three hundred sixty-five days
Last week marked one year since I last felt the warmth of Colby. Three hundred and sixty-five days ago, he was able to see Jesus face to face and left us waiting for Him to bind our broken hearts. I want to describe how grief has its own timetable and agenda. It never heeds the warnings to stay at bay until a more opportune time. I want to explain how this type of loss leaves me constantly searching the hearts and minds of the others still in my charge for signs of sorrow and suffering. Yet, my mama heart holds its breath and pleads with God to use the pain magnificently in their lives. I want to tell the story of grieving well, together and separately, with the love of my life because he is the only one on this earth who loves Colby as much as me and understands the hole left. But that story is still being written. I want to scream this sucks... painfully sucks... profusely sucks... persistently sucks... because, after three years of embracing the suck, I haven't found a better word to describe it.
But that would all be a half truth and, therefore, a lie.
I miss my baby with a fierceness that makes the marrow in my bones ache. This temporary loss walk that the Lord has asked me to do seems so very heavy upon my feet. Yet, there is an unexplainable lightness to the burden. It is definitely a burden. My soul says it is well, even as my flesh is pounded by grief. There are times when I question how the next moment will be survived. Yet, survived it is with me looking back in awe.
But God. But God. BUT GOD.
Two words that merely brush the surface of what He has done: in His grace, through the hands and feet of others, in response to many a prayer and tear-stained cheeks, by what the world wants to call happenstance but I refuse not to give Him credit. How can a burden be heavy and light at the same time? Only in His ways. Only in the shadow of eternity.
One of the first scriptures that I hid in my heart eighteen years ago when I stopped being lukewarm in my relationship with Him. Sitting still in sorrow is hard to do. My sorrow compels me to know Him more intimately, to seek and search and swim around in all that seems overwhelming just to have a glimpse of what is behind the veil. A couple of months ago, someone asked me if I was over Colby, over his death. It is quite clear that one never fully gets over this temporary loss until the promise of heaven is fulfilled. Honestly, I do not want to get over his death. I know God is at work stitching this broken heart of mine and has begun to restore the years the locust have eaten. There has been a richness in living and shedding of scales for a wider vision that only comes with the sting of deep sorrow. I would not have signed up for it on my own, but, in the depth of His mercy, God did not ask for my say.
Three hundred and sixty-five days closer to seeing Colby again, of wading through the tears with my tribe, of looking back and seeing His steadfast love. I do not want to make it seem easy for it is not. I do not want to come across as strong mama for being weak is the only way to rise strong with Him. But it has been a good grief because He is so very good and my eyes remain on the eternity bought on the cross.
Oh sweet boy of mine, my mind can barely grasp what wonders you have seen and beauty experienced in His presence.