A couple of years ago, a man in India anxiously awaited for sixteen of his family members, to return from a trip overseas. Last year Haitians were trying to get a foothold onto a stronger country, that was showing some progress in key areas. A few weeks ago, a British man walked around an airport in Moscow, getting ready to wait for friends in the international arrivals area. Disaster struck. The man's sixteen family members, including his wife, children, mother, father, and cousins perished in a plane crash. Haitians were exposed to a "hell on Earth" in which hundreds of thousands lost their lives. That British man was blown to pieces in a terrorist bombing, along with countless other innocent souls.
Life is unpredictable, and to put it bluntly, unfair. There's something to be said about the cliche of "enjoy every moment, you never know when it will be your last." My son's last was on November 4th 2009, and this past week, I've felt a lot of anguish, pain, and guilt. I think about him everyday, as he would this summer be celebrating his seventh birthday, and had just learned to walk unassisted before being taken away by a seizure related to his Angelman Syndrome diagnosis. It hurts to think about finding him unresponsive, and while the doctors told me he "didn't know what hit him," I have no idea what he faced when that seizure caused him to go into cardiac arrest. Did he feel pain, was he gasping for breath, was he wishing someone was holding on to him as he crossed over to God?
The past week has been difficult, and I don't know what has triggered it. Although everyday isn't easy, some days are certainly better than others. Yet at the same time, this pain doesn't give me an entitlement to feel sorry for myself, as so many have had to experience heartbreak in their lives. Imagine the pain of those parents of Challenger astronauts, as they watched their loved ones get into that rocket, and lose their lives seventy three seconds later. Or the Georgian olympians parents, watching their son die on the ice at the most recent winter games. I'm not alone, as from the beginning of time, some people have had to be in my shoes. Some are going through the first stages right now, and my heart goes out to them, because there's nothing in the world worse than losing your child.
Yet what about that man in India, who's heartbreak was multiplied sixteen times? That seems like a burden beyond comprehension. Or scores of Haitians who lost their entire families, while loved ones realized that their mom or dad wasn't coming home from that Moscow Airport that was full of human carnage? Its okay to feel the pain, and to acknowledge it, but someone has it worst than I do. They are carrying on, with emotional baggage that's so heavy, that it might cause their heart to bleed from tears of the soul. Everyday you get up out of bed, and end up in your bed, is a blessing. I realized that yesterday, as going through "one of those days." There are no guarantees, and while the Sun may rise in the East and set in the West, there's nothing at all to guide us through this world but simple faith.
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