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There is no escaping the awful fact of it: the sparrow fell. I know of no explanation, no justification, no meaning or larger picture that will make sense of it. I will forever be gazing into that gap, that absence, tracing the shimmering outline of the broken sparrow, the brilliance that passed into this world and out of it bearing my husband’s name.
What I know is that sometimes, something slips through the gap. The absence sings, coaxing us to trust there is more than emptiness, more than an eternal void that opens where a life has been.
—Jan Richardson
Sparrow: A Book of Life and Death and Life, postscript
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