This time last year I was in and out of your room. At this point, you have been gone for a couple of hours. We've been praying and we've done a lot of crying. And we even have laughed over stories about you. We've sung songs of praise to our God, understanding that He is now welcoming you. You were frail, broken, exhausted before you arrived, but not for even a moment longer as you finally embraced Your Savior. I felt relief in the midst of my searing pain knowing that your suffering was done.
I never knew what this would be like. Even when I mentally followed our future to it's worst-case scenario, it was impossible to know how this would be. I remember watching you breathe. Struggle to breathe. And then when your last breath came, it was so final. It was as if I held out hope until the very last moment. And then your work on earth was done. And now I was facing our future as a family of three.
Lincoln had been to Chad's room earlier--either this day or the day before. And he had held his Daddy's hand and looked up at him in an understanding way that surpassed his years. The last thing I wanted to do was tell my boys their Daddy was gone. But, God's grace. God's timing and God's abundant grace. When I came home, the boys were in bed. The next morning, I remember that I didn't know how I would explain it to Lincoln, but we got through it and he understood as best as he could. Ever since, he's only been thankful that Daddy is in heaven and he is no longer sick. Levi, of course, is too young to even remember Chad. While that breaks my heart, I think it also makes this experience less scarring for him. He will learn who his dad was through memories and pictures that we share.
I am forever thankful to our friend from church who generously gave of her time that night. And to everyone who took turns with the boys, brought food, sat by us, and so much more. So many people have stepped-up to care for us and I cannot describe the comfort that brings us. Thank you all.
The memories are vivid and I am so grateful for that. It sounds weird, but it was a beautiful time. It was terribly sad, and intense, but it was amazing. All of our guards were down. It was one of the most real moments in my life. Meaning, there was no subtext. It was just so raw. To be in this particular room meant you were on the border between life and death.
In the past year, I've been working through this. For months and months I've done nothing except put one foot in front of the other. But, I'm starting to see the sun breaking through a little more. I can make plans, I can start thinking of what a future might look like. I can embrace where we are with the understanding and comfort of knowing that we are still firmly in God's sovereign and loving hands. We have been so well-cared for through it all.
So many of us have hard stories, don't we? Mine is one in among millions. In the midst of the horrible, ugly things of life, I think there is a point where we can say, "That part was beautiful." Maybe, like me, it was the outpouring of love and the realization that life and death and love is really all there is in the tangible world that we know. The rest is just dressing on the side. I'm willing to bet that's true for many others too. If you're struggling now through something, look to see where God is leaning in, whispering in your ear, and guiding you to see something amazing.
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