For those in the mood for a laugh, I realize that I usually provide it, but this will be a rather poignant post. I have a heartfelt request for every person who reads this. If you do not want to cry, please read only the last two paragraphs of this post. Seriously.
It has been almost six months since the accident. Life for everyone around us has pretty much returned to normal. For us, it is a new sort of reality. We go through our day and there is not a moment that goes by that we do not think of our sweet boy. A thing so simple as walking into Wal-Mart and seeing the “Back-to-School” signs can bring me to tears in a flash.
It is the little things that make life worth living. And when you lose someone, it is those same little things that serve as a constant reminder of what you have lost. Hearing the diesel engine of the school bus go by...begging almost pleading that it will be followed by the hasty sound of the door opening, closing, and hearing a backpack drop to the ground with footsteps running up the stairs. The early morning sound of the toilet seat banging down. Going to the swimming pool or the park and doing the quick parental headcount and catching your breath as you get to three, when you should have stopped at two. Going to kiss my children goodnight and seeing the empty place next to my dear little four-year old where a six-year old should be. Joshua used to get up in the night to come see us, but he always hesitated just outside our door. My parental instincts would tell me he was there--I could feel it. There he was lurking in the shadows, just out of sight. How those shadows constantly remind me of him. How I wish that I could see him emerge from those shadows just one more time.
There are two ways to miss someone. One is healthy, one is not. It is okay to miss someone. It is okay to remember them fondly. It is NOT okay to play the “what-if” game. What if I would have just driven him to school. What if I would have flashed my lights instead of honking my horn–would she have seen that? What if...? What if...? What if...?
There are only losers in the What-if game.
There was a moment, I believe it was the moment of impact, when I felt the most calming, peaceful feeling I have ever experienced in my entire life. I felt an arm wrap around me. It was real. I heard a whisper in my ear, “he is okay” and I felt it in every corner of my body. It was the most singular permeating feeling of peace I had ever felt in my life. However this feeling was the calm before the storm as my mind wrapped itself around what had just happened. As I have stated before, I do not wish to here relive those moments save to mention this portion of the experience. It is hard to even write about that wonderful experience as it brings me so close to the terrible moments which followed.
For those who do not share my faith, we believe in a physical resurrection of the body. A reuniting of flesh and spirit. As I am limited to only what I understand on this earth, I must try and explain things accordingly. It is hard for me to fathom what it would be like to not be able to TOUCH my child again. I long to be able to FEEL him and EMBRACE him. In an ultra-simplified way, it is this longing to HOLD my little boy which reassures me of the reality of a physical resurrection. If Heaven is real, then of a surety I will hold my little boy again...and Heaven is real.
I find myself thinking back on fond times with Joshua. Pleasant memories which keep me missing him in the right way. However I have found that I, who did not keep a journal, seem to play only a few fond recollections over and over, despite six wonderful years of treasured memories. On occasion I have been blessed to talk to someone who shared one of their fond memories of Joshua, and as I recall the event, I add it to my own collection and use it as necessary to keep my mind in the right place. These are priceless to me and I need more of these memories. I have seldom asked anything of anyone, but I am asking anyone who reads this, if you knew my son, please share your memories. You have no idea how much it will help me.
Let me conclude by saying that my family and I are doing very well. We are doing as well as possible under these circumstances. We have felt the prayers offered on our behalf and we are grateful for them. We still need those prayers more than anything else. God lives. He loves us. If this life was all there is...life would be tragic. Life is not tragic. My boy is there. I can feel him, just out of sight, waiting...to emerge from the shadows into the light.
It has been almost six months since the accident. Life for everyone around us has pretty much returned to normal. For us, it is a new sort of reality. We go through our day and there is not a moment that goes by that we do not think of our sweet boy. A thing so simple as walking into Wal-Mart and seeing the “Back-to-School” signs can bring me to tears in a flash.
It is the little things that make life worth living. And when you lose someone, it is those same little things that serve as a constant reminder of what you have lost. Hearing the diesel engine of the school bus go by...begging almost pleading that it will be followed by the hasty sound of the door opening, closing, and hearing a backpack drop to the ground with footsteps running up the stairs. The early morning sound of the toilet seat banging down. Going to the swimming pool or the park and doing the quick parental headcount and catching your breath as you get to three, when you should have stopped at two. Going to kiss my children goodnight and seeing the empty place next to my dear little four-year old where a six-year old should be. Joshua used to get up in the night to come see us, but he always hesitated just outside our door. My parental instincts would tell me he was there--I could feel it. There he was lurking in the shadows, just out of sight. How those shadows constantly remind me of him. How I wish that I could see him emerge from those shadows just one more time.
There are two ways to miss someone. One is healthy, one is not. It is okay to miss someone. It is okay to remember them fondly. It is NOT okay to play the “what-if” game. What if I would have just driven him to school. What if I would have flashed my lights instead of honking my horn–would she have seen that? What if...? What if...? What if...?
There are only losers in the What-if game.
There was a moment, I believe it was the moment of impact, when I felt the most calming, peaceful feeling I have ever experienced in my entire life. I felt an arm wrap around me. It was real. I heard a whisper in my ear, “he is okay” and I felt it in every corner of my body. It was the most singular permeating feeling of peace I had ever felt in my life. However this feeling was the calm before the storm as my mind wrapped itself around what had just happened. As I have stated before, I do not wish to here relive those moments save to mention this portion of the experience. It is hard to even write about that wonderful experience as it brings me so close to the terrible moments which followed.
For those who do not share my faith, we believe in a physical resurrection of the body. A reuniting of flesh and spirit. As I am limited to only what I understand on this earth, I must try and explain things accordingly. It is hard for me to fathom what it would be like to not be able to TOUCH my child again. I long to be able to FEEL him and EMBRACE him. In an ultra-simplified way, it is this longing to HOLD my little boy which reassures me of the reality of a physical resurrection. If Heaven is real, then of a surety I will hold my little boy again...and Heaven is real.
I find myself thinking back on fond times with Joshua. Pleasant memories which keep me missing him in the right way. However I have found that I, who did not keep a journal, seem to play only a few fond recollections over and over, despite six wonderful years of treasured memories. On occasion I have been blessed to talk to someone who shared one of their fond memories of Joshua, and as I recall the event, I add it to my own collection and use it as necessary to keep my mind in the right place. These are priceless to me and I need more of these memories. I have seldom asked anything of anyone, but I am asking anyone who reads this, if you knew my son, please share your memories. You have no idea how much it will help me.
Let me conclude by saying that my family and I are doing very well. We are doing as well as possible under these circumstances. We have felt the prayers offered on our behalf and we are grateful for them. We still need those prayers more than anything else. God lives. He loves us. If this life was all there is...life would be tragic. Life is not tragic. My boy is there. I can feel him, just out of sight, waiting...to emerge from the shadows into the light.
