This past Tuesday was the first Tuesday I attended physical Bible Study since Sharon’s passing. By what I can only call a tender providence of God, my work had kept me out in the field every single Tuesday for the past three weeks. To be entirely honest, I had been dreading this day, and I braced myself for the moment the familiar route from church and the empty seat next to me in the cab would bring a rush of memories I wasn’t sure I could hold.
Sharon and I always attended Bible Study together because we came from the same area. We had sort of a routine: two hours of Bible study and fellowship with brethren, followed by a car ride home. And oh, how we yapped the whole way! The moment the engine started, our stories began too. Anyone who truly knew Sharon knew that her middle name should have been laughter. She could find the humor in the most mundane things, and her joy was entirely infectious. We laughed all the way through our deepest and most animated conversations.
On Tuesday evening, I kept replaying our last ride together towards the end of July. The night air was cool, the streets were as busy as usual, and she was pouring her heart out about how she was juggling two demanding assignments at the time, stretching herself so thin. But she had made up her mind that she was going to let one go so she could pour her whole heart into the other. And this was typical of Sharon; she effortlessly poured herself into all that she had set her mind to do. We talked endlessly through the traffic, sharing our deepest fears, our quiet anxieties, our grand hopes, and briefed each other on the upcoming travel itineraries our respective jobs demanded.
I can still hear the excitement in her voice and see it written all over her face, when we spoke about the tourism peak season. She was so ready for it, so full of passion as she talked about welcoming her national and international guests, eager to show them the beauty of Kenya that she so greatly appreciated.
Sitting in the cab alone on Tuesday night, my heart felt heavy and broken🥹. I missed our constructive yapping sessions more than words can say. I don’t know yet how the coming Tuesdays will feel, or whether these memories will ebb with time. I don’t know if my heart will steadily learn how to sit through the quiet moments without aching for her company. There are just so much “I don’t knows” hanging in the silence.
Yet, in the middle of the sorrow, I am deeply comforted. I am confident that she is resting in a much better place. And I know that one day, I will see her again. We will pick up where we left off, commune in a joy that knows no bounds, and share in those long, uninterrupted laughs that were cut far too short.
In bracchiis Domini nostri quiescit, Sharon