You know, I thought maybe the tears would fall softer, the memories would sting less, the ache would finally ease into something manageable.
But here I am....three years in... and somehow, it still catches me off guard.
The way a scent pulls me back. The way a certain day on the calendar makes my chest feel hollow. The way laughter feels lighter but guilty all at once.
Why does it feel harder now, when everyone else seems to have moved on? I thought I was doing better? I shy away from talking about it because it feels like nobody wants to listen anymore. I end up feeling like a burden or even like it's annoying to hear me speak of my pain that is very real.
There’s nothing wrong with me.
I'm not broken or backsliding.
I'm just deeper in the process....standing in a place most people never tell you about.
Year one was shock.
I was running on adrenaline, numb and trying to breathe through the impossible.
Year two.....I guess I could call it "adjustment", because I was learning how to survive in a world that kept turning without my son.
But year three… oh my word, does this anniversary feel so much heavier than last year.
I think this is when my heart is finally catching up to what my mind already knows....He's really gone from here, and somehow, only with God's hand....life has gone on.
That realization hurts in a way that I couldn’t have ever imagined before.
Because now....I can see the life I'm rebuilding.....and the empty space that will always be woven through it.
We're living again, but part of me still longs for the life that was.
My grief is changing shape.
It’s not as loud, but it’s certainly heavier.
It comes in quiet moments....the ones no one else sees. To be honest, half of the time, I don't even see it coming myself. It just smacks me in the back of the head and changes everything around me.
It’s not about JUST surviving anymore.
It’s about integrating.
It's about figuring out how to carry love that has nowhere to land anymore but inside my hearts.
So...if the tears come easier, I need to let them.
If the memories flood in, I need to welcome them.
If I find myself feeling it all more deeply....that’s okay.
I have healed enough to honestly FEEL again, and while that is scary...AND painful, it's necessary.
My love didn’t die with him.
It just learned a new language.... one of longing, remembering, and carrying.
Every year, this date pulls me back to the moment that changed everything.
I didn’t know that morning that everything was about to change. I didn’t know heaven was leaning close, or that my song would echo through both realms that day.
All I knew was that I was standing in a church, singing “The Goodness of God” at a young woman’s funeral...and 33 miles away, my son was preparing to be on his way to the ICU.
The irony of that song still grips me. I was singing about God’s goodness at the very moment I would begin to question it. My heart didn’t know the news that was coming, but my spirit must have.....because I remember singing with a trembling that felt like warning and worship all at once.
This was the day my world tilted.
The day I stepped into the longest week of my life.
Grief has a way of folding time.
Even now, 3 years later, my body remembers before my mind does. The air feels the same.
But even in this remembering.....in this aching replay....I know something else now - Heaven was already holding him. God was already preparing mercy for the days ahead, even while I was still standing in that sanctuary singing about His goodness.
Heaven didn’t take my boy that day.....it held him.
And somehow, it’s been holding me and my family ever since.
Lord, You saw the moment everything changed. You were in that sanctuary, You were with my son at his last waking moments....and You were in that hospital room. You heard my song before I even knew it would become my prayer and you heard Levi's cries before he closed his eyes. Today, 3 yrs later, I give You this day again....the day I will always remember as the day the earth stood still. Let Your nearness hold me, my husband, and my daughters, and my grandbabies the way it held him. And when memories wash over us, remind us that even then… You were good.
In the matchless name of Jesus,
Amen.
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