The hurt is constant but heavier today, sweet boy. Tomorrow is Easter and I will only make one basket. This will be our first family holiday in the after.
I am hunting for the good.
Every morning I wake up and my first thought is, “He is gone.” My second thought is a prayer. For peace. For comfort. For direction. For the gigantic space to abate even if just a little. For His Presence and Mercy.
Six weeks later and grief is still intense, but I can breathe a little between the attacks. The truth hasn’t settled completely in my mind, but it is almost there. I still hear you sometimes. I fight the reality I no longer have to make sure you are all right. We went to a movie yesterday and there were no arrangements needed for your care. It did not matter it was a long movie because I didn’t have to be home in time to catheterize you. It was detested and unwelcomed. But it is here. I have no choice.
Today marks the day in our faith, sweet boy, that was silent. This is the in between. Death seemed to have won. Resurrection was still to come. We have no rituals to celebrate today – only to call it “Holy”. Was it hopeful? Frightening? Quiet? Wondering? Doubting? Wrestling?
Grief lives most violently in the silence of Saturday. The ripping from this world is done. The victory is yet to be. It only took Jesus three days. How I wish Grief worked that quickly.
But she is stubborn. She is relentless. She is powerful. She likes to take her time.
So, I sit in Saturday. Six of them since you left, sweet boy. I will be stuck here in the violent silence of Saturday with a broken heart for all that was you, my whole world.
Resurrection is coming. I hold to hope. The stone will roll away. Darkness will be swallowed by light. I see the slightest glimmer even as I accept grief will reside with me until I join you, sweet boy, on a beautiful Sunday.
