I thought I was in the clear. Our lives changed this year.
Everything seemed different. We moved Maddie out, and it felt that my annual
grief was packed in one of her bags. I was living the good life of an empty
nester. I thought the change in circumstances drove away the monsters that
haunt me each Fall. I was wrong. Today, on the Eve of Elijah’s 19th birthday,
I found that my supposed victory was ignorance built on sandy soil. I was
blindsided…once again.
The
morning was a normal one; telling Paige bye before she left for work, running
in our field, having breakfast with the dogs watching, and waiting to see Paige
again before I left for work. Everything was mundane…until the afternoon, when
I thought about writing something for Elijah’s birthday tomorrow. I opened Word
on my PC but decided I needed a little inspiration before trying to get my
thoughts together. So, I started looking at some of the pictures of Elijah I
have saved. That’s when it hit me…that’s when I lost anything that resembles a
man that’s moving forward. I was undone. I was a mess.
Most
years I see this perpetual grief coming. Each October I ready myself like a soldier
for battle. I wish that I could flip the calendar from September to December, but
that’s not how life works, is it? So, I prepare; I attempt to make myself numb
to any emotion. But this year was different. I thought I had somehow escaped
the crushing pressure of sorrow that comes each November. What a fool I was…just
this morning.
As I
looked through the pictures I have of Elijah, I thought that I would feel what
I normally do. I thought I would sense his presence, hear his voice, and feel
him in my arms. But I didn’t. I was taken aback. I reached back into the
recesses of my heart and mind, hoping to bring him back to me, but all that came
from those shadows was the monster I thought I’d outrun. In that moment, and for
the entire afternoon, I was crippled with the hopelessness that accompanies the
loss of a child. Truth escaped me. Joy was a lifetime away.
When my brother called me this
afternoon, I couldn’t speak. He knew, because of years past, to let the dead
air of the call marinate. Trust me, words can’t heal a broken heart. Only Jesus
can do that. And He takes His time doing it. I guess after today I realized
that it’s somewhere north of 17 years. How I wished it was sooner.
I write this today while my
thoughts and emotions are still raw and unrefined, and for no other reason than
to let folks know that it’s ok…to not be ok. I’m not. Not today, and possibly
not tomorrow. Heck, tomorrow is just his birthday, but the 24th is
the day he passed. Don’t check back then, it may be worse. I don’t know. All I can
say is that me and Jesus will continue to walk together each day as I pray to find
the good in a situation that, even 17 years later, is still not good. And it’s
only by His grace that any day can be considered one worth living.
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