Tag: grief

Memoir

Loss

Loss.

The memory comes back. Distinct. Clear. From 1972. One hot, humid afternoon in Kediri, Indonesia.

I’m just arriving at our home. After being away for high school a couple of months. In Jakarta.

Standing outside. Reaching for the handle of the screen door. And suddenly a subconscious map surfaces. One I never knew was there.

A map of presence. Home and those who belong in it.

Without warning, the realization of deep loss hits. Full force. There’s an empty space on that map.

The place where my sister Ann has always been.

Grief. Tangible.

Me with Momma and my new baby sister, Ann. Bangkok, Thailand. 1961.

Airport chairs. In the transit area.

Exhaustion weighs heavy in this middle place. This confined space.

And after the 17-hour flight across the Pacific, we mark time. Until boarding begins. For our next destination.

No longer living in the former place. Not yet setting foot in the new space. Caught in between.

Transit.

Transit area. Image by S Lafferty.

Nothing can separate us from His love. Nothing.

Death begs to differ. Disease and pain try to write a different story. The troubles in this world whisper hopelessness.

Loss. Division. Fracture. All attempting to question or deny His love, compassion, and care.

And yet. We dare to hope. Because of our Savior.

He writes the true story.

Grave and hope. Image by Gabor Bejo on pixabay.