placenta

"Love of mine some day you will die
But I'll be close behind
I'll follow you into the dark

No blinding light or tunnels to gates of white
Just our hands clasped so tight
Waiting for the hint of a spark
If Heaven and Hell decide
That they both are satisfied
Illuminate the NOs on their vacancy signs

If there's no one beside you
When your soul embarks
Then I'll follow you into the dark..."

- from Death Cab for Cutie's "I will follow you into the dark"

"Tuesday night at the bible study
We lift our hands and pray over your body
But nothing ever happens...

...On the floor at the great divide
With my shirt tucked in and my shoes untied
I am crying in the bathroom

In the morning when you finally go
And the nurse runs in with her head hung low
And the cardinal hits the window

In the morning in the winter shade
On the first of March on the holiday
I thought I saw you breathing

Oh the glory that the lord has made
And the complications when I see his face
In the morning in the window..."

- from Sufjan Steven's "Casimir Pulaski Day"

Yesterday was the viewing for Esther, the young woman from my church who recently passed away from cancer. They do it quite differently here, which was disconcerting, but I was glad I went, as it allowed me to try and express an iota of my sympathy for what her mother and brother are having to carry right now.

I've noticed lately, since Esther died, that I'm less inclined to have confidence in intercessory prayer. It made me realize that before now I rarely prayed for specific outcomes, but in terms of Esther's healing, we were all quite clear what outcome we wanted. Faith is a habit it is hard to get out of though, and I continue to hope (and pray) that God will carry her family in the midst of their loss.

In the time right after Esther's death I read the new CPT book, "118 days." The book manages to do many things, teaching about the situations of conflict that CPT works in, as well as highlighting the "explosion of goodness" that came about as a result of the crisis. Over a year later, it creates some meaning and order out of the chaos of fear and loss that the crisis inspired for folks intimately affected, as well as those distantly touched, like yours truly.

Some how the book comforted me after Esther's passing, but that comfort evaporated yesterday when I was confronted with how very dead she is now, and how much her family are hurting.

Today a few of us went down to Bristol for the funeral of my housemate's mother. She was 94, and the funeral was a lovely, simple celebration of her life. It was a privilege to be there. And it comforted me.

Someone who is dead no longer looks like themselves. And in the moment of seeing Esther's body yesterday, I was overwhelmed with a fear that she was utterly gone. That nothing was left except her physical body that will now decay. Since seeing her though, I've seen many living people. And I've been conversely overwhelmed by how alive they are. By the magic of individual personality and life that each person brims with.

And I don't know what comes next, if anything, but I have renewed hope that there is something eternal that makes its escape at death. The age-old metaphor of the baby leaving behind the placenta and the womb, or the butterfly leaving the cocoon. Maybe it's just a way of keeping myself happy, but I'll keep hoping.