• Post category:Good Grief

Two months ago today, when this bus of Life we’re all riding on braked unexpectedly to let Jack off at his stop, I know I was not the only one lurched off balance. Each one of you stood in some proximity to him. Now that shared space has been forever changed. These last two months, we have been helping one another get up and find new places to stand. Together we’ve been dusting off, bandaging cuts, generally checking to see how we’re managing as the dust settles.

How are you doing? Do people check on you, his friends and family? I hope so. 

I’m sorry for your loss, my friends, my family. I’m sorry for the silence where you used to have his talk, the stillness where you used to have his energy, the absence where you used to have his presence. I’m sorry you can’t consult with him about stairbuilding, or bowling, or history, or maps, or jazz. I’m sorry you can’t laugh with him, talk with him, be with him. We all miss him in ways particular to us; and we know nothing else, no one else, will ever fill his place as he did.

And even when we do find other people who can make mahogony go round in circles, or solve a 7-10 split, or identify what general did what during the Civil War, or direct us to the shortcut that will dump us out at the exit we want, or name the musician playing that riff in the background—-even when we find other people who can do that, they won’t be able do it all at once, and they won’t be our Jack.

We will need each other for the long haul. As King Solomon said:

Two are better than one…

If one falls down, his friend can help him up.

But pity the man who falls and has no one to help him up!

A cord of three strands is not quickly broken.

Ecclesiastes 4: 9, 10, 12

Believing God drives this bus and knows what He is doing and where we are going, I can travel with hope. I like sitting side by side with you.

Let’s keep talking in the days and years ahead, as the newness fades and the scenery outside our window changes.

It’s better Together.