In October of 2001, as I gave my mom over to You for eternity in that hospital room in St. Joseph's Hospital of Atlanta, I felt comforted as I sensed You promising me that I would never be alone.
Today I felt about as lonely and vulnerable as I have since that day, as if the loss of the adult me twelve years ago was visited upon the child I was when I knew the family with whom I have been in touch these past few days, who also lost a daughter and sister five years before we lost Karen. I'm thinking that, at one point, Laurie and Karen may have been friends. At any rate, I had a fresh awareness today that all the immediate family members who were my life when I knew this other dear family are gone, and I was somehow seeing that truth through my childhood's eyes.
At the same time, as an adult, I felt ashamed of how that vulnerable boy grew up, of how broken he was and the brokenness he inflicted upon his own loved ones. It is the feeling I often experience when reconnecting with people from my past who don't know my intervening history.
Somehow all of those feelings got jumbled up together today, and it was no fun.
Lonely. Vulnerable. Afraid, even. Ashamed. (Yep: at least I can describe my feelings.)
And yet, in spite of all of that, I know that You have kept your promise, and I am not alone.
Choir practice was a special gift tonight, and helped me put the emotional jumble of the day behind me.
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