I’m contemplative.
Twelve years ago today I got the call. My daughter was on the final phase of her journey here on earth. We all knew the time was short, so the call was not a surprise. Before I got to her bedside one more time, she had moved from the temporal to the eternal.
She was nearing her thirteenth birthday when her brain tumor was first diagnosed. Surgery, treatment, and divine intervention gave her another ten plus years.
Death and grief are something I can contemplate, but I’m not anxious to speak. I really don’t know enough to say anything and what I do know isn’t necessarily relevant for others.
Twelve years ago today I got the call. My daughter was on the final phase of her journey here on earth. We all knew the time was short, so the call was not a surprise. Before I got to her bedside one more time, she had moved from the temporal to the eternal.
She was nearing her thirteenth birthday when her brain tumor was first diagnosed. Surgery, treatment, and divine intervention gave her another ten plus years.
Death and grief are something I can contemplate, but I’m not anxious to speak. I really don’t know enough to say anything and what I do know isn’t necessarily relevant for others.
posted by Dan McCracken at 11:49 AM
1 Comments:
Dan -- This post spoke to me; I recently experienced the death of the partner of a close Friend, and I felt exactly as you did: I really don’t know enough to say anything and what I do know isn’t necessarily relevant for others.
All I could do was be there, as fully as I could, in the present moment, silently aware of the terror and beauty of it all.
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