Reflection on the passing of a friend

By Sister Larretta Rivera-Williams

I am sharing this reflection as I continue to process the sudden death of my dear friend, Sister Marian Arroyo. Writing has helped me express the grief, questions, faith, and hope that accompany this loss. 
 
The Question Should Not Be, “Why?” 
 
Why do I struggle to believe in eternal life when death comes so close? Why do I find myself questioning what I have believed throughout my life? Is there a heaven? What awaits us beyond this earthly existence? Why are we called to love so deeply if that love can leave us so wounded when someone dies? 

I am not questioning God’s love. I am wrestling with the pain of loving someone deeply and then having to live without her physical presence. Are we not, in some sense, living toward death? Is not our earthly journey a preparation for the moment when we are called home? 
 
Home! 
 
Home to God. Home to Jesus, who has gone before us to prepare a place in God’s eternal presence. Death is the passage into that promised home. We know it is inevitable, but not when or how it will come. Therein lies part of the mystery of our human existence. 

Have I placed my faith on a shelf? Have I allowed grief to overshadow what I have believed for so many years? Should I not rejoice in the promise that those who die are welcomed into God’s loving embrace? 
 
Yet when someone we love dies, especially without warning, grief does not pause to consult our theology. It simply comes, sometimes with such force that it shakes the foundation of our being. 

The sudden death of a loved one can leave us stunned, breathless, and unable to comprehend what has happened. We want to draw upon the faith that has sustained us, but for a time we may feel emotionally and spiritually exhausted. 
 
And so I ask: Why do we grieve? 

Is it because we will no longer see the familiar face of someone we love, embrace her, hear her laughter, sing with her, or share the ordinary conversations that made life extraordinary? Perhaps it is the painful recognition that someone who occupied such a meaningful place in our lives is no longer physically present. 
 
Would our grief be less if we fully understood eternal life? Would certainty about what awaits us beyond death lessen the pain of separation? Or does death also confront us with our own mortality and the questions we would rather leave unanswered? 
 
How will I die? When will my earthly journey end? Will I be ready? One of my dearest friends, Sister Marian Arroyo, has died suddenly. Even writing those words seems unreal. My mind continues to circle around one unbearable thought: “This cannot be true!” My spirit is overcome with sadness, and my whole being cries out beneath the weight of disbelief and pain. 
 
I know I am not alone. Throughout our Mercy Institute, Marian’s death has touched countless hearts. We carry memories of her presence, music, laughter, friendship, and the many ways she enriched our lives. The depth of our sorrow speaks to the depth of the love we shared. 

For me, that love was shaped by 53 years of friendship—a life marked by shared memories, faith, music, laughter, and countless ordinary moments made extraordinary because we experienced them together. 
 
Still, in quiet moments, my questions return. Why am I lingering in this cave of grief? When will I sleep peacefully again, resting in God’s promises? When will I awaken without immediately realizing that my dear friend is gone? 
 
Perhaps these questions are not signs of weakened faith, but the language of love in the presence of loss. Perhaps grief is not something to conquer, but something we learn to carry as love finds a new way to express itself. 
 
Faith does not exempt us from grief, nor does grief mean we have abandoned our faith. Even Jesus wept at the death of Lazarus. There is comfort in knowing that the One who promises eternal life also understands the sorrow of human separation. 
 
We can believe in heaven and still ache for someone we love. We can trust in the Resurrection and still feel overwhelmed by the finality of an earthly goodbye. 
 
Perhaps the question should not be why we grieve, or when grieving will end. Perhaps there is no immediate answer. There is only love, faith, sorrow, remembrance, and the promise that death does not have the final word. 
 
For now, I will allow myself to grieve without demanding that my heart heal according to a timetable. I will trust that the God who welcomed Marian home is the same God who accompanies those of us who remain. 
 
When sadness overwhelms me, perhaps my prayer can be simple: “God be with you, my friend.” Thank you for the music, laughter, memories, and the gift of a friendship that blessed my life for 53 years. 
 
I will miss you more than words can express. 
 
Until we meet again, may you rest in the fullness of God’s love. May I find peace in Catherine McAuley’s beautiful hope: “Will we all meet in heaven? Oh what joy to even think of it!”