There is a story in the Bible about a mad man living in the country of Gerasenes. The mad man lived in the cemetery among the tombs and graves. He couldn't be restrained with chains or ropes, he broke the chains and snapped the ropes. No one could tame him. This madman roamed the graves night and day screaming and slashing himself with sharp stones. (Gospel of Mark chapter 5:1-5)
Out of the numerous stories and illustrations in the Bible, why is this dark rendition the one I most relate to now? I am an educated middle aged woman with a career as a registered nurse. I am relatively well put together, intelligent, well spoken and responsible. My marriage is fulfilling and stable and relationships with my parents, daughter, grandchildren, brother, nieces and nephews are great. How can I own this sinister account of the madman's plight as mine? What in the world do we have in common?
The answer, grief. The grief of losing a child. I live in the shadows of Keith's death. No amount of flowers, casseroles, sympathy, empathy and well meaning remarks break the chains of grief and depression. The Truth of the Gospels and my faith have not broken the chains of desperation to see Keith, to know he is really alright and existing still beyond my memories. Night and day I slash my self with guilt, what if's and if only's. Like the madman, I live among the dead. Walking through the cemetery, the last door we see our loved one pass through on this side. I press my face to the obscured door, listening, praying, hoping to get a glimpse, to hear a faint voice, and then scream through the door, "does anyone hear me?"
There is much more to this story to come. Such a journey.....
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