My life is not a one screen life, nobody's is.
However, I do like the template editor that allowed me to change the margins of my text boxes. Expanding the margins makes a long post seem shorter and a short post seem pithy, don't you think?
With my posting patterns, I'd better be both pithy and occasionally profound. At the very least, it had better all fit on one screen.
At this moment, the person whom I most love in the world is about to be admitted to a hospital in a different city. I cannot be there. I am supposed to be writing a eulogy for a thirty-six year old woman who died two weeks before Christmas. Her funeral is day after tomorrow.
In the past eight months I have officiated at funerals for a twenty-eight year old graduate student, a forty-two year old homeless drunk, a forty year old preschool teacher.... and now this.
I think she suicided, her family insists she did not.
I think that it is unlikely that she was assaulted by a stranger and forced to drink poison. Twice. Um, over the course of three days. She made a police report to that effect, so her family believes her. Her family also believes that she was not involved in a same-sex relationship with her female partner, er house-mate. And, while we're at it, they believe that: She's-with-God-so-her-death-is-a-okay-We-sure-don't-know-what-we'd-do-without-our-faith! (Hold hands and sing, What a friend we have in Jesus, here.)
They are of a different religious tradition... well it's Christian flavored.... but definitely more apocalyptic and excited about death than mine.
I believe that she is united with God, too. But there's nothing okay about taking one's life so young. There is nothing okay about her glorious skills and gifts lost, wasted. There is nothing okay about any of it. Her partner doesn't think so, either. Neither of us is ready to sing Kumbayah over it.
I can barely come up with eulogizing words or the words to weave a sermon for the following morning or the right way to breathe, even.
So, I blog because writing anything else seems impossible. Crafting a sermon for a service that her mother said should be entirely focused on bringing people to Christ, feels insane.
Her mother wanted to eliminate the eulogy altogether in favor of a longer sermon. I prevailed. I think she's afraid I will say something that makes her uncomfortable.
But that's not the whole problem, either. Saying uncomfortable things is not the problem. The death itself isn't even the whole problem. It is the people who are left behind, what they are doing and how they are doing it that is the problem. It is also this:
When I die, the woman who is going to be admitted to the hospital tonight will have never met my parents, will have lived closeted for a big part of our life. Because I am clergy she will struggle to be recognized as my partner. When she dies, my family of origin will not know or care and my church will wonder what role she really played in my life and why it matters so much that she is gone.
I don't want that. I am watching it unfold before me and I don't want it.
Tonight, I just want my love to be okay. She will be. This is not life-threatening.... though it is important and scary... and if it gets worse, it might be life-threatening. So she's following doctor's orders. She's following orders and I am doing my job here. This is what has to be in this moment.