It’s almost 14 months since Matt’s death and there’s still this supersized hole in my heart. Things are normal only on the surface. There has been a profound change in the deep interior of my being. It seems, at my core, I am empty. I usually don’t feel it when I’m busy doing the routines of my business or when I’m in conversation with clients, friends or family. But, things that require deep, whole-hearted passion, simply cannot be done: no sustained excitement, no persistent drive, no giving myself fully to anything. It is evident, for example, whenever I need to love sacrificially, persevere to solve a difficult problem, or give attention to long term planning. The power capacity just isn’t there.
The cause of my impotence becomes clear when everything slows down. When I don’t have the propulsion of work obligations, relational interactions or the distracting engagement of social media or TV, I’m involuntarily ushered right into this empty place with the thought, “Oh yes. That’s right. —Matthew’s gone!”
Is this how it will always be? Right now this empty place seems like a dark cave with creepy echoes. I feel a compulsion to put a lid and lock on this hole. It’s dangerous! Or, at least, it’s a needless distraction. No! It’s a part of my heart. Ignoring it won’t change this profound reality. Can this hole ever be useful for something, maybe even something wonderful? Like how the empty space in the body of the cello enriches and amplifies the vibrating voice of the strings. For now, it can amplify my prayer of lament—and thanksgiving.
Lord, thank you for Matthew; his life, his quiet presence and persistence, his gentle spirit and grit, his candor and love for colognes. Thank you, too, for enlarging my heart with love for him. Now, can You please use this empty place in me, created by his death, for something life giving?