Today is a day of quiet, a day of remembrance. It is a day of waiting, for some in despair, for others in hope. It is a day of disappointments, of deferred hopes, of dreams in ruins. It is itself an unassuming and quiet day, not a day celebrated with fanfares or flowers. Just another day for those trudging along the road to an Easter that seems like it will never come.
Yesterday I found out that a church friend and father in his 40s had been given two, maybe three weeks to live. He’d been fighting cancer for the last 3 years or so, sometimes seeming to be winning. But now the blow has fallen and left him, his family and friends reeling.
A few weeks ago I attended the funeral of a young dad less than 3 weeks older than me, leaving behind a wife and four children. The grief I was a part of there was so raw, so savage; a crazed, howling, tearing animal. The randomness, the injustice, the merciless meaninglessness of death tear at the mind as the sheer aching loss tears at the heart.
Easter, with the hope of resurrection, may be just round the corner, but sometimes it seems an impossibly long way off.
See also earlier post Walking in darkness - Reflections on Holy Saturday
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