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“I Forgot How Hard This Is”

  • Writer: Reverend Steve Wilson
    Reverend Steve Wilson
  • Jun 2
  • 2 min read

All I can promise is a disjointed and bad run-on poem.  'Cause that’s what’s coming.  

Here goes…It was written a few days before my Dad passed.


I forgot how hard this is.

Headed towards the end of my middle years, I feel good. 

Even better than I would have thought. 

In a natural response to spring, I’ve been hitting the gym and riding my bike. 

And then there is my Dad, on an entirely different ride.

One that is hard to both watch or know how to talk about.

Especially for people without a firm faith in the afterlife,

Which, as I am being reminded, is a relatively theoretical matter until life brings you a little closer to the implications of that so very reasonable position. 

I hope I am wrong.

Sitting next to a man who, like a whale, only surfaces occasionally to our world occasionally I feel pointless sitting there, and guilty when I’m not there.

A decade after my Mom’s death, I forgot how hard this is.

I’m both so sad and dealing with it ok, and feeling a little guilty when I am feeling ok.

I’m really glad I don’t have to do this anymore,which of course, I will, with different people, and eventually myself. Ideally, not for a while.


I’m supposed to be something of a professional at this life and death stuff. I don’t feel it.

We call the gospels “the good news” and the day of Jesus' death “Good Friday. 

We call Buddha’s moment of awareness that suffering is inevitable his enlightenment. 

It’s odd, and not.

I’m not sure what my point here is. I’m not sure really why I am sharing this.

I’m pretty sure this missive has no clear mission. 

All I know is that we need good news for how hard life persistently is, and that in suffering somehow, depth is found.


What I can say is this.

I have heard people stand up countless times at Joys and Concerns and thank our community for being supportive in a difficult time. I now know how they feel. People at our church were great when my Dad would come. We are a community, and I feel the love.  This church may not be my family, and I have not been around long enough to call any of you old friends yet, but for what it is worth, this church is becoming one of my primary communities, and for that I am grateful.


Thanks, thanks, thanks for being patient with me in this time; and thanks for letting me spill some ink in your direction for no particular reason.


Steve

 
 
 

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