being inside someone else's moment

last night was date night.  we were on a roof top patio eating spring rolls in a mostly expat crowd, when someone who appeared to be celebrating her birthday, got a phone call. a phone call that would change her world forever.  in slow motion, we watched this older woman unravel, and then her older daughter too.  there was "no! no!" and a lot of gasping and crying then questions,  "when did this happen?" and "are your sure?"  then more "no!" and falling to the ground or into restraining arms of husbands- as the daughter quickly caught on that her brother was dead.  that her mother had just lost her son in a car accident. 

it was awful. there was no where to go.  there was nothing to do.  it was like watching someones insides fall out- hearts breaking- years and words spinning- anger, denial, agony- on a beautiful evening that was meant for a celebration- a rooftop at sunset- it was out of context- it didn't belong there.


the patio stopped- froze.  time stood still, as we were stuck in someone else's life changing moment, witnessing something awful, something that didn't belong to us, but is such a universal part of life.

i have been at the bedside of many dying patients.  i have held many hands of daughters losing parents, or sisters losing brothers.  i have been the one on the other end of that phone or in the waiting room- giving that horrible news- knowing that in those few seconds, worlds change. 

'he's gone.'
'you have cancer.'
'it's HIV'

wishing i could wait, buy someone an ice cream sundae, let them go see a movie and laugh hard- before they fall to bits. before i share something that will brand that date forever in their mind, before sounds they had never noticed - the ticking of a fan- become forever linked with their diagnosis, or the second they lost their son.



saturday night is necessary.  it's the highlight of the week on many levels, mostly because it's set aside to give each other focused attention and processing time, and there is more to process here, living in another culture, away from what has always been home- we need to be more for each other here. last night in those eternal minutes of forced exposure, at the uninvited viewing of another family's extreme vulnerability- i began to cry too as it unfolded. 


because we all know those calls- those seconds -  when life as we knew it, is no more.  we all have our ticking clocks and tommy bahama ties and the smell of OR gas, or the song that was playing.  we all know loss, or can imagine it, and fear it, and hold our loved ones tighter when we think of it.


even though it felt like forever- the call was only a few minutes.  soon the mother and father, the sister and her husband got their bags and began to leave. people were quiet, as the family walked to their cars and drove away.  and then the world started up again.


the people on the patio drank their beer and laughed and shouted about the soccer game.  the scene had ended.  they were strangers. it's saturday night.


this added to our need for alone time- this added to the list of things to be processed.  thankfully i'm married to a guy who gets this, and me, so we quickly paid our bill and went for dinner. in the car we prayed for the family, whoever they are, where ever they are from, and for the one they lost.


the sushi restaurant was quiet, the sun had set, and the evening was cool.  it was windy where we sat outside- mike said we could have been anywhere.  he said when you move up on a hill or a mountain or into the sky- it becomes progressively windier.  the world from up there, from the blowing sky, looks smaller- and more the same. that view smooths over our differences that can scream loudly at ground level.


what does it matter that i know God? or try to? does it change those frozen, life changing moments?

yes and no.  they are there, and always will be.  but the perspective is different- the understanding of time is different, and purpose, and meaning.  those minutes and the news that makes them so awful and gut-wrenching,  are still just as painful- but there is also, an undeniable, and unfathomable peace that follows at some point.  that sits beside the sorrow- not removing it, but providing that breeze of promise- you will breathe again, you will even smile again, you are not alone.

it's hard for me to imagine those moments with out the context of a God who loves us- with out that peace that quietly whispers.  the darkness must be much darker, the agony even deeper. so i pray it for them- that for this family, who i accidentally witnessed hearing the worst news a mother or sister can hear,  somehow a light will shine, they will feel the everlasting arms,  the warmth of a sheltering sky, and the breeze of promise.