I think I've pointed out the blog Seraphic Secret before. Many of the entries deal with the death of Robert and Karen's son, Ariel. His writing about grief is so real and so human; you can't help but feel his loss when you read his posts. Here is an excerpt from a recent post.
"Whenever I am in the company of someone wise and thoughtful, inevitably I will talk about Ariel. I probe, trying to extract some hidden knowledge that might make it easier for Karen and I to cope with Ariel's death. And so, when I asked Rabbi Lapin a series of questions about death, about life after death, he gave me a sad and honest look and told me that he had no answers. Oddly enough, this answer satisfies me, for in spite of my yearning for explanations, I know, deep down, that all answers signify nothing but a vast ignorance. There are worlds within worlds and they will forever be hidden from us. Rabbi Lapin recognizes this. He is too wise and too kind to say otherwise."
-- Robert J. Avrech, Rappin' with Lapin
I have always struggled with people who have all the answers. I was raised in a church where they had all the answers, direct from God. Turns out they were asking the wrong questions and mistaking their own wishful thinking for the voice of God. (I've come to think we all do this from time to time, it's just a matter of degrees.)
I heard all the trite answers about death growing up; "God had a reason" or "It was for the best" or "They didn't have enough faith." I always rebelled against these answers. I never wanted to believe in that monstrous God.
When I was in fifth or sixth grade my pastor died. My family was quite close to the pastor and his family. We were over at their house all the time. He was 29 or 30 at most. He had two small children, the oldest was five I think. The younger child sat next to me at the funeral and doodled in a coloring book. At one point during the service he looked right at me and asked, "Why is my daddy in that box." Even then I knew there was no good answer and I just shook my head and said "I don't know why your dad is in the box."
To this day, I still want to believe that his dad wasn't in the box. More than once I have been somewhere and saw someone who reminds me of Pete. In my heart, I still want it to be Pete instead of someone with his curly red hair and swagger. I've wanted him to shake my hand and tell me he had to be in some government witness protection program. I've always wanted to believe he was still alive somewhere.
I think the best we can hope in life, is not answers to all of life's questions but simply having people in our life to hold us when we ask them.
