Today my little friend passed away. When death rears its ugly head, I'm quickly reminded of just how selfish I can be. He is okay now. I know it. He's no longer in pain, no longer suffering. And for that, I am grateful. But, I'm devastated. I'm hurt and disappointed. My heart breaks for all of us who are left behind, who no longer have the pleasure of being graced by his presence on this Earth. I do not worry and fret over what happens after this life. I am not afraid of death. I'm afraid of the pain it leaves in its wake...the feeling that your chest has been ripped open and your heart shredded.
And most importantly, what about his parents and two sisters? I feel physically ill as I think of the days that await them. I don't even have words for the aching I feel for them.
Do you think maybe my Victoria was one of many awaiting this precious little guy's return? Is it possible that they could share a hug, and know of my love for them? I believe so.
There is a sacredness in tears.
They are not a mark of weakness,
but of power.
They speak more eloquently
than 10,000 tongues.
They are the messengers
of overwhelming grief,
of deep contrition,
and of unspeakable love.