Psalms in the night.

He is gone my LORD.
To the shadowy regions of Beyond, where the shackles of
amylotrophic lateral sclerosis are now an ever dimming memory,
if memory of this vale of tears indeed pursues those who have
crossed over.
‘Funny how rapidly men with this disease decline’ comments the counsellor.
Of course not funny – ha ha ha. Eerie, as if
‘Damn you- I will leave before your slithering fingers tighten their grip around my throat….I will not choke to death in front of my wife…my babies..grant me this one mercy O God’.
Does God hear the prayer of the heartbroken father, who though not believing that He is, defies Him to act graciously none-the-less?
He is gone my LORD.
A young wife has lost her best friend and must now try to re-invent happiness for the sake of her children; to reconstruct memory for a son and daughter;
To wrap them in that spider-man blanket rich with the final unspoken farewells broadcast by angels to the silence of night.
But YOU are God-comforter to the widow and the orphan- hide NOT your love in this white squall of bitter grief, in the obscene indifference of the sun to continue rising, and of breaksfasts and lunches and children’s shrinking universes that demand their place of importance on the stage of sorrow.

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