after the last tear falls

Mr. Man has been assisting in the youth group for about two years. He leads the music, does sound, helps with whatever else needs doing. When we started dating, I would attend class with him on the nights I was there, and the first time I walked in I was terrified–what if they all hated me?

They didn’t. They were all sweet and crazy, and have been great fun ever since. We’ve gone to formals, helped them prep for the talent contest, gotten canoes flipped, taken pictures, played volleyball, baked cupcakes, stayed up till all hours talking, laughed, and cried more than you might think.

But last night, we went into the young marrieds class instead. It was our choice–we could remain helping in the youth class or move to assisting in the young marrieds, and we chose to move. But just because you choose the change doesn’t necessarily make it any easier. I’m going to miss them.

And then, last night, as we were falling asleep, sister-in-law1 called, crying, missing her mom. She talked and talked, and I couldn’t understand her, but I could hear the pain in her voice and the corresponding tears of my husband. You can’t explain away death. You can’t reason why a lovely, vibrant mother of six would die at 47. You can only cry, and hope to understand someday.

So last night we cried ourselves to sleep. He was crying quietly, his body barely shaking, but I could feel his tears sliding across my neck. I was crying too, because he was hurting and there’s nothing I can do to ease his pain. I was crying for his family–I want to do more, spend more time with his siblings, help them clean house or something. I don’t know…I just wish they didn’t have to hurt so bad.

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~ by wildeyedwonder on July 24, 2006.

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