One. More. Year. One more year has gone by. One more November 16th has come and gone. This was four years. Four years since we held our sweet boy in our arms and kissed every ounce of his earthly body goodbye. We can scroll through pictures and it can still take our breath away, hardly believing he was ours and thatwas our life.
But it wasour life and thisis our life.
Grief is hard. It’s long. It’s lonely, and to be completely honest, I don’t think it ever ends. But it does change; I know that. It has seasons and it has storms, and just like living in the Willamette Valley one winter can look completely different from the next. The tears have fallen so easily to me this season and I don’t know why. I’ve tried fighting them and I’ve wondered, why now? It’s been four years! I’ve even asked my husband, why do I have so many tears in my body?He reminded me that sometimes it’s better to endure the seasons that have tears that fall than the seasons when they just won’t come at all. He’s right, but some days I long for the next season, a little drier one.
On the eve of the 16thI crawled up in bed with each one of my sleeping children and watched them breathe as I stared into their sweet faces, my nine and a half year old, my seven year old and my three year old. Breath, what a gift it is, I thought to myself. They’ve grown and changed, and even just becomein the last four years and I begged God to open their eyes to Him.
My life has been forever scarred by grief. It will never be gone, the scar may get lighter in some areas, and darker in others, but it will never disappear. It is a constant reminder that I see the world differently and I have to accept that as a gift.
