Consuming Sorrow

Consuming Sorrow

I felt you. So close I could touch you. If only I could reach you.

I was in a long hallway, mirrors on both sides as far as the eye could see. The ceiling was immersed in thousands of shadows. A greyish light highlighted me where I stood.

I moved towards the wall in front of me, you a tangible link on the other side. Like a two-way glass, you could see me, but I couldn’t see you.

God, please, please just let me see her. Let me hug her one last time. Please, God, please.

The mirrored glass remained, hard and unyielding. I laid my fingers against it, touching my own reflection. A lone tear ran down my cheek. You were close. So, so close.

Anger and frustration boiled up within me. I curled my hands into fists. Torment ate me up inside, spewing out. I brought my fist against the glass, over and over again. Pain ricocheted up my arm. Yet, the glass still remained.

Sorrow rose up, grasped me by the throat, choking me. The tears flowed faster. A sob built and broke free.

Please, please, please, just one last time.

Grief crushed me, drove me to my knees. I kneeled there, my hand still touching the mirror. Sobs shook me. Tears poured down my face to drip one by one upon the gray cement floor. I leaned forward until my forehead touched the glass. I pressed my hand down harder, as though I could reach through and touch you.

The perspective changed, like a camera shifting, to show both sides. Me in the hallway through the glass. You watching through it on the other side.

There you stood. Warm, yellow light spilled around you, like the light on a bright sunny day. Greenery and blooming flowers surrounded you. Your hands were extended, your fingers touching the glass. One on my hand, the other on my head.

With your eyes riveted on my figure through the glass, you whispered, “God, please hold her tonight.”

I crumpled to the ground, silent sobs shaking me. I kept one hand on the glass, one wrapped around myself. It wasn’t enough. My heart shattered into a million pieces. The overwhelming sense of loss washed over me. Like losing you the first time, all over again.

You sank down with me, the fingers of your hands never leaving my hand or my figure. You raised your eyes, the golden light highlighting your face in its radiance, before closing them. “Please, God. She’s alone. Hurting. Please, comfort her, when I can’t.”

I beat weakly against the glass, exhausted. My sobs tapered off, but the tears didn’t stop. I curled up right there on the cold floor, my knees tucked tight into my chest.

You sank to a sitting position, your head leaning against the glass, your eyes still fixed upon me.

A warm presence hovered near, leaning over me. I was lifted off the floor, curled into a warm, strong chest. I grasped the gossamer fabric in one hand, my fingers of the other touching the glass. I quieted, the tears drying. The sorrow began to ease.

I whispered, “I just miss her, so much.”

A voice whispered across my mind, “I know. I’ll make it better, I promise.”

As He held me with one arm, He reached through the glass with the other and grasped your hand in His. Linking us once again.

“He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away.” Revelation 21:4 ESV