November 08, 2014


A few nights ago my beautiful Aunt Sandy (far right) went to bed, as we all do. Before falling asleep she more than likely, as we all do, replayed in her mind the events of another day - the good, the bad, the finished, and the unfinished. Soon enough she fell asleep, and then after a time she woke up, but not in her bed. My aunt wouldn't wake up again on this earth. She rests now in the warmth of Heaven.

Sandy Post was only 64 years old when a massive stroke took her from us in her sleep, just a few weeks before Thanksgiving in the year 2014. She felt no pain. She felt no worry. Aside from being decades too soon, it was a pleasant way to leave the earth. But pleasant is not how we are feeling.

Tragedy is completely unlike any other facet of the human experience. There is daily life, with its potholes and rain showers, layoffs, weight gain, financial strain, migraines. And then a day comes when my mother's only sister and best friend, Sandy, dies in the night. Out of nowhere Uncle Chris (second from left) becomes a widower, with his health and retirement years ahead of him. My four cousins are left to finish their adult lives without their mother. Grandkids have lost their grandmother. Uncle Randy and my mom have lost their sister. My brothers and cousins and I have lost our aunt. And my grandmother has lost her firstborn child. Tragedy leaves so much brokenness in its wake.

Yesterday I spoke with my grieving grandmother on a video call. She saw my face over the miles, and I hers, and we both began to weep. As a mother, I can't imagine what she must be going through. But even trying to imagine brings me to my knees with sorrow.

"I'm sorry," I said to her. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

She cried. I cried.

"I'm sorry that your daughter died, Grandma."

She cried. I cried. And there was nothing else to say.