2 years and silence

Two years now since I last saw your face and it breaks my heart that the image fades with time. I remember the things you said and how so often you sat in silence just taking it all in. Maybe after so many years you’ve said all you need to and all that is left is just to enjoy the people you love. Anyhow, it’s far too quiet… quiet past the repeated stories and recounting of the day and its details that must play as a record in her mind. She’s afraid of the silence I know. Afraid to be still or let any of the few remaining moments pass her by like you passed us all by.

So what was it like to die? Were you afraid? How did if feel reopening your eyes to realize you were in the arms of Christ? Do you look down at us or is eternity such that your absence from us is just a flash and we might as well be with you now. In eternity do you even think to look down? All these questions I ask and the answer is that silence. Not the piercing silence of questions being shot out into the void, but the silence of the way you sat in the peach-striped chair and closed your eyes to the muffled sounds of laughter and conversation.

Thinking of heaven is the one thing that can scare me more than anything. I suppose my imagination is not wild enough to dream of how wonderful it will be and I suppose I love life too much right now. But sometimes this life seems to fade and I catch a glimpse of eternity and that glimpse seems more of a reality than any breath I breathe in this life. Sometimes I think how beautiful this earth is and then I think how blinded I must be. How beautiful must be the place where the King of Glory dwells! And you are there. And I smile to think you are probably not so silent anymore.