Letter: Even If

“She’ll never graduate from high school. Never get married. There will be no more birthdays or Christmases. She died.”

I was doorbelling for my campaign for the school board and the fellow uttering these words was angry for soon as I mentioned “school” that was his trigger.

He had lost his young daughter.

He was angry at life, at the unfairness of it all, at anything and everything and anybody.

Including me, who happened to be in his yard.

I stood there quietly and when there was a sobbing pause in his gut-wrenching grief and his palpable anger, I said, “I understand. I’ve lost a granddaughter and there is, as you’ve expressed, no greater loss. None.”

There was a moment of silence then as we both struggled for composure (no matter how long ago the tears readily come) and this total stranger then replied.

“Well, if you ever need someone to talk to you know where I live.”

And just like that, the matter at hand was not my campaign platform. It was not what I believed needed to be done or promises I would keep.

It was rather about broken promises. Of a life lived happily ever after that was not to be.

Of being united in grief.

Of connecting.

Across the deep, deep chasm, on the other side, hard to see so far not helped by misting tears, was life again, and love again, but a bottomless pit separating us from over there.

Together, we stood on this side.

There is an oft repeated refrain in a song that was sent to me early this morning, the uttering of but two words a major struggle to those who’ve lost much: “Even if.”

“Even if my dreams fall to the ground

Even if I’m lost, I know I’m found

Even if, my heart will somehow say

Hallelujah anyway.”

Do you know how hard it is to say “even if”?

Tears, only through tears.