Can they see the pain that haunts my eyes? Can they hear my heart breaking in two? Do they have any idea just how close to tears I am on any given occasion? Are they feeling the same thing and I’m just so lost in my own grief and self that I can’t see beyond my own pain? How many people that I meet on the street, in the store, driving by, delivering the mail . . how many of them are suffering, too? How often have I smiled at someone without looking into their eyes, and have failed to notice that their world is breaking up around them. How often have I said lightly “Have a nice day!” and never noticed just how difficult that could be?
The pain is there, permeating everything; every thought, every word, every action. “How can they not see?” I wonder. And then I struggle to recall the innocence of the distant past. Even my children often seem oblivious to the pain that is drowning me. They are so matter of fact in their conversations about Daddy. “Daddy is dead” they might say, and then move on to “I like lots of green in my pictures”. No correlation, no tears, . . sometimes they toss out memories and sometimes they note that they miss their Daddy, but life moves on and they just don’t seem to realize the hole, the loss that they are enduring. In some ways I envy them the simplicity. Jesus tells us to come to Him as little children . . bring Him the hurt, the pain, the loss and leave it there. Continue on with life . . . oh, but the past still haunts me so.