sorrow. It’s Aden who can never be replaced. We thank Da Hah we can have a good hope for him and that we will see him again in heaven if we are living lives of obedience ourselves. We can be comforted, but it’s still hard, especially for Ella. I want all of you to do what you can for her in the comin days. Give her time to grieve if she wants to. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. She has had a great loss, as have all of us.”
Ella resisted the temptation to wipe her eyes.
“She even helped chore tonight,” Dora said with admiration.
“I noticed that,” Noah said. “I suppose she knows what is best in this. Work can often bring healin’ to the heart.”
“If that’s true, then I’ll work all the time,” Ella said, “both day and night.”
“It might be best if you depended on Da Hah to help you,” Noah said gently “He’s the one who made the heart, and He’s the one who can fix the heart.”
Ella nodded, thankful for her dad’s words.
They ate quickly. When the rest were done, Ella still had food on her plate. She pushed it back, saying, “I can’t finish. I’m sorry.”
Mamm nodded. “We understand. Why don’t you go upstairs now? The girls and I will clean up the kitchen.”
“But I should be helping.”
“No,” Mamm said, her voice firm. “You need the rest, and a long night’s sleep is for the best.”
“There’ll be no church tomorrow,” Ella said, her mind racing ahead.
“Then you can sleep in, yah.”
Ella managed a weak smile. “I’ll be up with the sun.”
Mamm shrugged. “Then you’d best get to bed.”
Ella nodded, pushed back from the table, and made her way up to her room. Outside, darkness had fallen. She walked over and looked out the window. The night sky was thick with stars now that the clouds had cleared. Her eyes searched the grand sweep of brilliance, her heart throbbing with pain. The night was here, and how was she to face it?
She undressed and slipped into bed, the mattress soft beneath her. Waves of tiredness swept over her. She didn’t know how anyone could find any pleasure in such a sorrowful world, and yet at that moment she did. Sleep felt wonderful.
Ella awoke with the sky still dark and the stars bright in the window. For a long moment, she lay still. What time is it? Her eyes searched the top of her dresser where the alarm clock should have been but found nothing. With an effort, she swung her feet to the floor, the surface cool to the touch, and sat up. I must wake up.
A step toward the dresser revealed where the alarm clock was hidden behind two books that had been left on the dresser top. The clock hands showed a little after two o’clock. Weary, she lay back down, but sleep wouldn’t come. Her mind went slowly over the events of the last few days—over each moment and each hour—until an urge came to write it all down.
Ella pushed back the covers and got up again. She struck a match on the underside of the dresser drawer and quickly transferred the little flame to the kerosene wick. By the flickering light, she crept downstairs, taking each groan of the steps with bated breath. She found a tablet and pen in the living room desk and slowly made her way back upstairs.
With the lamp on the dresser, the tablet lying on her lap, and her eyes wide awake, she began.
Dear journal or whatever you are,
I haven’t done this since my school years, but something terrible happened on Thursday. My beloved Aden died from a ruptured appendix, and my world has come to a screeching halt. I don’t know how to describe the pain I feel because I’ve never felt it before. It is terrible. The pain is now a dull ache. I suppose that’s because it’s nighttime, and even it must sleep. Tomorrow it will be back again like a fire in my stomach that eats all that lives.
It has eaten my hopes, my dreams, my love, and my Aden — stolen it all away like the preachers say a thief in the night does. I still can’t believe it happened, but I know
Ella resisted the temptation to wipe her eyes.
“She even helped chore tonight,” Dora said with admiration.
“I noticed that,” Noah said. “I suppose she knows what is best in this. Work can often bring healin’ to the heart.”
“If that’s true, then I’ll work all the time,” Ella said, “both day and night.”
“It might be best if you depended on Da Hah to help you,” Noah said gently “He’s the one who made the heart, and He’s the one who can fix the heart.”
Ella nodded, thankful for her dad’s words.
They ate quickly. When the rest were done, Ella still had food on her plate. She pushed it back, saying, “I can’t finish. I’m sorry.”
Mamm nodded. “We understand. Why don’t you go upstairs now? The girls and I will clean up the kitchen.”
“But I should be helping.”
“No,” Mamm said, her voice firm. “You need the rest, and a long night’s sleep is for the best.”
“There’ll be no church tomorrow,” Ella said, her mind racing ahead.
“Then you can sleep in, yah.”
Ella managed a weak smile. “I’ll be up with the sun.”
Mamm shrugged. “Then you’d best get to bed.”
Ella nodded, pushed back from the table, and made her way up to her room. Outside, darkness had fallen. She walked over and looked out the window. The night sky was thick with stars now that the clouds had cleared. Her eyes searched the grand sweep of brilliance, her heart throbbing with pain. The night was here, and how was she to face it?
She undressed and slipped into bed, the mattress soft beneath her. Waves of tiredness swept over her. She didn’t know how anyone could find any pleasure in such a sorrowful world, and yet at that moment she did. Sleep felt wonderful.
Ella awoke with the sky still dark and the stars bright in the window. For a long moment, she lay still. What time is it? Her eyes searched the top of her dresser where the alarm clock should have been but found nothing. With an effort, she swung her feet to the floor, the surface cool to the touch, and sat up. I must wake up.
A step toward the dresser revealed where the alarm clock was hidden behind two books that had been left on the dresser top. The clock hands showed a little after two o’clock. Weary, she lay back down, but sleep wouldn’t come. Her mind went slowly over the events of the last few days—over each moment and each hour—until an urge came to write it all down.
Ella pushed back the covers and got up again. She struck a match on the underside of the dresser drawer and quickly transferred the little flame to the kerosene wick. By the flickering light, she crept downstairs, taking each groan of the steps with bated breath. She found a tablet and pen in the living room desk and slowly made her way back upstairs.
With the lamp on the dresser, the tablet lying on her lap, and her eyes wide awake, she began.
Dear journal or whatever you are,
I haven’t done this since my school years, but something terrible happened on Thursday. My beloved Aden died from a ruptured appendix, and my world has come to a screeching halt. I don’t know how to describe the pain I feel because I’ve never felt it before. It is terrible. The pain is now a dull ache. I suppose that’s because it’s nighttime, and even it must sleep. Tomorrow it will be back again like a fire in my stomach that eats all that lives.
It has eaten my hopes, my dreams, my love, and my Aden — stolen it all away like the preachers say a thief in the night does. I still can’t believe it happened, but I know
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