I find it odd at times the things I am doing. I still can't help myself from doing them. This morning, emptiness felt like another presence among us. I went all throughout the house and turned on every light hoping to make it feel just a bit less. I make my bed and carefully tuck Sully's little outfit and hat back under the pillows. I smell it constantly. This morning, I kept trying to get his scent but it is growing fainter with the passing of days. I sleep with the blanket I made him, feeling like a child in need of comfort. Any flowers that came for him I can't just discard into the trash. All of them are decomposing in the shelter of our backyard azalea hedge. The water from the vases has been poured on his bulbs out front. It's as if I couldn't waste anything that was his. Perhaps I need to believe that even in their end, their death, they will spur on the new life of the azalea blooms and the sprouting tulips and daffodils.
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These things I find myself doing seem almost superstitious to me. And yet, I think they must just be part of the grief, part of some kind of process. As I hugged Brad goodbye for his second morning back to work, I saw the frost on our front door and in it written the words, "We love you Sully." It was cold like this just one week ago on the morning of his service. Snow had quieted the world, all of nature honoring my sweet little boy, when I wrote those words. It's been just one week since his service, 11 days since he left, 17 since he was born. How long will I count?
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4 comments:
What a beautiful Angel Sully is as well as your other children. I know you are grieving right now but at the same time blessed because you have such a wonderful family. I do not know you but I think about you daily and your story has touched my heart as well as many of my friends who had no knowledge if this disease. I contributed to Sully's playground and am sending this to my Georgia friends to do the same. Many prayers and blesings are coming your way.
Every time I see you, I just want to go give you a hug, but then someone is already there talking to you. SO, just know whenever I see you and I just pass by, I'm thinking you a hug instead. And praying for you at the same time.
K@
When I awoke this morning, my first thoughts were of you and Brad and the realization that it had been a week since Sullys' service. I imagined what you must be feeling today, knowing that you would relive every precious and heart wrenching moment of that day when you were with your church, friends and family and surrounded with their comfort in a very physical way. You need to know that we are still here for you and we remember and we are praying for you. Grief has no beginning nor ending date and only God, prayers and support from those who love you will help to soften its presence in your life. Sully will always be a part of your family and learning to live with his absence will get easier but he will always be there and you know this in your heart. For now, just rest in the arms of your Saviour and let him give you comfort. Let others listen and help whenever they can. This is their part. Your part is to take refuge in the help and strength of others who are willing to give it; while you, in turn, are gaining in strength to get through each day.You are wonderful parents who honored a beautiful son but you are human in your grief. Allow this grief to happen and allow yourselves to grow through the experience. God promises joy in the sorrow but he never gives us a timetable to go with his promises. He is just and faithful to be there for us and to send others our way in times such as this. All you have to do is accept all that he offers. Nothing else is expected of you but to trust that one day grief will not be the beginning of each day.
Georgeann
Its not superstitious, using ritual to move through these early days of loss. Its just human. We need the comfort to survive harsh reality.
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