The night of my father's wake, my very dear friend, Allison, walked in the room with tears flowing. I had spoken to her many times since his death, but I had not actually seen her yet. She walked up to me unable to clearly speak through the tears and shoved the above cross in my hand. She said that it was a clutching cross, to help me through the hard times over the next few days, weeks, months. It had been her and Todd's (her husband) to clutch onto during their times of grief, but now it was for me.
I loved that cross. I never let it go that night and carried it with me the entire next day. Sometimes I held it so tight that it left an impression in my hand and made my knuckles hurt from the pressure. I kept it in my jewelry box on my bathroom counter and would take it out occasionally just to hold it and pray. It just felt good to hold it...the way the curves just caress your hand, you'd swear someone was holding it. I loved that Allison had said that I could keep it, because I just knew that I would have it forever as a memory of her love and the strength that it gave me during a time of such amazing sorrow.
That was until recently.
I got a phone call that Brent, another very good friend's sister had passed away. She was young and it was unexpected and because of her past, it was full of amazing sorrow and regret and guilt. I instantly connected with the pain. I knew where he was. I ached in my bones for the feelings that I knew he was experiencing. I cried for his wife Christina, also a dear friend, because I knew how hard it is to see someone you love in so much sorrow and grief. Allison called and said that Christina was going to give the eulogy. She said she was going to come over to her house to practice getting the words out. I asked if she would mind if I came in support. Sometimes you just need a witness to sit there and listen. As I was getting ready to go, I glanced down into my jewelry box and saw the cross. It no longer belonged to me. It didn't fit my hand anymore. I gave Christina the cross that night. She held it as she shook with tears reading a letter that her husband had written to his deceased sister but did not have the strength to read himself. She read that letter several times that night, each time holding the cross a little tighter and and speaking a little stronger.
Brent and Christina.... I am so sorry for this unexpected journey in your life. I hope that all the love and strength and experience which lives in that cross, help your hearts as you walk down this very long and difficult road.
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