Of course I can’t stop thinking about him. I have probably never gone an entire day without thinking about him in my whole life, but it’s different now. There are different ways of thinking about it, but at some point or another they all converge on the fact that as long as I live, I won’t see him or talk to him or listen to him or ask him for advice. And no matter how I approach that point, it is incredibly painful. A very dear friend of his came by yesterday and talked to me for a little while, he explained an Aramaic word to me that means “transfer” I can’t remember the actual word, but he said that it is a word that replaces death in the Middle East, particularly for Christians, because rather than death which is an ending, it is merely a transfer. And in fact, he said, it’s like a promotion. It’s hard to describe the impact of those words on me. It was so encouraging, and so good, and so true, but it still hurts. One coworker may be happy for another that they were promoted to a better position, but the fact that the coworker will no longer be nearby to encourage and advise and collaborate may still be saddening. My dad’s friend said that it is a happy event and that it is a good thing for my dad, but that when Lazarus died, Jesus knew He would raise him again, and that Lazarus would be alright. Still, Jesus wept.
Is it wrong that when I’m alone I want to be with company and when I’m with company I want to be alone? Is it wrong that when I eat, I notice that the food is good as a matter of fact, rather than enjoying the food? Is it wrong that one day I don’t care about hygiene and the next day I think about how I look? Is it wrong that I avoid going to sleep by writing a blog post at night when I know I need rest for tomorrow? Is it wrong that I sleep like a log as soon as I do go to sleep? Is it wrong that I describe how difficult days can be in my blog and then tell people that I’m doing “all right,” but then add a little worried look to show that not everything is right? Is it wrong that I’m so aware and so in control of my facial expressions until I realize that I’m going to cry if I’m not careful? Is it wrong that one minute I feel like I can’t live another moment, and the next I know I’ll have to live a lot more, and the next I really do feel perfectly fine?
Two good friends of mine lost their moms to cancer in the last few years. I remember seeing one of them a few weeks afterwards. I was hesitant to approach her because I wasn’t sure how to start a conversation with someone experiencing so much grief. I decided the best idea was to put on a solemn, concerned expression and just say hello. Much to my surprise, she smiled when she returned my hello. Then she started talking about everyday things as if only everyday things had happened in the last month. I think she even laughed during the conversation. Something didn’t make sense. How could someone experiencing enough pain for years smile or laugh only a few weeks later? Doesn’t the massive grief outweigh the momentary amusement? Only at times, thank God.
Thinking about the past is easy. Thinking about the present isn’t too bad. Thinking about the future hurts.
Another encouraging/painful thing people say is that his body is just an empty shell, that he has gone home to be with the Lord, and that what we saw after he left was just a broken body, but that my dad is no longer there. Of course, I’m incredibly glad that he no longer needs the shell and that he is finally in the completed form God always meant for him to be. But I loved the shell too.