Grief’s Liturgy. Gerald J. Postema

      with nowhere to go,

      and I am bursting

      with the pain of it.

      —Ann Weems

      Unfinished love. Love is never finished, of course, but our love was still deepening, still maturing. As her illness progressed, I sensed a greater tenderness in Linda’s touch and glance. The memory of them now is precious; painful but sweet. During her illness I learned difficult lessons about caring, about how to help her cope with her struggles. I have not finished the course, but the unfinished work of love now has a different assignment. The work is harder, because Linda can no longer gently correct my course. I won’t let this stop me, though.

      I have done some things to keep alive what she most cared about. I have been working with a national organization to promote lung cancer research to which she dedicated her life. I am also seeking ways to honor her courage and compassion, her insight into the needs and suffering of others, her steadfast refusal to tolerate behavior that denies respect for the vulnerable, her always evident grace and patience.

      While she now rests from her caring labors, her deeds follow after her (Rev. 14:13). Our love, unfinished but firm, will continue to live and grow.

      Day II: Mid-Morning [Terce]

      Diary entry: August 3, 2008—9:30 a.m.—On Amtrak train in mid-North Dakota

      Yesterday’s travel went smoothly. After leaving my bags at Union Station, I walked around downtown Chicago, our hometown. It was a beautiful, sunny, cool day. Chicago was splendid, but Linda’s absence was painfully present to me. I hope that someday the memories of our precious times together here will be welcome and lovely, but now they just bring pain—pain at her loss, pain at my loss of her and of the joy of sharing these good times.