Butch
"We may worry about death but what hurts the most is to live without tasting the water of its own essence.--Rumi
Recently, I lost a dear friend. The husband of a fellow writer, Butch, and I had hit it off from the moment we met. Why not? He loved to read those same mysteries I cut my teeth on. We shared books at least once a month when we three writer friends got together; it was only every third month that I could get my hug and kiss from him as we trade homes to meet in. I can't believe Butch isn't there to greet me again.
He and his dear wife had been married for 60 years, raised two children, and were enjoying retirement. Though he had been in and out of the hospital with respiratory problems for several years, it was such a shock when it was discovered that he had stomach cancer. He was dead within a week. It broke my heart.
And the devastating moment for me was to come home from a 30-day vacation one day after his funeral--to find out he had died. I felt like I had let him, his wife and children down by just not being there for them. All I could do was call-- tell them what they already knew--how much I loved Butch, that I would have been there every step of the way, at the viewing, helping with the preparation, set-up and serving the luncheon at their home after the funeral, and standing by the family's side all day. And they know I'll be there, even now, when they need someone to talk to, to grab a hold of a hand when they need steadying, and to count on me to do whatever I can to make this healing period a little easier, if I can.
Each day I pray for my friend and her family. I don't pray for Butch now. I know where that sweet, gentle, loving, man is--he is sitting at God's feet, or bowling with the angels, or setting up a heavenly barber shop--just for that little trim God's children may need now and then.
Until we meet again, Butch....
Recently, I lost a dear friend. The husband of a fellow writer, Butch, and I had hit it off from the moment we met. Why not? He loved to read those same mysteries I cut my teeth on. We shared books at least once a month when we three writer friends got together; it was only every third month that I could get my hug and kiss from him as we trade homes to meet in. I can't believe Butch isn't there to greet me again.
He and his dear wife had been married for 60 years, raised two children, and were enjoying retirement. Though he had been in and out of the hospital with respiratory problems for several years, it was such a shock when it was discovered that he had stomach cancer. He was dead within a week. It broke my heart.
And the devastating moment for me was to come home from a 30-day vacation one day after his funeral--to find out he had died. I felt like I had let him, his wife and children down by just not being there for them. All I could do was call-- tell them what they already knew--how much I loved Butch, that I would have been there every step of the way, at the viewing, helping with the preparation, set-up and serving the luncheon at their home after the funeral, and standing by the family's side all day. And they know I'll be there, even now, when they need someone to talk to, to grab a hold of a hand when they need steadying, and to count on me to do whatever I can to make this healing period a little easier, if I can.
Each day I pray for my friend and her family. I don't pray for Butch now. I know where that sweet, gentle, loving, man is--he is sitting at God's feet, or bowling with the angels, or setting up a heavenly barber shop--just for that little trim God's children may need now and then.
Until we meet again, Butch....
posted by Barb | 9:56 PM
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