Collapse. Your heart at the words.
She passed away last night. Your sweet baby cousin, the bright and beautiful Miss Annabelle. The One-Who-Rocked EVERYONE’S world. She was at the hospital. It was a typical procedure. But her heart couldn’t handle it.
My heart collapsed this morning right there in the car with my kids in the back seats screaming about who was allowed to hold a piece of Starbucks trash. I wanted to yank my ear buds out of my ears and get those minutes of my life back. I thought immediately of the hours my cousin and his wife had already been grieving, and of the despondence my aunt and uncle were feeling, and then to the future sorrow all my aunts, uncles, grandparents and extended family as each one would receive the news.
My mouth became dry. My heart a rock in my seat.
Everyone remembers where they were when the Twin Towers collapsed. We remember watching it happen and if not, we remember watching the replays. How the gush of air preceded the collapse and pushed debris deep into the streets and roads for hundreds of yards. The gush, the rush, the falling, the cloudiness that rose up afterward.
In the collapse that ensues at the death of a loved one–your beloved uncle, your cousin’s unborn baby, your sister’s, and yes, yours…and now yet another cousin–his and his beautiful wife’s precious daughter–that collapse pushes forth the same way.
In the wake of that rush, the spirit of the day, the week, the month–the tide of life–everything stops. And everything, absolutely everything, is covered with a layer of black and gray dust..some of it feet high.
Her heart stopping last night ushered in the collapse of hundreds of hearts today. And I know for sure, layers and layers of hurt, pain, and despair.
I wonder how many city streets were flooded with the rush of sadness that cascaded out–hundreds sharing grief in their individual ways as best as they could on Facebook, in notes, in words–tears, silent, loud, invisible, unyielding, unwanted, unstoppable, uncontrollable.
My selfish collapse looked all day for relief–for a condolence of my own. Who will comfort me as I grieve the loss of a little girl I’ve never even had the chance to hold? A little girl who breathed nothing but life and smiles and happiness all two years of her life. I hate myself for feeling this way. This was me in the clouds and the aftermath of the collapse. This was me caught in the debris that comes along with the death fight. We all know death is in the cards yet we all fight it with every ounce of our being when it greets our loved ones. We mostly all of us fiercely cling to our beloved, because we love her, we need him, we beg God to change His mind please on just this one person….
Where is the lesson? Perhaps in the state of the word collapse itself. Are we just collapsing or are we collapsing on? We must collapse a bit on each other–and by a bit, I mean A LOT, but we must collapse also on the ONE with an unending supply of comfort and support.
Whether I think well of God or poorly or am angry or cloudy about this world and how death so hatefully rips us apart, at the end of the day, the news leads me to one of two clear paths.
I collapse and shut down.
I collapse on Him.
…to COLLAPSE on HIM.