The Great I Am Is Crying

It is a dark, dreary day here today and in America. It reminds me of a day almost three years ago. I wrote this poem then while a hospital chaplain intern. A sweet baby had died a tragic and sad death. Convinced more than ever God sees all and cries with us.

Today The Great I Am is crying.

Everywhere I see He weeps.

Salty tears drip down my window and soak my hair.

She rocks in her chair.

Clutching the black beaded scarf covering her head.

Soft repetitious mutters.

Unmistakable body language of calamity befallen.

Deep-as-the-Universe restrained expressions of grief.

One paces. One hugs. She vacantly shakes her head in disbelief.

They freeze in prayer. Tired, terrified eyes.

There is no relief for this.

An ice pack for her head. Shared anguish for her soul.

The nurse must triage in room 8 and will be with us.

We wait for the impossible-to-know known.

She. Must. See. Him.

An unthinkable reunion.

The room is too small for all this anguish.

I stare at the clock so emotions do not overtake.

She mutters her prayers as I mutter mine.

Two coroners, a chaplain, a father and mother.

One God.

Christ have mercy.

Today The Great I Am is crying.

The grey sad sky pays homage to a mother’s darkest.

Creation must recognize the loss.

The rain, it drips down my window.

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