light, love, healing

This weekend was a reminder to me of just how fragile we are. And how strong. 

Saturday, my friend's son ended up in the ER. She's a nurse, so going to the ER is a pretty big deal, I knew immediately something was really, really wrong. He was initially diagnosed with pneumonia (respiratory distress). But then the blood work came back and it was his liver that was in trouble. None of which made sense for the flu they thought he had. 

And that wasn't it. It wasn't the flu. It is most likely Burkitt's Lymphoma. And it isn't just in his liver. 

There is a sorrow that fills this world. A six year old in PICU. A family struggling to help him fight, to hold on to their beloved. 

There is a grief that fills this world. Relentless grief. No one is immune. If you close your eyes and turn away, you are missing the connection. We are all connected. 

Many turn away from fear; fear that it will happen to them if they get too close, fear that they don't know what to say, fear of distress. I understand that fear. Saying the wrong thing can hurt. But better that than saying nothing. 

This is when we are needed most in each other's lives. If you've ever been through any time like this, you know how very alone you are when you're staring into the void (or even the shadow of the void). Even one word can help. A hug. 

There is a sorrow that fills this world, but there is so much love. So much love. Sometimes the sorrow has to burn brightly through until all that remains is love, like the ashes in a fireplace. 

And all that remains is love.

This is a friend I have only met in person once or twice, but have known intimately for almost eight years now online. (We met on livejournal.) And so hugging in person isn't our norm. Our norm is words. And I won't turn away. This is my chance to bolster her as she bolstered me in my time

I haven't heard anything this morning. I am sitting with the fear and hope and praying. And praying. And praying.