Revised musing

I needed to feel all the terrible things,  know that was safe, and know that was okay.

Instead I got a room full of strangers with solemn faces, hugs, pats, words of encouragement, platitudes.

Pleas for strength. Bravery.

Strength. From a child.
What I needed was to be taken unto Jesus’s knee.

To be treated the way he represents when he said ‘let the little children come unto me.’
like when he said, ‘come unto me and I will give you peace.’

Those phrases, in no way, mean a pat on your shoulder, or a vauge it’s okay.
They don’t mean be strong, be brave.

Loss isn’t made easier by someone saying, They are in a better place (even if that’s what you believe).

Death is a terrible thing and we are only human.
Even if we truly believe our loved ones go to a better place..

We are selfish, we are angry, we are ashamed, we are afraid.
We feel. And we feel very deeply.
Every one of us.

To not be allowed that is to be denied the very epitome of human existence.

It is to be hollowed out, shelled and dried.
The material, soaked, in the brine of sorrow, worked and stretched enough to regain it’s function.

But function to what end?
To what end -if we cannot live, love, and lose, openly.

Maybe that’s what I’m upset about.
Maybe that’s why I’m unhealed.
Maybe it wasn’t that way for them.
But that’s what I, in all my failings, am trying to prevent.

It is a very hard thing to put into words.

I’ll just leave it at that.
“in finem pro nunc”