A BLESSING

A little more on the passing of my heroic friend. 

On the night before he died, Larry shared that he had had a full life and was ready to go. He also related that he hoped he had never offended or hurt anyone with his words or actions and that the memory of his passing might make it easier for me when my time comes.

Truly, he had become the personification of love. I think that's the residue of physical suffering.

The other side seems very close to me now; I can feel it just beyond my senses. We live our whole lives denying its imminent existence and then in a twinkling, we realize our folly. Both sides of the coin are in the light. 

Indeed, I'm no longer carrying Larry. Rather, I feel he's carrying me. 

Here's a tender poem a friend sent along to help my day. 

A Blessing for the Brokenhearted

Let us agree

for now

that we will not say

the breaking

makes us stronger

or that it is better

to have this pain

than to have done

without this love.

Let us promise

we will not

tell ourselves

time will heal

the wound

when every day

our waking

opens it anew.

Perhaps for now

it can be enough

to simply marvel

at the mystery

of how a heart

so broken

can go on beating,

as if it were made

for precisely this—

as if it knows

the only cure for love

is more of it

as if it sees

the heart’s sole remedy

for breaking

is to love still

as if it trusts

that its own stubborn

and persistent pulse

is the rhythm

of a blessing

we cannot

begin to fathom

but will save us

nonetheless.

Jan Richardson in The Painted Prayerbook