100 Feet Up...

(I don't really want to write anything. But anytime I experienced significant things in my life, Kyle would always tell me to write it down. So I'll try it a little at a time.)

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It seems like the back collar of my shirt was lifted up by God's gigantic hands that Sunday and I was placed a mile in the air, feet on a tightrope stretched before me, and told to walk.

I could fall to the left into my grief where there was pain and anguish that led to good thoughts of a life well lived. Or I could fall to the right into thoughts of a life well lived that eventually led to pain and anguish at what I have lost. Either way I fell I ended up there and then somewhere else.

On Sunday I tricked myself into thinking the hard part was over, and then Monday came. Monday morning was ok. In fact, all the mornings have seemed ok. I think it's because I generally worked in the mornings and Kyle always worked in the mornings and our friendship took a break during the A.M. (In fact, Kyle used to do sermon work at Barnes and Noble in the mornings and Common Grounds in the afternoons. He went full time at Common Grounds when I started working at BN, just so he could get work done.) Mornings my mind was on one thing, his on another, and we had very little contact.

Monday afternoon, though, the night came. A needed word on the phone from a friend sent me spiraling down, off the tightrope, into the dark. I got home, went to bed at 8:00 (aided by liquid sleep,) and didn't get up until 5:00 a.m. on Tuesday.

I have to remind myself that I am not the only one walking up here. There are others who grieve as much as me. I need to reach over and help them balance.

Or, perhaps, I need to remind them, as I have been reminded, that in this balancing act, a Net has been provided.