the peace which passeth

I've been rolling "the peace which passeth all understanding" around in my mind now for the last week. I think this phrase sort of stops me like a roadblock, because I find peace IN understanding things. I don't like things I can't wrap my head around, or explain in a logical way.

(Guess whose gene that is...?)

Very early Sunday morning, an old family friend passed away of cancer. He was in his own home, his wife by his side, and so much of this story that I've been following through Facebook posts and caringbridge journal entries just make my heart ache, like a fist to the chest. It's a mirror to a still too fresh face of grief.

I'm trying to understand. How does this peace work? 

Are there steps you take to get there? 

Does it come in moments or waves, or does it enter and stay?

Will I always feel sick when I look back on that time?

Will I eventually just not be saddened by this fate?

The knot in my chest... does that loosen and fade away?

Does a darkness lift?

Is a tangible weight relieved?

I don't get it. What exactly does this peace, that we just can't understand, feel like?

Amazingly, most of the time I don't sit around and wonder "why me?" or "why us?" or even "what if?" If I'm giving myself credit, I'd saying I'm just smarter than that. If I'm being realistic, it's because none of those questions - or the answer which is also un-knowable -  make me feel better. In fact, thinking about those events at ALL doesn't make me feel any better. So I just don't. But the entries on this blog could definitely lead a reader to think that I struggle with this daily, and I dwell on it, and I can't move past it. Over the last year I had 6 entries and every single one of them was about grief, cancer, and Dad. But I'm not struggling with it daily. I just feel... emptier. Bland. Not in turmoil, but - certainly - not at peace.

It passeth, alright. It passes me right on by... and keeps going.