When I was 14 a friend of mine died of childhood leukemia. We thought she had mono at first at the beginning of the school year, then discovered it was a form of acute leukemia. We made signs for her hospital room, prayed for her and remembered her at club meetings and assemblies all year. She finally passed away at Duke University in January, and her funeral was in early February. I attended it, but could only sit in the overflow room that was connected by television to the sanctuary. I attended the burial as well, saw the clutch of her best friends hugging each other in the cold.
When I got home, I changed out of my dress and put on jeans and my dad's grey t-shirt that said in the corner, "Washington, D. C. YMCA." I looked around my messy room and then went across the hall to my parents' room. I stretched out on the freshly made bed, and buried my face in a pillow. I can't remember if I cried (if I did it was brief), I just remember the horrible emotional nothing that I felt. My friends had already chastised me about my lack of tears in school, on the bus, in the courtyard. That only added to the emptiness in my soul. When I talked about that day years later with my mom, she recalled that she too had felt empty about this particular case of death in someone so young.
I just read another post, about what is empty being capable of being filled. Not sure who they are referring to as the source (Lao-tzu?), but I thought of all the things that have filled my soul since that day of emptying out, from that day to this. Recalling that day in more detail has brought back that empty feeling. It is good to pour out once in a while. It is good to write about things.
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