Ryan offered this letter to our church at the end of 2021. I am sharing it with you because he is better at words these days than I am.
I am relieved to find, in the middle of my grief, that this wound is cleaner because I didn’t insist that he save me out of it.
How those who loved you waited! Curled themselves into knots of childish longing – and then went home alone.
Danette Martin writes: “You’ve been on my mind ever since I heard the news of your dad’s engagement. Twenty-four years ago, I was in your shoes.”
Rachel Zimmerman writes, “I am a mother, after all. When the ‘secondary infertility’ phrase rolls off my tongue, I often feel like a fraud.”
Evelyn Hershberger shares a piece of poetry celebrating her daughter and grieving her mother. If only the two could meet, full circle!
Martha Hess, from southern Illinois, shares practical ways to offer support and care if you find yourself living in community with a widow.
I went to a Supper to taste the Christ, I was so hungry for him. So very hungry after months of vacuity, and when I received the bread he was suddenly there, in me.
With friends and needy and grieving and isolated and savoring, I went creative: the paintbrush and the hammer and the string making patterns I could follow.
I imagine that, like me, you want an answer: something to eat or do or break or understand that will make the difference, make this bearable.