The Hardest Days

I'm going to leave the 'family' behind for a moment, or maybe they are actually part of this in some strange way. Heading into this 4th of July weekend, my heart is already heavy. I will be alone, as I have been alone on many holidays now, and will be alone for many ahead. I don't mean I won't be with people, because unlike last, this year I do have plans to be with others. But I am still struggling with the idea that my own family--my husband--won't be present. It isn't even the same to be with parents, or siblings, or children. When the special person in your life no longer wants to be part of it, well, there's nothing that can fill that kind of loneliness.

While I'm working to allow a deeper 'spirituality' to take up that empty space, some days it just doesn't work. It's not so much looking back, or looking forward, but rather a space in the 'present' moment that won't be filled. Perhaps in time--or so they tell me--it will be different. I'd like to believe that's true, but it's hard to imagine when your heart is aching.

So in regard to my house and its family, I often wonder how those women survived the heartache? Especially Mary Jameson, who lost 7 of her nine children while living in this house. Granted, some were babies she never had a chance to know well, but others died in youth or young adulthood, and one died in a tragic fire practically at her front door. She lost her husband when he was 61, and lived here for 26 years without him. How did she go on? How did she manage the endless days (and nights!)? At least she didn't have the heartache of knowing she was left from lack of love. Back then, while it certainly happened, life mostly presented other cruelties.

From the old letters I've read, for Mary it all came down to faith. She, and all of those around her, believed so strongly that being carried to one's 'Heavenly Father' would insure a life so much better than any earthbound soul could hope for, dying seemed a blessing. Even little Bessie, burned in a terrible fire, cried to go 'to Jesus.' And although Sallie Tom Jameson, Mary's sister-in-law, taken by illness two weeks before she was to have wed, wished for a bit more time before God called her 'home,' she knew she would find peace on the other side.

When did we lose that faith in what's beyond? Where is the comfort we're promised when our hearts are filled with pain? There's a song by contemporary Christian band The Fray called 'You Found Me.' In it, the singer laments 'Lost and insecure, You found me, you found me, Lyin' on the floor, Surrounded, surrounded, Why'd you have to wait? Where were you? Where were you? Just a little late, You found me, you found me...' Evidently there's been a lot of criticism about this song by listeners of Christian music. But don't we all wonder that sometimes--why'd you have to wait? Did those Victorians understand what we don't about waiting? That regardless of today's heartaches, something greater awaited them?

So amidst the pain, I remember how much others, too, have lost in this house...and I wait.