Grief

Sometimes it still hit like a mighty wave! I felt the wave swooping in Monday night as I was wading through paperwork knee deep looking for anything FEMA related. All that stuff is in one box. There are things in there like notes from my old boss, a birthday card that came to me 2 or 3 months late, things that remind me of what once was.

Grief is a strange thing. You know, you don't even think of these types of things most days, and then...whoosh! And you are listening to a song that reminds you of days at Celebration and the members of the praise team/band that you treasured on so many different levels. You think of the good and the bad and you miss them both somehow.

The poor woman at United Way on Tuesday asked me how I was doing and I always think this is a loaded question. So I start to tear up and tell her that I'm good most of the time, but hashing through or rehashing rather through all this Katrina paper work brings up memories that leave me a bit sad and nostalgic. Then we discuss the whole concept of going back, and how even if my family were to pick up and go back to New Orleans tomorrow, there really is no "going back." Everything is different. The people you knew and loved there are gone, familiar sights and areas are washed and left desolate. It is not what I left. It is a mere skeleton of what we once knew. Ahh...that's the breaks.

You know life is never predictable and God didn't promise that it would be. He says to always be ready, but we rarely are. We are so easily distracted from His inner voice. "Prone to wander Lord, I feel it. Prone to leave the God I love."

I know I'm not the only one who feels this way and certainly don't feel entitled to special treatment or attention. My best friend is Alyson Roth. We don't talk like we once did, but then life has us in different place as far as distance and stages. Nonetheless, I have never loved a friend like I love her. She has equal or greater rather reason to grieve. She has recently recognized the 6 year anniversary of an accident that rendered her paralyzed from the bellybutton down (or so). Yet, I know that she still grieves at random intervals. She is still so full of life and the desire to continue truly living that sitting and chatting with her you'd never even remember that when you get up to leave, she won't be getting up, but rather confidently wheeling alongside you. Somehow, just thinking of her is a comfort to me. Thanks, Al, for being an inspiration and friend. And for knowing me like you do.