Death
is part of life.
Not an opposite,
Death is the unpopular little sister.
I, when a child,
had a pet cemetery under an apple tree
where I buried every hamster and bunny and baby chick,
where at first I mourned, and then listened to the wind and the birds,
experienced the life-filled world anew—
not forgetting, but becoming more alive.
We are told to be soft-hearted.
To be vulnerable is to allow pain,
to allow space for others with holes in their hearts,
no matter how tempting to close,
safe but empty.
Loss, and pain, and grief,
are vital, even Holy,
binding every man, every person, every creature together,
if we are soft,
if we are open.
Share, embrace, give, listen, love,
to each other, to the lost, to yourself, to our Family.
Faith is the certainty that I do not have the answers,
but that my Father has the answers,
and they are the best possible answers.
I am here, friend.
I am open.
I am trying.
We are whole in our brokenness,
and we are together.
Note: This poem goes with a previous poem, Grief. I wrote that one after losing my son. I wrote this one after my child lost a beloved pet, and the emotion is second-hand, but amplified as I worry for her.
