If I see you in the grocery store and you ask me how my mother is, how my family is, I’ll say, “We’re all muddling through, thanks.”
If I see you in church and you say you’ve been praying for me, I’ll say, “Thank you. The prayers are appreciated.”
The truth is I feel like a 300 pound person is standing on my chest in high-heeled combat boots. The truth is that I hear my mother say she can’t live through this—our family is still grieving my father’s death and now another. We are just beginning to understand how much it hurts and we wonder how we’ll cope with yet another intense loss. There are no words that can describe this and, frankly, I can’t even talk about it any more. Don’t ask me what happened. Don’t ask me what’s happening to the man who killed my brother. Don’t ask me because I still haven’t found the words to explain it and I don’t think I ever will.