Bed Rails

Grief has a way of wrecking everything—including priorities. Apathy sneaks in just behind her. Nothing seems important.

How can it be when you are gone?

This morning Grandma said,

Do I look like I care what the floor looks like?

Sweet boy, the floors are not as clean as when you were here. Grandma kept them immaculate because she worried to no end about you crawling. She took her mission to keep you safe and clean seriously. We all did everything we could to protect you from outside harm—we couldn’t stop what happened inside. I am so sorry.

When you did not come home with me from the hospital, sweet boy, my soul went to sleep.

I hope one day I might crawl.

I was so proud when you remembered how to crawl after losing the ability to walk for a while. Nothing ever stopped you. When no one was immediately available to help, you would gently slide out of your chair or off your bed and crawl.

If you were in the bedroom and someone came to visit, as soon as you heard their voice, you would crawl to the kitchen. You reached the people you loved by any means necessary.

That, sweet boy, is the tenacity I need.

On the harder days—most days—I wonder if my story ends with me stuck in bed.

I hear the people I love in the next room. Everything in me wants to slide off the bed and crawl to them.

Grief has the bed rails high.

But God will lower them—in His time.

My soul is in deep anguish.
How long, Lord, how long? Psalm 6:3

Only He is more powerful than she is.

Sometimes, Grief is louder. She is overbearing and chaotic, but I am hearing God’s whispers again, sweet boy.

The final say is not hers.

Bed rails restrict—but they also provide safety. Every night after you fell asleep, sweet boy, I would lift them up to keep you from falling out of bed. Then I would kiss your head and tell you,

You’re my whole world.

Every single night.

My bed rails are not permanently fixed. For now, they keep me safe so I don’t fall while my soul is sleeping. Grief is strong but God can make even her work toward good.

I am not ready, but I will become.

Perhaps soon, I will slide out of the bed.

I will crawl—and nothing will stop me from reaching Him—and those who love me.

Sweet boy, you taught me and you taught me well.