“How are you…are you okay?” That’s been the frequently asked question the past 48hrs. It’s a loaded ask, one my brain has been fighting to unpack.
Truthfully, no. I am not okay.
It’s been a rough few days. The emotions come in waves. The tears flow freely. I catch myself staring into space in disbelief, refusing to accept what is. Then I am flooded with gratitude that our paths crossed, and angry that he did not fight to stay. In between breaths are the prayers. Speaking in tongues because English just isn’t enough to convey what bubbles within. I have felt the urge at multiple points to send him a text message, one that would kick off our bants but then…
That’s the sting of death. The finality of it. The permanent physical separation. Its all I can think of, that I’ll never hear his voice again, or his laugh, or his words of encouragement. It’s overwhelming. I have scrolled through our chat log trying to see how much of him I have to hold on to. Some sort of a keepsake. Something tangible. A reminder of a bond shared. We had plans. In fact that was our last conversation, making plans for a visit, to spend time with family.
Ya. Everything about this sucks.
But I find comfort in knowing that as final as this feels, death does not have the last say. I do not mourn like one who has no hope, |1 Thessalonians 4:13-18|. The pain of grief is real— but so is the peace that comes from God. His purpose on this side of eternity was served. It was an impactful life lived, and now he gets to rest.
Sweet dreams PB. I am so thankful we never left the important things unsaid.