Sweet Brit

It's happened 3 times to friends in the recent past. I swear, each time - it gets harder, not easier. When it has happened before, I didn't know what to do. I remember one time, I made homemade fudge. I don't know why - it seemed like the right things to do. Another time, I made chips and salsa...I always send flowers...but it is impossible to find the right kind of arrangement. Nothing seems to fit, be right, be exactly what I am looking for.


One time I wasn't here - I was in Russia. That was hard - I wanted to DO something, wanted to be there...whatever that means. I remember feeling horribly guilty that I was in Russia.


It happened again...



I am without words, without witty repartee, can't come up with a grand idea to make things better. I wish I had some kind of Godly wisdom that I could spout that would be so profound, so life-giving it would somehow cover the pain.



I wish I had answers, could point a finger, blame someone...



I wish it was a dream, that I'll wake up and look at the clock and think to myself, "wow, that was a horrible dream!"

All I have is prayer, and my heart. I wonder if trying to lovingly pray someone through a wicked time is enough. I wish I could let my heart run a ticker tape - then those who are mourning could see what I am really feeling, what I wish I could say to their faces...I hate it that all I can do is offer a hug and 'that look'. That stupid look...the one that says "I am so sorry, I have no idea what to say to you".


I don't know why children are taken. I can't sit here and spout some kind nonsense like "it's part of God's plan" (although, we all know it is). Sometimes your head knows things that your heart doesn't 'get'. This is one of those things, I just don't get.


Why is a child given to parents. Why is that child stricken with a horrid disease. Why does this child impact so many people in such a profound way...why was her time on this earth so short?

I think times like this, we remember with heavy hearts, and we try to be strong for those left behind. That is what I've tried to do...tried to not cry, try to be a pillar of silent strength...then hang up the phone and sob.

I wish I knew her better. I'll never forget the love she had for her Dad; the bond they had was a beautiful obvious thing. I won't soon forget the strong will that I saw in her eyes.

Cancer is a horrible thing. It destroys. It took Brit at the age of 17...it was too soon.

I pray that Brit's Dad and her family can draw strength from our Savior. Brit is now in His all powerful, all Loving, healing care. I am sure that our Father in Heaven holds sweet Brit in the palm of his hand, while she listens to her loud scream-y music, and paints her fingernails another new shade of black.

I think I will paint my toenails black - I bet she'd get a kick out of that.