"She's gone, Dani," he said just before bursting into loud sobs. His hand rose to cover his face. We had never shared any kind of physical contact, but I didn't hesitate to reach out and touch his shoulder; it seemed the most humane of all my available options.
What do you say to console someone who has seen the ugliest side of humanity? Who has faced their worst nightmare? Who has lost everything? What do you say to comfort yourself? I'm not an expert on grief and loss, but fortunately, I happen to know one.
By opening to his own grief instead of armoring himself with anger, Justin was finally able to start the healing process. His grief had never gone away; it had just been hidden. Once he was willing to open to it and feel it, his own sorrow could show him the way home to peace.
When situations or people challenge us, we need to identify that we're angry, confused, or frustrated. If we acknowledge that we're likely to make poor decisions in these states, it's easier to find the motivation to let these emotions go.
I knew my father could not sit at his computer to check my status updates and comments on his profile, but the mystery surrounding cyberspace and heaven seemed to fall on a similar plane. If an email can ostensibly travel through space, why couldn't my messages and posts reach my dad in heaven?