In Memoriam

I walk to the post office on a rainy day.

Heart burdened by the loss of my brother, hands burdened with packages I return for my mom. As I turn onto Evergreen, I see a house and my inner voice beckons me to cross the street. Within feet now and the voice becomes imperative and demands that I do so. I oblige and walk on the other side of the street to see the house is adorned with a “beware of dog” sign. I am thankful for this insight but do not feel that the Holy Spirit was the source of this warning; perhaps moments passed where I remembered former trips to the post office with said sign. Nevertheless, I am in the post office soon enough.

Another exercise of patience as I make my way to the front of the line.

Music coming through one headphone as the artist speaks of a mighty Savior whom he is deeply in love with. I should get my player fixed. Soon I am at the front of the line and the man might as well be speaking another language because I am not fully present. My current state is further proof that there is no timetable for grief and I remind myself that I have now known of his fate for a little over a day. I return packages and receive my receipt and confirmation of delivery form as I continue on my journey. Am tempted to walk along freeway drive instead—the longer walk could prove therapeutic—but have no interest in feeling the chill against my neck prolong—so I retrace my steps. These steps that bring me parallel with the house adorned with a “beware of dog” sign.

My view has changed. I notice how the house, like another two doors down, is boarded up. The house in between may have been spared from the tornadoes of foreclosure but there is no guarantee that it is inhabited. But the house that represented a warning for me earlier is now a shell; the “beware of dog” sign and satellite dish, indicators of the house’s legacy. Then I heard the familiar voice say that I felt the way I did because I could not see the whole picture. My reaction, though genuine, is grounded in limited information. If only I knew the totality of my brother’s state, the fullness of joy he is ever present with, would my sorrow subside and my persuasion be furthered strengthened that nothing can separate us from the love of God.