Mending Broken

I went to calling hours and a funeral.
I felt a chink in the heart walls so well-built,
a crevice began to open again,
and the tears came trickling out.

There was no comparison between him and her,
nothing about them was the same.
She was old and had lived a full life well.
He was young and in his prime.
But, old or young, a funeral is a funeral
and it pulls out all the emotions
that have been so carefully tucked away.

There are the flowers, sent for cheer,
along with photos and mementos of life filling the tables.
The long lines of people coming and going,
expressing sympathy in whispered words, stretch endless.
Hands, reaching and clasping,
arms tightening and squeezing silent messages.
The water bottles, tissues, and mints for raw throats,
clutter spaces under chairs not sat upon.
Pieces of conversation float through the air,
remember when they said this or did that,
and how we wish for one more word.
Words of songs meant to sooth,
yet they fill the air with sadness all the same.
And all the way up front
is the one lone wooden box.

You fight for control yet slowly, but surely
the heart begins to beat a faster pace,
the teeth clench and muscles tense.
Eyes dart this way and that for an escape
while the mind begins to unravel too quickly.
Tears push behind the eyelids only a blink from spilling
and the hands begin a cold sweat while the feet rush for a swift exit.
The cold darkness swallows the sobs
of the memories that come rushing back, threatening to overtake.

There is no comparison between him and her, really,
but what the mind sees and hears compels a rush of emotions,
cracking the walls so carefully built to guard the heart.

All alone in the darkness of tears,
the heart once again feels all the painful emotions.
Tears for the here and now,
mourning for the past and what was lost,
and an ache for the future and what will never be.

But with each new break, comes a new mending.
When He sees the heart walls chip and crumble,
the Mender returns and with his gentle touch
lends a few more stitches to repair and patch anew.
He speaks in soothing tones while He works,
pouring in healing oil and gently closing more gaps.
He reminds of His goodness and love,
His mercies new every morning
and whispers He has not forgotten.

With time and His touch, the heart will continue to mend,
but the scars and memories will always be a part of it.
While they look painful to most,
they also tell the story of the Mender
and his gentle touch on a heart.

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11 thoughts on “Mending Broken

  1. After watching a dear friend, just 25 yrs old, be buried last week…this poem brings the tears spilling over the surface. You have such a good way with words. Thank you for the reminders of the Mender, and His promises, and His healing touch. These are the things that I cling to when none of this makes sense. God bless you, Shannon, in your grieving once again.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Very well spoken, Shannon! Sometimes there is nothing more healing than just letting the tears flow. Jesus truly is the Healer of broken hearts! Thank you for showing us your heart!

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Beautiful written words! I’m so grateful for the Mender of broken hearts! While the journey is hard and painful we have Him to lean on and carry us! I also love the thought of Him putting all our tears in a bottle, showing us that He cares about each detail of my life. Tears are a healing balm to our souls. Hugs!

    Liked by 1 person

  4. Grief is the price we pay for love.
    Being at another young girls funeral, (the one mentioned in comments) was so hard. Our grief was so fresh so raw, but I trust the tears shed were mending in our hearts. It was almost too huge to process, less than 6 months from Marlita’s service. Tears are so close, many days. I trust I am learning to live through this because I don’t think I will ever get over it. Thanks for your thoughts. I truly long for heaven.

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  5. I found your blog some months ago when I googled for wedding photos. (I’m a wedding photo junky.) But it was your poetry that pulled me in and kept me coming back. And your grief for your brother. Thanks for sharing. Even though words fall short, they are still the way we communicate best with the largest number of people, and you use yours well. Bless you in your journey.
    Sarah, wife of Myron, mom of 6, ages 12-1.5, PA

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  6. A beautiful post, thanks for sharing. I have a poetry blog here on WordPress and my poem today is about the healing power of tears in case you have time to look? Have a sunny day, Sam 🙂

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