We are going to a funeral today. It feels as if there has been enough sadness this season to last the year. Pray for the Kuznicki family. Tom, father and husband, died of a sudden heart attack while at work. Pray for his wife, Carol in her loss. Pray for their two children, both deployed over seas, returned state-side for the funeral. It seems so hopeless.
It isn't hopeless, though. We are in The season of Hope. We are celebrating Christ's birth, which will lead to his death, which leads to our Life. The people I know personally who have suffered loss this season all have that Hope. And for that we can be grateful.
When He Fell
When he fell, strangers ran to him.
Strangers called for help, lifted
his body and carried it. Then strangers
cut him, emptied him. Their ideas
of death determined when I would
touch him again. Their ideas of death
closed door after door between us,
altered his face, altered his presence-
violated the contract, the marriage,
took away even his wounded heart.
When he was at last delivered to me,
I was no longer myself - just as he
no longer had a self. They
had taken everything from us. Authority -
everywhere I turned. Just as he and I
once thought we were authorities over
our own lives, our work, our sense of
mortality, imagination - oh, and that
"sense of loss" that predicated everything -
you know, what we called our personal lives.