He left excited and jubilant.
He hugged and kissed me.
Assured me all would be well.
I didn’t want him to go out.
I told him repeatedly to just stay home.
Bring his girl friend over to be with us.
But he left.
I remember every detail.
Blue eyes sparking.
He came home in a pine box.
The next time I saw him he was laying on a pillow that Chelsea used;
on his comforter that matched his brothers.
7 months before I had said good bye to my mom.
In a purple casket lined with frills and satin.
I wanted none of that.
There seemed to be nothing fancy about this kind of a death.
I wanted things to be rough and raw like I felt.
Empty and plain.
My energetic, smiling, larger than life boy now lie still.
It is almost 3 years later.
And I am cleaning out his room.
There are things I can not bear to do.
But this seems right.
His friend will stay with us for a month.
The heaviness and burden of a messy house
is lightening as I work in his room.
I feel strong as I move about.
I don’t think.
I breathe deeply the scent of his room.
I just stay focused.
This is so hard.
I don’t know how people do it with out the Lord;
with out the assurance that some day-
some day soon.
We will be reunited.
Because He gave all.
I rest in this blessed assurance.
I John 3:19
This is how we know that we belong to the truth and
how we set our hearts at rest in his presence:
If our hearts condemn us, we know that God
is greater than our hearts, and he knows everything.
I am at rest in His presence.
I think of my mom and dad and Elijah.
I think of our baby I never knew.
Oh the joy there must be there, in heaven.
There is joy to be had here too.
I just need to step into it.
As time passes the raw grief for others has diminished.
It will never end.
I have lost greatly and deeply.
I am forever changed.
I don’t know how things are supposed to be.
My role feels different.
There is more to this life for me.
I work to find joy.
I work to find purpose.
I work to be there for my other children.
I will take off my boys sheets and comforter.
I will take his pillows.
Those are mine for now.
I will continue to seek the strength I need.
Elijah’s friend being here is a gift.
He’ll work on the farm.
He’ll remind me;
Of the joy I had for 17 years.
My farmhouse table will be full.
Ah, but a man’s reach should exceed his grasp,
Or what’s a heaven for?” -Robert Browing