The happy day at last has come…
…But as I woke this morning, all I thought was how I would rather wake up ten thousand more mornings in the same bed, to the same life, with nothing ever changing.
How content I have been. As I face this great, unrecoverable change… as I face this death… all the former complaints and difficulities of the life I leave seem of no consequence.
Things could have gone better — or incredibly worse. I read in a young man’s obituary yesterday his family’s wistful expression:
"We could have loved you better, but we couldn’t love you more."
…I also couldn’t have loved them more… or loved her more, the last one I’ve loved, whose name I hesitate to write in any place possibly visible to her.
Once, in my sorrow, I was walking down the Conference Center hill, opposite that red mansion, and there I spotted a square of new cement by the first steps leading up to the patio at that back corner of the Center. I considered the place sufficiently holy — but not blasphemously holy — so I took the opportunity. Aware of the security camera hanging above, I acted casually, finally coming to sit on the steps above the square. If I remember right, I didn’t use a twig; I think I had somehow just found a nice feather; and with its writing end, I inscribed my heart’s testimony into the drying stone:
A single, inconspicuous syllable… her name… 봄.
I’m not sure how long that name will last, either scratched in that cement, or impressed on my soul…
Well, I go.
There will be no familiar face to meet me this time.
There may be few, if any, mornings that I will wake up in my soft bed after today, depending on what happens.
It was such a nice bed to wake up in. If I left the window open, I might hear the birds chirping outside, or Shane’s fountain running. Sometimes the sunlight would glitter through the rustling leaves of the tree next door.
…But there will be other mornings.
…There will be other beds.
There will be other familiar faces…
…And other names to write in stone. She didn’t want hers.
And for the life I may longingly be leaving forever behind, there is another life anxiously waiting for me to begin.
There are always other days which too must be lived, so they too can be missed.
Let us shed but few tears for those who depart.
They don’t go into nothing. They go…
…Into everything else.
They go to meet their wide-open futures, and we come shortly after.
This life is very short…
But eternity is a very, very long time.