Love & Loss

 I have loved and lost.

I am still in love but I am lost. My love is forever lost to me.

There is nothing as permanent as death. There is hope in sickness, it is why we do everything to aid recovery. But when a person is wrapped in the embrace of death, life, as we know it, ceases.

Those who knew the deceased are left to carry on, plagued by memories, burdened with pain.

This the cross I have borne for the past four days.

The person I love more than most lies in a grave—cut off in his prime.

What makes everything worse is that we sent for the one person who could have made a difference but he did not show up.

As I think on these things, I give in to tears. I am in that state, when my sister dashes in. She makes an announcement I do not know how to respond to.

I get up and follow her. Maybe he has a good explanation for not coming when we needed him.

My words to him were both an accusation and affirmation:

"If you had been here, my brother would not have died.”

They brought tears to his eyes.

My heart broke afresh. He said something I did not catch, my sister responded. 

Then I heard him say in a loud voice:

“Lazarus, come out!”

And for the first time in all my days, the finality of death was reversed.

My brother stood at the entrance of the tomb, wrapped in linen strips.

Photo credit: thexpressng.com

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