painful, knowing life failed to be instructive, not providing that crucial protection in their time of need. The experience cancelled peace in all our hearts while all our hearts suffered wanting to feel better. But we were reminded there was no prevention and their life was yielded to a non-serving caution that failed us all, putting them in the wrong place at the wrong time in that hour of happening.
We cried then and now, facing the fact there was no deterrence, bringing a fated stopping by way of a headache, an oversleeping, a staying in, a wrong date, not joining the group, or even a delayed calculation for their arrival time interrupting that unjust fatedness that ambushed our hearts and their life.
Our fan nature for loving and missing them can never be wide enough to cancel the spread of grief that forever bounds us. Our mind attempts to embrace fact over blame and reckon with wondering whether their fate came by a simple unscheduled-destiny-changing scenario threaded to ensnare them in a net casted for a sure and purposed catch or because it simply was time.
For all the qualifying and thoughts, we simply face the truth of consequences from the pain of knowing they departed too soon, leaving behind those joy stealing trinkets, bringing pain from remembering. Their blanket, that favorite toy, those little toddler dresses, little Buster Brown high-top shoes, the prom dress, the sports jerseys, videos, pictures from his and her first date and much more they said was best to part with. It didn’t matter the day or the hour, departing with their precious reminders was scheduled to bad timing. On that day of decision, a troublesome regret flowed from the mistake of nothing kept, held in secret to deem “forever with me,” to balance the weight on a heart riddled with suffering and confusion from knowing, in actual, it didn’t matter because there will never be comfort anymore.
Only those like us know better than those not understanding that even if able to speak the language of grief, the pain is never translated adequately. There is no dialect on record defining enough to describe parameter’s corners of how big for us sad became, on that day. Although we know their wish would be for us to carry on, as time spirals, reality manifests, making clear moving on can only be by a hypnotic command. It is all too clear that no matter the years passed, it will never be time enough to obsolete the pulse and heartbeat that once were conjoined. Remembrances are imposing and bringing painful thoughts becoming reminders that are never hushed.
No matter all the thoughts, words and sermons, the time allowed for grief is never clearly defined. What is certain is it seems to be set to compound into an automatic controversy when drummed up by those who speak a few simple words, “you need to move on,” bringing aggravation and little comfort and adding emphasis to our missing more.
Our heart knows that in worldly time an end to our pain is next to never. Nothing will be the remedy for this unfamiliar period but it mustn’t be slighted to less than how big it is, nor minimized to false healing that suggest our pain will end.
Our spirit has forewarned us when the balloons fly away and the flowers are set on the mount, only that historical book can bring comfort.