Cry through the fog, until the ground is wet (2025)

This morning when I walked outside, I think I expected to immediately see someone right away who had been impacted by the crash, but I couldn’t see at all.

When I see a loved one with a downcast gaze or sunken countenance, my heart cries out, reaches out, seeks out.

I long to comfort them, I ask, "why are you sad?"

And often they reply, "I don’t know."

As I’ve gotten older. I’ve learned to say "it’s good to be sad, you don’t have to know why, and I won’t try to fix it."

And then I’ll just hold them, and usually we both cry.

I can feel their warmth share space with mine and occasionally, I can feel their tears soaking my shirt.

In my hometown today, our gaze is downcast, and our countenance is indeed sunken, but I can't see it.

And I don’t know who the loved one is, like looking through this fog that has wrapped our city.

I can’t see very far and so much is unknown, but I know they’re out there, hurting.

And I know today they’re sad for a very tragic reason.

And I think I would still say, "it’s good for us to be sad today,

nothing we do or say can fix it, and we probably should all give each other a hug and just cry.”

Cry through the fog, until the ground is wet.

As we do, may God's mercy hold us through each other's arms.

And may it find those without a hand to hold and in time invite them out to see the clouds break and the light start to ever so gently peak through.