Yesterday morning it had been four months since we were told our middle son was killed in a car accident on his way to work. To say I am broken-hearted is the understatement of a lifetime. My husband describes it as “someone thrust their hand into my chest and ripped out a huge chunk of my flesh, and I am left with a bleeding gaping hole with torn, ragged edges”. That’s a very good description of this pain. I remember thinking in the first 2 or 3 days after his death, that if the pain in my stomach continued, I would die. It was truly that bad. It eased up from that intensity after the funeral, but it returns, thankfully never quite as bad as that first week.
We had our kids and most of our grandkids over for dinner last night. I still can’t remember how many plates to set at the table. I can’t see “everyone” seated at the table without crying. I can’t sit down at the table, when I finally quit crying, and look at the sad faces of my children without feeling more and more sorrow. But, usually after a few tense moments, we are all able to eat and converse. But, the conversation inevitably turns to our loss, or to him. I must confess, I am usually the one who turns it that way. We miss him. I miss him terribly. Gut-wrenchingly terribly.
I went to the cemetery this evening. I don’t actually know why I go, because it’s really a bit torturous. But, I go. I usually cry and ask God “Why?”. The last few times I’ve gone I have this urge to dig up his grave so I can check on him. He’s my child. He’s in a steel box 6 feet below the ground. I can hardly bear that thought. How can a mother bear the fact that one of her precious children is lying cold in a steel box 6 feet beneath the ground?
I have to intentionally turn my thoughts to the “vision” I had of him ascending to heaven the morning he died. I was so comforted and assured of his salvation that morning. I’m still sure of it, but I miss his physical presence here with us. I just want to hear my baby’s voice, feel his arm slung over my shoulders, see his sweet face leaning down to greet me.
I miss him. I miss him terribly. I miss our happy, whole family.
But, I am hopeful. I am hopeful that we will learn to go on. I am hopeful that family dinners will get easier. I am hopeful that we will be able to smile and laugh more often when we talk about him. I am hopeful that I will be some version of myself again someday. I think I will probably always be scarred, but maybe I’ll be me again someday.
Thank you for reading this. I know this is a hard one to read. But, this is why I started this blog……to put my feelings out there, to share them with trusted friends who will help me carry on. Thank you for allowing me to do that.