“Not Love, but Death”

Tags

Death, Fr. Abram J. Ryan, God, Grief, Hope, Love, Poem, Sorrow, Valentine's Day

“Is it indeed so?  If I lay here dead,

Wouldst thou miss any life in losing mine?” ~ Elizabeth Browning

 

I met a young woman today but only very briefly.  I don’t really remember her face except to say that her eyes seemed hollow and sunken.  She had probably cried so much that there were no more tears left to shed. 

We met but only very briefly, this young woman and I.  Only after she had come and gone did I learn why she was weeping.  Her beloved died yesterday…on Valentine’s Day.  Apparently, his death was an accidental suicide.  This young woman lost her boyfriend, never to return, on Valentine’s Day.

Can you imagine the pain?  She was such a young woman, a girl really, and to have lost her boyfriend to death at such an early age.  But of all days, why on Valentine’s Day?  Can you imagine the pain?  Everyone complains about “Single Awareness Day.”  Can you imagine?  Everyone sulks and is sad.  Why?  For petty reasons.  But she will wear a downcast face on every Valentine’s Day.  Why?  Because her beloved is dead.  Such a mess of petty reasons why her beloved is dead.

These are the terrible and frightening moments, when the veil of time seems to be removed, and the value of the present moment blindingly shines into our careless, dull, and selfish lives.  The whole world is upside-down. Not love, but death.

Several years ago I visited a Trappist monastery in Iowa: New Melleray Abbey.  In the mailroom is a small board where slips of paper are put up with prayer requests from all over the country.  One day while I was there I looked up and read the following simple note: “Our prayers are requested for a young family.  Their little son just drowned.”  I cried right there. 

I have always kept a copy of that simple note with me.  Now I use it as a bookmark in a book of poems, Poems: Patriotic, Religious, Miscellaneous by Abram J. Ryan (pg. 209).  The following is for those who have experieneced, not love, but death.

Hope

 

Thine eyes are dim:

                A mist hath gathered there;

Around their rim

                Float many clouds of care,

                And there is sorrow every—everywhere.

 

But there is God,

                Every—everywhere;

Beneath His rod

                Kneel thou adown in prayer.

 

For grief is God’s own kiss

                Upon a soul.

Look up!  the sun of bliss

                Will shine where storm-clouds roll.

 

Yes, weeper, weep!

                ‘Twill not be evermore;

I know the darkest deep

                Hath e’en the brightest shore.

 

So tired!  So tired!

                A cry of half despair;

Look!  at your side—

                And see Who standeth there!

 

Your Father!  Hush!

                A heart beats in His breast;

Now rise and rush

                Into His arms—and rest.