Loss is difficult, no matter what form it takes. Losing a dollar. Losing car keys. A favorite shirt. A friendship. A loved one. I am at a loss right now to come up with anything fresh or insightful to say after learning about the death of my friend.
I'm a little tired of dealing with loss. It seems, at times, that life can be just a series of losses. That's a pretty bleak outlook, I know. But, really, the world has a way of whittling things down. Just when you think you're on stable ground, it starts to shift, and, suddenly, you find yourself building a new house of straw or sticks or stone.
Looking back can sometimes be comforting. Sometimes painful. However, it is a very human thing to turn your head and see what's behind you. That's a part of loss, too. It's the hope that, by turning around, you can somehow find what you've lost.
Sometimes that works. And sometimes it doesn't. Ask Lot's wife.
Saint Marty is probably going to spend some time today looking over his shoulder. Remembering.
Lot's wife looked back
by: Janeen Rastall
knowing she would become
the salt all men crave,
the taste they wished on their tongue.
They broke her into pieces
on their fingers, their palms,
and in their pockets.