Loss...

To me, it seems as if the past twelve months have been marked more by loss than anything else.  Another one is coming.  My grandfather has entered his gloaming.  I moved away so hastily, for good reason, but if I were still there, I could be by his side.  I cannot.

I cannot for the blizzard.  I cannot for my health.  I cannot for my financial status.  I cannot be by his side.  And when he moves beyond this vale of tears I will not, most likely, be there to mark his passing.  Another loss.  More grief.

I am weary of loss.  Loss of livelihood.  Loss of a home with others.  Loss of well-being.  Loss of my beloved puppydog.  Loss of my father's memory.  Loss of mine.  Loss of a life not yet begun.  Loss of hair.  Loss of weight.  Loss of reputation.  Loss of understanding.  Loss of freedom.  Loss of safety.  Loss of trust.  Loss.

What did Paul mean when he wrote in Philippians that he lost all things but count them as rubbish but for the saving knowledge of Jesus Christ?

I have certainly gained knowledge of Christ crucified.  Although, sometimes, I feel as the knowledge I gained is slipping between my fingers.  I have gained Truth.  I have gained "It is finished."  I have gained mercy.  And I have gained a modicum of peace.

But I am weary of loss. 

I want to be there, to sit beside him in his final struggle.  He is not recovering from pnemonia and is struggling to breathe.  I know that agony. I know that fear.  I know that battle. 

In the past twelve months, his daughter has suffered the loss of my father--though his body lives, the life they had together is gone.  She is now facing the loss of her father, the one to whom she looked to for support and advice and comfort for her entire life.  That is something I cannot fathom.

It isn't just the loss.  It is grief.  Grief who is a companion who never leaves.  Grief who blinds and deafens you.  Grief who sometimes flings you into an obscene, bottomless pit of overwhelming hurt. You can befriend him.  You can learn to live with him.  But, oh...when you least expect it, he will most definitely not be your friend...in fact...I think he's really great at driving your friends away.

My editor told me that when I am writing the Snippet intros, I should always leave 'em with Jesus (no, he didn't use improper English).  I wish I could do that for myself.  How do I leave myself with Jesus?  Now?  This night?

I wept for L.  I wept for his daughter C.  I wept for me.

I don't want him to be alone when he dies.  His wife was.  His wife was because I didn't speak up.  That silence still haunts me.  I knew.  All my time with hospice told me to insist we didn't leave.  But I was scared to speak up.  I knew that no one would listen.  No one would believe that I could possibly know such a thing.  So, his beloved wife was alone when she died.

I don't want him to be.


I am Yours, Lord.  Save me!