You may not seem ready. You may not be ready.
The shock overwhelms you — no matter who you lose or how old they are. Or how sick they may have felt.
It’s not like a normal bad day or a bad week. “It’ll be over soon,” you say in those situations. But this won’t.
No, this is permanent. This is forever.
How different it feels to know you can’t change it. You can’t wait for it to end. That horrible day. That never-ending week. This Thanksgiving will feel different. Christmas will too.
Her birthday will forever remain a day of remembrance. And so will the day she died.
You wonder how God decides when to take people. Is that how it works? Does God take people? Or is it simply science? And then you remember none of that matters.
Because a seat stands empty at Thanksgiving dinner. A vacancy won’t become filled. Grandchildren no longer have their grandmother on earth. A son no longer has his mother. Some vacancies will be filled. You still have people to feel grateful for.
But no matter how many chairs sit empty. One being in your life will never leave. He requires no seat. He is everywhere, in everyone. All you can do is try to focus on the laughs you had with the one you lost. And let God do the rest.
Those laughs keep you going. And you begin to let yourself laugh again. Some way. Some days.
For now I wait…because laughing hurts.