Barcodes, Coffee and Grief

It took my breath away.  

Walking into Caribou Coffee and seeing the man sitting next to the fireplace at the high-top table for two took my breath away. The shape of his shoulders, the style and texture of his shirt, the color and cut of his hair... this man, with his back to me, could have been my husband. 

It took my breath away because my husband died 5 years, 6 months and 5 days ago. This man, who looks so much like him, is a stranger.

In the early years of my grief journey many encounters stole my ability to breathe... the moments of pain came close together like the lines of a barcode. Honestly its been awhile since something like this has happened. The white spaces between the thin black lines of pain have broadened. 

In the beginning I held that there was no hope of the grief that accompanied my every waking moment ever fading. And, in this moment, I realize that the pain has faded into the background while the desire to be with my husband remains constant, deeply buried and ready to be unearthed.

Grief is odd that way, unexpected. And, if grief is what remains when the person we love moves on, grief is both unique to the love once shared and universal in the human experience.

"There are three things that amaze me—
    no, four things that I don’t understand:   

    how an eagle glides through the sky,
    how a snake slithers on a rock,
    how a ship navigates the ocean,
    how a man loves a woman." 

                —Proverbs 30:18-19 NLT [more]

Rw

 

Grief: Does Time Really Heal All Wounds? [more]

Caribou Coffee original logo [more]