Today is an anniversary. One I wish didn’t exist, but as my Daddy used to say, “if wishes were nickels, you’d be a millionaire.” Two years ago today I lost one of my sons. I had lost my mother several years ago and my dad about four years ago. I loved them dearly and I miss them every day, but they had lived long lives. Their bodies had betrayed them and stolen their quality of life here on this earth. They were ready to move on, and so as painful as it was to let them go, it made sense. It was the natural order of things. We live, we grow, we learn, and then we leave when we are old and gray. But Paul’s death did not make sense. He was only 26. His life had just begun. He had a beautiful wife he loved and they had only been married a little over a year. He had a sweet baby girl just six months old. He worshipped her. Paul really only began to appreciate and magnify his existence the day that she was born. She was everything to him, and now she would never know the depth of his love or the warmth of his tender embrace. His death was not a tragic accident that could not have been prevented, but was the result of a lack of concern or respect for his well being by people he trusted to take care of him. It was senseless, unnecessary and avoidable. It broke me completely. But, in the spirit of being the strong woman of pioneer stock that I was, everyday I said, “I’m okay” and I moved on. I kept my grief deep inside my heart and allowed it to surface only in the presence of a very few trusted people. I blamed myself for so long and, I would never blame God for anything that happens in this world, but believe me, we did have some long conversations about it. Two years, and on this day the wound is still large and fresh and painful, but I can at least say that sometimes, life and loss just don’t make sense. I went back to work the Monday after the funeral. I pretended that it was done and over and life had to move on, but inside my heart I was dead and in anguish and so I poured my heart out to the one place I knew it would be safe, the written page. It helped a lot. It was a year later before I had the courage to actually read what I had written and at that time I shared it with a couple of trusted friends. Now, two years later, I would like to share it with others. I know there are so many people in this world who have suffered a tragic loss like my own that just doesn’t make sense. By sharing the grief I felt at that time, I hope to say, “you are not alone and it’s okay to grieve.” So here it is. If you choose to read it, please do so with care, for this is my heart open and unprotected for all to see.
He opened the car door for her and she put her foot on the icy ground. The air was clear and cold. Little wisps of steam billowed from the mouths and noses of all the people who were milling around. The snow covered ground crunched beneath her feet as she slowly walked to her seat. She could hear the muffled voices as people conversed in hushed tones as she passed by. The canopy where she would sit seemed so far away. Her body felt heavy and slow and she struggled to move across the frozen ground. She held tightly to his arm to steady herself and draw on his strength. At last they were there and she dropped heavily into the cloth covered chair. Someone in a black overcoat was standing in front of her. He was speaking, but she wasn’t aware of what he was saying. Her husband took the blanket he offered and spread it across her legs to keep out the chill. It didn’t help. The awful cold that gripped her body was coming from inside her own skin. The terrible numbness that enveloped her started at her broken heart and spread outward to her torso and radiated down her arms and legs into her feet and hands. She felt nothing but the crushing pain inside her chest where her shattered heart somehow managed to still beat.
She stared blankly ahead as they opened the doors to the shiny black hearse parked on the narrow cemetery road. Her remaining four sons lifted the casket holding their brother and reverently carried it to the place where he would rest forever. The carved wooden box passed in front of her and they set it gently on the supports that would keep it out of that deep, dark hole until the ceremony was over. A beautiful bouquet of flowers rested on top of the box. A banner that read, father, husband, son was woven amongst the flowers. The people gathered close around. The funeral director said a few words. A prayer was offered. She watched as each one of his brothers removed the blood red rose boutonniere he wore and gently placed it on top of the box. Scott, the oldest, rested the palm of his hand on the lid as he stared across the open field. She wondered what memories flashed through his mind as he stood there under the cold sunshine of this winter day. People passed by her, offering kind words and tender touches. She hoped she was smiling at them as they spoke. The grief was crushing her to her seat. Soon, everyone was gone. Only she and his wife remained. Together they sat and stared at the lonely box. A slight, icy wind blew through the trees. She knew that soon her handsome son would be lowered deep into the ground and the frozen brown dirt would be dropped into the hole. All that would be left was a marker in this field to show that once a warm, kind, gentle soul had walked this earth. His tiny baby daughter sat quietly on her mother’s lap. Jane reached for the beautiful child and pulled her close, resting her cheek on the tiny head. For just a moment she thought she could feel his soul watching. She felt his warm smile and his tremendous love for this little girl. Suddenly the bitter heartache she had tried so hard to contain burst forth and she sobbed great tears of indescribable pain. He was gone and would never be back. All she had left of his time here on earth was this tiny little soul, a small piece of him that looked more like him every time she saw her. She raised her eyes to the heavens and asked “why”? Why did he have to go? Why wasn’t she there to help him? Why couldn’t she have saved him? What were we supposed to do now? How could this terrible pain ever go away? The Heavens were silent. She would find no comfort there. Her husband gently lifted her elbow and let her know it was time to go. She hugged her granddaughter tight, put one arm around the girl’s mother and held them together. They shared a brief smile and she relinquished all that she had left of him to his wife. She gazed for one last long moment at the wooden box sitting on the ground, then reached for her husband’s hand and let him lead her to the car. It was January 31. This was not going to be a good year. Her heart had been broken many times over her life and she had always bounced back. This time was different. She could feel the shattered pieces of her heart lying inside her aching chest and she knew she would never be able to pull them all back together again. He opened the car door for her and she slumped inside. The engine roared to life and they quietly and slowly drove down the narrow road and out the gates of the frigid cemetery. All she could do was remind herself to breathe as they drove home. She wondered if she would ever be able to sleep again without the vision of that terrible moment in the hospital when she was told that her son had passed away. She reluctantly relived that moment every time she closed her eyes. The shock, the stabbing pain in her heart, the mournful sobs that ebbed from the depths of her soul and forced their way from her lips. Would this vision ever go away? Would she ever forget, and did she want to? No, this would not be a good year.
