Far too soon.
Last year my childhood best friend passed away. That’s not a phrase I thought I’d be saying at thirty-one. Seventy? Maybe. But not thirty-one.
After a year has passed, I’ve realized this grief won’t. It isn’t something that will pass with time. I will carry with me for the rest of my life.
Far too long.
Grief isn’t something you get over. It isn’t something you release or let go. But I will say the burden becomes lighter when you realize you don’t have to do all the heavy lifting yourself.
Our Savior conquered Sin and Death, not so we ignore the reality of our grief, but so that we can embrace His victory over it. Death does not have the final say.
I will see my best friend again, even if it is far too long.
We Carry Our Grief
We carry our burdens
like rocks in our pockets.
Except the weight is in our chest
making it harder to swallow
as you choke on words you don’t want to
say out loud,
words too hard to hear out loud,
stones too heavy to carry around.
But He rolled that stone away
from the empty grave.
And the tomb of our hearts comes alive again.
Emily was a poet. And in her memory, each year, I’m writing a poem. The theme of rocks in my pocket seemed fitting. Like most little kids, we collected rocks. We’d fill our pockets, unhindered by their heavy weight. Our childhood was carefree and innocent like the nostalgia of a 1980s coming of age film. We dreamt of our futures and at the same time held on to the past. We didn’t really want to grow up. Maybe because we knew those rocks would get heavier, harder to lift and sometimes too heavy to bear. But I’m thankful we collected those rocks, heavy or not, and made enough memories together to last a lifetime.
