A Long Road

I spent most of yesterday in my car. I drove one of my dearest friends down to Massachusetts and back into New Hampshire (mind you, New Hampshire's border is closer to my home state) to get a new car. However, my dear friend is a boy. He felt no need to print out directions. I was ready to affirm his faith that he would remember the way (as he does have a scary memory) but we got lost -- and so I spent more time than I would have liked driving back and forth over the NH-MA border. And then, on our way back home, the fan belt on his new car broke. I had the joy of driving him home after this very defeating journey.

This story somehow matches the rest of my week. After burying my grandfather and feeling that I need a vacation from my vacation, I came home to the whirlwind of church life. I was greeted by the four Confirmands remaining in the process. I found myself pushed to love them. There were emails and condolence cards from church members. Somehow, I told my SP that I was thinking about a search process. That was not planned -- but it is evidence that I feel bounced back and forth across this strange border in my life.

And then, a church member committed suicide. Fuck. I learned the next day because the widower didn't want to burden his pastors. I cancelled everything and waited for him to emerge from difficult conversations at the funeral home. I couldn't cry. I wanted to cry. I really, really wanted to cry with him. This is a church member that I love dearly. And of course, his story is too close for comfort. And so while I watched him hide behind sunglasses in my office, I told him the truth. I told him that I can't understand what he is feeling -- but it's familiar ground for me. I told him about my brother and told him I can't imagine the pain he is feeling now. We talked about love and loss. Still, I could not cry.

After he left my office and I tried to catch my breath, the funeral home called. Another church member had died. This was expected. Her health had been failing for a long time. The family wanted to meet with someone -- namely the SP. He was out of town. He's not available for the service. My long road leads me to their side in a matter of hours to tell them that I will be walking with them through this journey. Their disappointment was palpable. I had to yell for this widower to understand anything I said. I wanted to scream as I yelled my assurances and asked about his loving wife. I felt my energy levels sink. Still, I could not cry.

Of course, I carried all of this with me to our state capital to lobby for immigrants in our state on Thursday. I wanted to do this because I love doing this kind of witness. However, I got there to find myself speechless and on the edge of tears. Still, I could not cry. I was thinking about how I could get through these next few hours. I was thinking about the mammogram that lay ahead that afternoon. It is finally behind me and I am fine. It just feels like a long road -- and still, no matter how much I might think it would be a wonderful release, I cannot cry.


Songbird said...

Here with the kleenex when the moment comes. (((pp)))

LittleMary said...

hope the tears come soon. life is just too much sometimes, right? sorry i missed you here, life is just too much sometimes. and not to be too nosy, but can you give us an update on lobster man sometime? sending lots of love and maybe even a (())

Anonymous said...

Here's hoping that a release comes soon.

Teri said...

oh, friend... (((pp)))