Posting with Lisa Jo Baker over at Five Minute Friday today.
Today’s theme: Nothing.
Like… I have nothing to say?
I have nothing left?
I am nothing without you?
I feel… nothing?
My husband and I said goodbye to a dear friend yesterday. He was 43. Beautiful wife. Three boys. He was a blonde dynamo, a hiker, camper, fisherman. A firefighter. Strong and full of joy. Full to the brim with LIFE, I tell you. A BIG Life – the kind with a capital L. All the pictures of him at the funeral – he was on mountains or in kayaks or grinning from airplane cockpits.
Or kissing on his babies.
And cuddling his wife, my sweet friend.
And all I can feel today is… nothing. I am all felt out.
Grief does that. It pulls you out like a rubber band, until you can’t take the tension anymore and then you snap back. Tired and spent. Wrung out.
And I kinda see the grief as selfish – it’s not my husband. Not my life. Not my suddenly empty bed and echoing future. But the grief is still there, snapping me back, a rubber band’s sting against the skin. The grief – I look at my boys, at my sweet, tall, blonde husband, and stop to take a breath, almost panicked, at this seemingly fickle existence that I have… at all my blessings.
And of course, too, I miss my brother all the more.
Grief is all around right now. And yet, I go to the store. Take the boys to the pool. Fix meals and put on band aids, and keep going. Just keep going. And feel the guilt of it every once in a while. Here we are, at the pool, running about and celebrating our sunny day, when just three blocks over, is such pain and sorrow.
I am emptied out.
I have nothing I can give. My friend – she has nothing to do right now but allow Jesus to be with her.
And all I can think is – the cracks and nothingness, the emptiness, the gaping holes where pain lives … they are there to be filled.
So we try to fill them, with play dates and casseroles and texts and some really bad brownies I baked for them…
But mainly –
That’s the best Nothing fighter I know.