Shifting

The burden of her struggle and the weight of her pain are, even as I write, shifting onto her nearest, dearest loved ones. The classmate I barely knew, will die in peace, and soon.  She  occupies that space between here and there, a place holy and preliminary. Going through the doorway, she leaves us all behind, waiting for our turn. 

But I want to tell them this is how it works, so they can see and precisely say later on, that she did not suffer at the end. I think it's important for them to know they were the ones to do that, beginning now. They are the ones suffering at her end, and knowing this brings comforting clarity. They take up the task of being brave and uncomplaining even in their confusion and grief. She's done with it now, even though she's still here. I need to tell them I have seen it hundreds of times (even if they disavow actual heroism on their part): the weight of their present grief is her struggle lifted, shifted onto them. 

They do not know me. Why would they listen? Why would I intrude? Professional expertise and spiritual support are better offered directly and in person. So I find this way to assist. Ultimately, I have staked my life on believing that distance cannot prevent my participation in their journey or hers. 

Eyes haven't seen, ears haven't heard, and  wise hearts know they know next to nothing of what is prepared for those who love. Still, we make conjectures, and rely on them more than anyone might guess.  

Olympics, Los Angeles, CA - smruhland