Lament

Some mourning takes place in public. Some mourning takes place in private. Some mourning takes place in silence.

Mourning won't last long if the thing wasn't that important. It won't take long if the loss wasn't that great.

I wanted breakfast at the Braums. I got there fifteen minutes too late. I was looking at the breakfast menu, trying to pick an option, and the lady at the register told me they weren't serving breakfast anymore. But I didn't want lunch. It was too early, and I wanted eggs. That was emotionally disappointing, and I passed on all food, just getting coffee.

I was also some sleep deprived and stressed, which made it harder to process the "loss" of what I had hoped for. But, really, it was what my granny used to call an "oh well." It was small potatoes. It wasn't long lasting. It was just eggs, and I'd already eaten some cereal at home. I'd just wanted more to eat. Oh well.

But when the loss is a dream, a deep desire, a long nurtured wish, losing it, or (in some ways worse) giving it up, the pain runs deeper. Owl City says dreams don't turn to dust, but I've known more dreams crumble to powder than I care to count. Often, I no longer want to make or hold onto dreams, because I figure they'll just be heartrending losses down the road.

I used to be such a happy person. My reason then for not dreaming big was that I simply didn't know what to aim for. Now, I fear cynicism taking over. I fight it, but I know it's creeping up on me a little more with each disappearing desperate dream. (Sometimes I catch myself pondering if Christians should even have dreams and big aspirations...but that is another layered can of worms for another day and perhaps place. Let's have coffee sometime.)

When a dream is lost, I'm left empty. I wonder where the pieces are and how do I pick them up. Someday I'll figure out what to do with them if I can ever gather them all without dropping them through my fingers.

I mourn quietly. I brush it off around others. It's not worth your time. I'll process through. But sometimes a quiet whisper of, "I've been there, and I know this hurts," would soothe my soul.

Sometimes it's okay to hurt. Pain and loss isn't fun by any means, but it is something we face, and it shouldn't be shunted to the side.

But in the meantime, I'll stay quiet. It's safer to hurt without salt near the cuts. It's safer to wipe my own tears than risk scratchy fingers or long nails on my face. It's safer to bleed internally.

Sometimes mourning takes place in silence.

~~~

How do you mourn a dream? What do you do to pick up the pieces and make another one?