Mourning the Living

I recently learned how to mourn the living--a predicament I never imagined myself in. The people I once invited into my soul, made up a small room for, and called 'dear sister of mine', are now but a whisper of what once might have been sweet, sweet memories of mine.

For months I struggled with the idea that what colored my life bright and vibrant was but another monochrome stroke against their daily life. I look back and wonder: had it been so tender a friendship for them too, for what reason would they leave me now? There's no quarrel or unequal ground between us, just one friend staring at the back of another.

And that, dear reader, is the death of a friendship.

I know of ghosting and I know of natural ebbs and flows of friendships. Those are natural seasons of life, just as a caterpillar must crawl for a time, sleep for a time, and fly for a time. I see the goodness in the comings and goings of people, and I try my best to leave people better than when I met them. But when a snake's skin is ripped instead of shed, or a bird's egg crushed not cracked, pain and death ensues. How, oh how, do I mourn was has not fully died, forgive what has not been forgotten, and give closure to that which has not been closed? Indeed these are very important questions.

Even months after coming to a place of peace, I still feel the sting of pain seeing these friends' old photos of their recent status updates. I think there will be a discomfort in my heart for a time to come. But what I've learned is that humans are unstable. I learned that even the people I claimed were closest were some of the ones to fly the farthest from me. That left me with only one person to turn to for stability and unchanging love: Christ.

Rooting my heart in Christ, I can mourn what has not died, forgive what has not been forgotten, and give closure to the things that distract my heart. I have someone I know will never turn from me, and that protects my heart from anything that might hurt me in the future. I have been given a great love that cannot be taken, and so I will live in a way that shows that.

To the absent friends who will not read this: I love you with a Christ filled heart, not because of the late nights and funny pictures we have between us, but because I have a God who fills me with over flowing love. When my emails bounce back and my calls fall on unregistered numbers, I want you to know that the room inside my soul is still there waiting for you, but Christ is in there too.

This is the letter to the unreachable. May you abound in all good things.

Until we meet again.