Footfalls echo in the memory

Down the passage which we did not take

Towards the door we never opened

Into the rose-garden. My words echo

Thus in your mind.

T. S. Eliot


Was just thinking this morning how grateful I am to be alive, to be able to breathe for the first time in many months without pain or regret…. And I was thinking, too, how grateful I am for the faith that has carried me through. It’s the season I never thought I wanted to face again- an anniversary of joy, that is now colored by pain; and this morning, I realised that I have been carried these past months by a Love that was way, way greater than the trials I had to face, than all the valleys I have walked through…. For some reason, I haven’t fallen apart. For some reason, right up to this moment, I have continued to be here…. Me, the quaking, the fearful, the mocker and cynic!


Earlier this year, not too long ago, someone I had grown to so cherish passed out of my reach … Along with his death, died hopes, dreams, expectations; and I was left only with emptiness and bitterness, struggling even to be grateful for what had been there (-it’s never enough, is it?). And God? Dear me, I was mad. I never directly accused Him of spiting my plans, but of course I felt that way. (If I’m to be honest, I still do. I still struggle. We can’t always know why things happen the way they do, not fully, on this side of eternity). But one day, as the loss began to become more real and brutal and present, and the pain a little more focused, I began to realise that it’s that age-old question, the same thing really as Job faced, but on a smaller scale: who knows better, God or me? At some point I must put my intellect down, and trust that He knows far, far better.

That was a kind of turning point for me, and maybe (hopefully) the beginning of a kind of healing. I’ll never stop missing him, of course, and I’m liable to burst into tears at any point during the day… You move on, sort of, but everything reminds you. And you never stop missing the sound of someone’s voice, you never really stop thinking about asking their opinion on something. But you know what? It’s ok. It’s not the way I would have chosen things to be, but I am trusting that it’s the best.

He lives on. Strange (perhaps weird) as that seems, he does. Death is obviously not the end that we always assume it is. The absolute worst thing happened: but I am not destroyed, nor are the things that were built, the things that were set in motion. All that was lost was what never was, anyway- things that were in an indeterminate future time. After all, the present is all we ever really have; and then, our memories.

Our relationship is probably the best it’s ever been, right now :) (He would laugh, I promise). Seriously, I am ever, ever so grateful to have been blessed with even the few precious months we had; and, at the end of the day, it was God’s wisdom that left things the way they were. I will probably regret some things for the rest of my life- that there was never a taking back of bitter words, nor a formal goodbye, or even that I never said some things I really wanted to say- but never mind that, anymore. I am so, so thankful that I can say my goodbye with hope. For me, for those in the way of faith, death is only a beginning; and someday we’ll continue where we left off….

So, it’s approaching the anniversary of the day we met, and I know I’m getting all weepy as the days go by, but I know he lives on- in the memories and hearts of those who loved him, and in how he loved, too.

(it's still roses btw us xx)