We buried my grandfather yesterday. He was 94, and had been sick and unhappy about being sick. I suppose the missing him part of grief hasn't yet hit me, because mostly I have been glad to see him away from pain.
As I walked, I thanked God for friends who have been so loving and supportive, not only during this grieving, but who have been helping me walk the dark part of my road the past few months. As I prayed, stepping through the piles of grass in a recently mown field, a rat scooted from where I had stepped, and scared the shit out of me.
As I recovered from my shock, I looked up to see dirt mounds and dirt moving machines left for the weekend. I tried not to be sad. I'm not a guy who extols the virtues of "the country" (whatever the heck that is), but I also don't always readily accept the destruction of nature for closer convenience store. I couldn't help but call to mind Cummings' wonderful line about progress.
But there were blue skies deep as love and sunshine. I've wept a lot this week, and not just for the passing of a good man. But I've also wept with gratitude -- so unnatural for me -- that so many people have let me into their hearts, let me hear their sorrows and frustrations, but also let me love them, because in there -- loving others -- is healing.