This morning a wife woke up without her husband.
This morning two kids woke up without their dad.
☝️ That right there is all I could think about today.
It’s all I'm ever able to think about when a famous person dies
or a mass shooting happens
or a natural disaster occurs
or a war starts (or continues).
“There's an empty bed in a house that wasn't empty yesterday.”
“Someone's meeting in the back room of a church to plan a funeral.”
“There's probably a meal train being put together for their family.”
I’m still thinking all of those things today.
Not about what a guy said during his life.
Not about the movement a guy started.
No, just, “there were kids who had a dad yesterday, and they don’t today.”
“There was a lady who had a husband yesterday. She doesn’t today.”
Talking about current events brings up all the anxiety for me, because inevitably someone is going to read into what I wrote as an indictment or endorsement of a person and their words.
I’m sure that’ll happen today.
Really, though, when people die I’m often thinking mostly about the people left behind.
The ones missing their dad/mom/kid/grandparent/friend
I think it’s one of the side effects of being a pastor.
I’m one of the ones who meets with families in hospital rooms; who plans services in back rooms of the church.
Whether I, or you, love a person or hate them, there's someone out there grieving their loss.
Those people are on my mind today.
I've read comments to this effect, but they've only been introductory. Consequently, they are easily cast off as the reader moves on to the real reason that the author was writing, what they really wanted to say. And, to the part that I really wanted to read. Maybe exposing some hypocrisy or predicting some policy effects.
But you stopped at empathy. And I can't just cast aside the thought of a mourning wife and mourning children while I read something else you might have to say. I have to contemplate their trauma and their grief.
Thanks for making me sit with this. Thanks for leading me to mourn with those who mourn.