He loves me

I never have time to do this anymore. Blogging.  I am not even sure how I did before-I just had more help, more people around more burdens taken off me.  That cannot last forever.  I do not have to get children to school tomorrow so I am despite all odds I am typing.

As we speak my three year old is outside sweeping the driveway and refuses to come in.  I tried a dozen times and now Rich is attempting to cajole him in without a temper tantrum.

The 5 year old is ever presently near me, she is half sitting on my lap telling me I still haven’t looked at her end of the year preschool goodies.  Give Mommy a minute, I say, please?

The 9 year old is sulking because…well that is what she does these days.  Pouts.  Groans. Cries. Nothing is right in the world hardly ever.

11 year old- gone.  She is easy though. Usually.

I feel that stinging in my heart that makes me want to write.  That sharpness that says, just let it out.  I just read something for the second time on facebook about death that people think is…comforting? helpful? It makes me bawl.  It makes me sting. I genuinely do not want to hurt the feelings of the people that shared it.  Who would know?death

This paragraph… is like hieroglyphics to me.  It makes utterly not sense, not at all, not ever.  All I feel is absence.  Heart wrenching, hollowed out anguishing absence. Death IS something at all.  It DOES count.  He has NOT slipped away into the next room.  Something HAS happened.  NOTHING is the same.  I am not the same, YOU are not the same, and life will NEVER be the same.  What we were to each other will never be again.  I don’t know how to speak to a dead son.  Yes I will speak of him in the happiest of ways because he was AWESOME.  I don’t know how to laugh at the jokes we shared because he is not here to share them.

The one true statement, “why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight?” He will never be out of mind. Never ever ever.

All is not well.

There is a beautiful, amazing video about Lucas that was made by a student at Forest Hills Northern that was just posted on my facebook page.  I could not watch it all.  I had to turn it off.  Yes I will watch it.  Maybe tomorrow.

If anyone would like to know, what it is like to lose a child, it is not in that paragraph.  It is the worst pain you can possibly imagine times a million.  You cannot pretend that they are in the next room and you are just talking to them and joking with them.  THEY ARE NOT THERE. There is emptiness in your house, in your heart, in your mind, in your life.

I do what I do, whatever that is, purely by the grace of God.   I think that he is literally pulling me out of bed in morning and carrying me downstairs and holding me up while I make coffee and breakfast and laundry and change diapers and run errands and dinner and baths and…then I crash.  All day I look forward to the moment when I can take my Ambien and not be in pain for 7 or 8 hours.

It is ALL I have to hold on to in the tumultuous waves of pain.  Grace.  I hold on to the legacy of my son and cling to the fact that it can still do great things in the world.  Even if he is not here.

A kind friend sent me a mothers day card with this verse:

“You are precious to Me and honored and I love you.” Isaiah 43:4

I have been repeating that verse over and over to myself.  Through the sting and the ache.  He loves me. He loves me.


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