Susan LaffertyChristmas approaches. Like a freight train. It’s that time of year.
Loud in commercials and sales. Glitz and glitter. Richly-colored wrapping and ribbons and bows.
Bright trees. Exquisite nativities. Christmas baking on point.
And the music. Playlists mixing winter themes and manger scenes. O Holy Night and a blue Christmas without you.
In the midst of it all? Hunger for something more.
Temporary place. A familiar part of the faith journey.
Each stop. Stirring mute awareness in the back of my mind. And the depths of my soul.
This is not for always. But only for a season.
No matter where we move. Set up house. And make a home.
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.
