It keeps coming. The pain, the sorrow, the anger, the bitterness... all of it.

I woke up this morning with a lump in my throat. It still hasn't gone away. At least I didn't have any of the dreams. The dreams are the worst. I'll be walking down the street and see him through the crowd, and I'll stop and look, and it's really him. I call out, and I run over to him, realizing it was all just a huge joke. I'm angry, so I shove him and swear at him and tell him he never should have done it. Then we hug, and our friendship is renewed and all is well again.

And I wake up. It's gone.

The the friendship and joy is replaced by the knowledge I will never know that experience again. My friend is gone and I will not see him this week, or next week, or the week after that. I cannot go to him and pour out my heart, to have him shoulder the burden with me. I cannot tell him of everything else that has gone wrong this month - how the doctor called to say that Rachael's medication will not be approved by the insurance company, that she might just have to go blind because of the selfishness and greed of businessmen. Or the student I love and counsel whose father has forbidden her from talking to me. O God, how can I hope in you when all has fallen?!

And if he were here, maybe I could get through one more day, one more trial, one more problem. But he is gone, and will never come back. And my soul sinks back into hopelessness.

Maybe today I'll put a happy face on it so that everyone around me can move on.
Maybe I won't.

How long, O Lord? How long?

I've never hurt more deeply than I have this week. Tears on Monday and Tuesday gave way again to anger and numbness on Wednesday and Thursday. The last few days I've traveled so far up and down that I have emotional vertigo and my plan is going down in the clouds.

I laughed this morning. That's something. I'm thankful I can still laugh. You know, I think that I can do everything I could do before, except for one thing: live. Living is the impossible thing for me. I have to busy myself so that I don't think, because thinking hurts. Whenever my mind wanders, it goes back to the same place-- and I wonder what that place is, because it feels as close to hell as anything I've known. And hell is not fire and sharp pains of burning flesh. Hell is when the pain is so deep and so strong that you cannot feel it, you only know it's presence by the absence of everything else. It's like when you listen to really deep bass -- you don't hear it, but you know it because you cannot hear anything else -- and somehow, it is present within every part of you. That's how I feel.

A year ago, I got ready to move to Auburn. In January, Rachael and I moved here, and I began praying desperately for God to bring a friend into my life. To be honest, I began praying for that two year ago, probably. Someone who would share my joys and struggles, who I felt comfortable with because they wore their brokenness in the same way I did. I guess I've felt I can only trust someone with my brokenness if they are obviously as broken as I am. In March, we went to a small group in Federal Way. A gal named Cindy invited us. That Tuesday night I met Vinnie. Though I didn't know it at the time, Vinnie was the answer to my prayer. We went back to that small group because of Vinnie. Because of his hugeness (was he 6'4"?) of body and heart. We went back because of his curly blond 'fro. We went back because we sense in him a fellow wounded healer.

It was August before I realized that Vinnie was the brother I was looking for. We didn't decide to start meeting weekly until about a month and a half ago.

The greatest hope in my life came from the realization that I finally had a friend, someone I trusted and felt more comfortable with than anyone I've talked to for a long time. I had a best friend.

We met the first Monday in November. Then we had trouble getting together the next week, but we finally did get together again on November 16th. We had coffee and a really good talk. I was struggling with my own sinful habits. He was struggling with overcommitment and burnout. We prayed for each other and showed each other the grace of God.

The following Tuesday, the 22nd, he came to our small group again. He was still tired, but he was making progress and stepping back from some things. I loved this man. We shared communion, the Lord's supper, a holy moment, together as a group and then he left. I think it was about 9:30pm. That was the last I ever saw my best friend. On Thursday, he killed himself with a gun.

When he died, I feel I died as well. How long until I come alive?

How long, O Lord? How long?