The Skies Cried
The sky was gray and somber. The violence of the thunderstorm had finally passed, but a gentle rain continued.
The weather mirrored my mood.
My emotional response to the news had been as violent as the storm. Tears had streamed down my cheeks like a torrential downpour of rain. Sobs had torn through my chest like thunder through the clouds. My breath had come in gasps, ragged and harsh, like the gale force gusts of the wind.
Tears still fell. . . but gently. . . quietly.
I could not listen to any more condolences. . . subconsciously, I tuned out the voices around me. I heard the splashing of the tires, as the hearse pulled away from the grave site. I heard the splashing of footsteps, through puddles of water, as family and friends started returning to their cars. I heard the tap-tap of raindrops splashing on the tent that covered the chairs, the flowers, and the casket.
I could not move. . . I was paralyzed by my grief.
Too many questions raced through my mind. . .
Why couldn't I get through to you?
Why didn't at least one of your friends try to help you?
Why couldn't you see that the path you were on was leading to your own destruction?
I remained there, long after everyone else had gone. I didn't want to leave you. . . alone. . . in that cold, dark place.
The rain grew heavier, turning puddles into rivers of muddy water.
My heart grew heavier, as well. My tears splashed against the polished surface of your coffin.
I don't even know if I'll see you in Heaven.
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