The end of a love story

The love story isn't over.

After 59 years and 11 months, after children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren, after countless adventures and the quiet wasting years, she is gone. 

He was at church today.  Sitting alone.  He hasn't been there in months.  He has spent every Sunday morning at the nursing home with her.  Their pew sat empty awaiting a return that simply never happened. Seeing him today sitting by his son was bitter sweet.  We were all glad to have him but he was displaced.

Displaced is just the word.  He seems lost right now without her. It's no wonder.  He was married to her three times as long as he was alive without her.  

The Aberration of Death

Recently, someone in my church family lost a relative in a motor vehicle accident.  The young lady was only 16 years old.  The family is devastated.  Six years ago, when my husband's grandfather passed from this world, there was much weeping and mourning. He was 92.  When my sister's ex-husband died, I felt the gut wrenching pain of not knowing if his soul was secure.  Yet, when my grandfather died six weeks after being baptized, I still felt pain.  Young, old, Christian, non-Christian, death is painful.  We could argue that we are not mourning for them but for ourselves and our loss, but I think it is more than that.  Death jars us because it is wrong.