(no subject)
It doesn't matter that we don't know what to say.
It doesn't matter that we're afraid or uncomfortable.
It doesn't matter that we're busy.
What matters is that we show up anyway.
Who forgets such a moment when it happens to us? We stand near the lifeless remains of our beloved, so grief-stricken we can barely breathe when, suddenly, we look up and behold the face of someone we can't quite believe took the time to find us in our darkest time.
Our grief is still raw, our shock not yet absorbed, but we are ennobled by the simple gesture of another's footsteps in our direction. Our loss is registered, our despair acknowledged. They don't have to say a word. Just standing there, right in front of us, or sitting in the pew behind us, they tell us what we need to hear: Our beloved mattered, his memory matters still.
It doesn't matter that we're afraid or uncomfortable.
It doesn't matter that we're busy.
What matters is that we show up anyway.
Who forgets such a moment when it happens to us? We stand near the lifeless remains of our beloved, so grief-stricken we can barely breathe when, suddenly, we look up and behold the face of someone we can't quite believe took the time to find us in our darkest time.
Our grief is still raw, our shock not yet absorbed, but we are ennobled by the simple gesture of another's footsteps in our direction. Our loss is registered, our despair acknowledged. They don't have to say a word. Just standing there, right in front of us, or sitting in the pew behind us, they tell us what we need to hear: Our beloved mattered, his memory matters still.