I didn’t think I would sleep last night, but I did. It was a troubled sleep, restless and full of bad dreams. Waking was worse, though, as no bad dream could be as bad as the darkness to which I opened my eyes.
We are resting today, in keeping with the commandment, but I don’t know what we’d be doing even if we weren’t. He has given meaning to my days and purpose to my steps, even when I’ve been in the boat or doing other things, for years now. What will fill that void? What will become of us who were called together by the power of His words and have been held together by a common bond of love, now that He is gone? Can we survive? Are we doomed to unravel and separate, piece by piece, person by person?
As the day wore on, I gathered that several of the women were getting things together to go take care of the body in the morning. It was too close to sundown and the start of the Sabbath when he died to take care of things adequately then. I don’t know how they can do it, though. I don’t think I could see Him again. It was hard enough watching His limp body sagging on the cross. To see Him again would just freshen the wound. Better them than me.
We don’t talk to each other. John tries, sometimes, but most of the rest of us aren’t in the mood. I’m the worst of all, I suppose, but then again, I’m the one that denied Him. I want to go back. I want to have another chance. I’ve been begging God all day to give me another chance. I would take my stand and acknowledge Him, I would.
But I can’t go back, and that denial will haunt me forever.