Such hard days. People don’t understand that as the shock wears off it gets more painful. It is not getting easier to bear the pain of his loss. I feel strangely guilty talking about it still, and then I remind myself this is my blog. I can talk about whatever is on my heart, and strangely people will listen. I don’t know why but they do.
At first you are so surrounded and inundated by people and food and flowers and cards and expressions of love. You are still in shock, not even really realizing what has happened. Even a month later, you feel a certain kind of deep sadness but your brain is still protecting you from the full realization. Its not that is doesn’t hurt then, it does, but its just different. Still you are buffered by people helping you and being there at your every turn.
Just like anything, time simply goes by. Its no one’s fault. Its just the way of the world. No one concentrates on one thing forever.
Except I am the Mommy. Who feels those stabs of grief like a hot poker in every minute of every day.
I get up and get oatmeal for Brady. The instant packet kind. In the back of the cupboard is Lucas’ plain “real” oatmeal. Just sitting. No one will eat it.
He’s not coming back.
As I do laundry I begin to fold the socks and make a pile of all the black ones. Lucas used to wear them and now Rich does.
He’s not coming back.
I decide to reorganize the bookshelf and find books about chickens, birds, his goodwillie yearbook, novels that he had read for school, books about baseball.
He’s not coming back.
I run out to the garage today to try and find a pair of tennis shoes to fit Bryleigh that one of her sisters have worn. As I dig through the bins there is a very large pair of size 12 baseball cleats still with the dust on them from last years baseball season.
He’s not coming back.
The yearbook teacher at the high school asks for pictures and ideas for a tribute to him in the yearbook. I pull out a stick drive thingy my sister has given me and see pictures of him I don’t even remember seeing. My beautiful boy. Over and over in every picture. It KILLS me. Stab. Stab. Stab. Stab. Stab.
He’s not coming back.
Why God, why this agony, this suffering, this unbearable unbearable pain? I feel I am at my breaking point.
But he’s coming back. God. He’s coming back. That’s all I have left. That is what I pray for.
Matthew 6:9-13
This, then, is how you should pray:
“‘Our Father in heaven,
hallowed be your name,
10 your kingdom come,
your will be done,
on earth as it is in heaven.
11 Give us today our daily bread.
12 And forgive us our debts,
as we also have forgiven our debtors.
13 And lead us not into temptation,
but deliver us from the evil one.
Your Kingdom come. Your Will be done.
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