Mixed up

Now is the time of mixed-up things. I am in Washington, on a clear, cool evening. My sister, her husband, Martin and the children chat, clink silverware, laugh and raise their voices in a political discussion of some kind. Today was so brilliant that Mt. Rainer shone brightly on the horizon; we could even see Mt. Hood behind its peak.

Back at home, in her familiar green house with the garden full of tomatoes and the herb bed that I know so well, with its climbing rose by the porch--in a place where I often chatted on the steps with my dear friend, Nancy, after pushing the stroller down the road or parking and letting her daughter climb out--here in this house my friend Nancy talked to me on the phone today from her hospital bed, and told me, somewhat lightly and humorously, "I've got hospice!"

And I, in my mind, had all the things I wanted to tell her so clear, in paragraphs. But over the phone I was choked, emotional beyond my own expectation, full of sadness, and all that I wanted to say tumbled out. I am unclear as to how all this works, losing a friend I love. It is hard to be so far away. I am comforted that Nancy is surrounded by good people, her community and family; I was able to talk with her though it was over the phone when I long to be with her and touch her arm, hand, lean over and give her a hug.

Mostly I am comforted by the knowledge that God is with her, beyond my own understanding, full in her, speaking in voices that flow through her like warm, comforting waters. When she can't hear her own family, she will hear God, and the voice will be sweet, as familiar as her own breath, the arms of her mother, the singing of her children. God will never leave her alone, nor will God leave her family alone, and this I hold to even in my deepest sadness.

Then there is waking and sleeping and laughing and crying for the rest of us, and that is good, too, though under it all these days, flows always a current of loss, a sense that something that should not have occurred happens now in spite of our longing, and in this brokenness God is there, too.