Mourning the Losses

As God and I are rebuilding amidst the toppled ruins of my life, I sometimes revisit some of the devastation, hoping against hope, that there is life underneath the debris. If I can listen carefully enough for the faint cries or move the right chunks of concrete and steel from atop the trapped victims, maybe there is still life to be saved.

This morning, I took a walk to one particularly ravaged area of "town". One of the hardest hit areas was the Friendsville neighborhood. I cried for all the needless ruin. I cried for not having power tools and bulldozers and rescue dogs. I cried and beat my fists against the rubble that entombed those friendships and cursed it for refusing to budge against my determined but ineffectual strainings.

Thinking I heard a faint cry from below, and with a burst of strength from adrenaline empowered muscles, I shoved loose a beam that created a small opening to the deep. Excited at the possibility of providing food, water, and fresh air, I put my face to the hole to cry victorious words of hope and exaltation. My cries were met from below with silence and the stench of decay.

I went back to my tent, put on my mourning clothes and grieved once again those friendships lost. Tomorrow, I will go back to rebuilding my life. But, today I cry.