12/31/2024
It will soon be four years since I lost my son. January 4th, 2021 is forever etched in my brain and on my heart as the day he took every tomorrow with him. In some ways, it seems an eternity ago… far too long since I’ve seen his handsome face, heard his voice, or felt his embrace. In other ways, it seems like only yesterday that I felt the cruel sting of his death upon my tender heart. When we are young, we naively think that death and loss is something we work through on our return to normal… but once you’ve experienced the loss of someone close, you slowly realize that there is no possible way to return to normal, for the normal you once knew no longer exists.
Based on my own personal experience, I know that the act of passing into a new year hits hard. Especially the first one. The first everything on this side of ‘after’. But I wasn’t expecting New Year’s to be quite so difficult; it took me by surprise… until I realized what it represents. It’s a poignant marker of separation; of time’s relentless march, in spite of the void and absence left behind by those we love. And so, as we peer through tear-filled eyes into an uncertain future from the edge of a shaken year – preparing as best we can to be thrown into it, despite our desire to turn back and remain in the year that held them, or to halt the amount of time we’ve had to spend without them – please take these thoughts with you, from someone who walks just ahead of you on the path…
Will you ever smile again? Yes, my friend, you will… when you least expect it. Will you ever laugh, or feel happiness again? Yes, my friend, you will… and you won’t have to fake it. Will you ever find purpose? Yes, my friend, you will… in those who remain, and in reaching out to help those who are entering this road. Will you ever feel blessed? Yes, my friend… because of the loss you’ve endured, and its ability to open your eyes to all the beautiful people, places, and moments you previously took for granted; because of the love and support of those around you who answered your silent call; because of God’s grace which carries and sustains you when your will and strength fail – because they will. Will you always feel the absence? Yes, my friend you will… but with time, it will soften. And when that absence lays itself heavy upon your heart, invite it in; give it room – for it is love’s shadow; one cannot exist without the other.
When I feel pressed to the ground by the loss of my son, I remind myself that he is surrounded by so many others I’ve loved and lost – and they are gathered ‘round him, keeping watch until I get there. I don’t believe I’ve felt whole since the day he left. Profound grief changes you in a way that is impossible to pinpoint or articulate; one is never the same after such a loss. I’ve spent years trying to figure out exactly how I’ve changed – and while I can easily identify habits, thought patterns, routines, tendencies that I’ve developed or dropped – it is the intangible ways that elude me. I feel different on a cellular level; my sense of ‘self’ still feels frayed and scattered… but God recently offered a thought to my aching heart – one that gives me both explanation, and comfort: when my son, Josh, left this world, he took a part of me with him. And so it must be, for those who own such a large part of our heart. Thus, it should come as no surprise that we never feel quite ‘whole’ again – because we aren’t. And while we often say the phrase, focusing on the fact that we must now struggle, incomplete, to find our way through a world that no longer holds them, enduring the pain of their loss – pause and consider what it also means: that our loved ones are never without us. NEVER. They left this life knowing our love – and that love accompanies them beyond this life. My son will never know a life without me – or those he loved and left behind, who also love him – for we are all with him. To think that he will never feel separated from me, or from my love – and will be covered and shielded by God’s infinite grace – gives such comfort to my aching heart. I will gladly bear the weight of his absence, knowing that it spares him from feeling mine. I sincerely hope that you, too, find comfort in this thought as you proudly carry your loved one’s light into the new year… and that you smile, knowing that your ‘missing pieces’ aren’t missing at all; they’re right where they belong. God bless!
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