Grieving and the space between words.

If you have happened to read any of my Facebook posts over the past 10 days, you will take note that we experienced a terrible loss.  It was certainly sad and very unexpected.  It put strains on Desireé and me that I had no idea about.  It stretched me in ways that I didn't know I could stretch.  It was horrible and painful.  It is horrible and painful.  It will continue to be horrible and painful.  As I Facebook'd,  we were able to take a little comfort in this loss knowing Desireé's mother was a Christian, and we believe that she has gone  on to a better place to be with better people and to wait for us.

But I don't want to speak for Desireé.  When she's ready to talk about it, she will.

I want to talk about talking about it.  And the space between words.  And how that space makes me uncomfortable.  So,  if you ask me about it, you will probably have an 'Old Faithful' type geyser of incoherent speech and words and emotions thrown at you that you will walk away scratching your head and wondering what I mean.

And here's what it means:  I'm not ready to talk about it. Not face to face, at least.

Also, I know that there may have been some raised eyebrows about all my activity on Facebook and Twitter during this whole ordeal.  There is a large network of friends and family there, and it was the easiest way to get essential information out to people quickly.  And thanks to the iPhone, it also meant that I could do so on the road, and get input from family, friends and clergy.  So, if you were offended that I was so public in my communication and grief, I apologize.  It was not my intent to rub anyone the wrong way.  Most especially my wife, who signed off on it.

Also, the overwhelming support that I received from everyone was encouraging.  Thanks to all for your kind words. I appreciated them, and being able to pass them on to Desireé made us both feel better.  Thank you.

Through it all, I thought of a poem that was at the memorial for both my Grandfather and Grandmother.  It is beautiful, and I hope it can be used to remember me one day, in many, many years:

Do not stand at my grave and weep;

I am not there. I do not sleep.

I am a thousand winds that blow.

I am the diamond glints on snow.

I am the sunlight on ripened grain.

I am the gentle autumn rain.

When you awaken in the morning's hush

I am the swift uplifting rush

Of quiet birds in circled flight.

I am the soft stars that shine at night.

Do not stand at my grave and cry;

I am not there. I did not die

I pray that you have a great night and wonderful week.