I usually answer, "fine". That's usually what they want to hear. I know they wonder how I walk through life without my beloved son, and remain sane in the process. I think about it myself. I know that but for the grace of God and the prayers of His people, I would still be a puddle in the middle of my grief-counselor's office tan carpet. I don't talk as much about him as I use to. When I do, people do not seem to bristle and recoil like they did in the days and months right after we lost dear Chad.
Just typing his name brings a kind of soothing feeling. It's like soaking in a warm tub or having my neck massaged. Seeing his name in print makes me recall the days when he was pitching in little league and I called, "Come on, Chadder." Then that thought brings to mind how he use to get so sick to his stomach just before a game. He was so very passionate about performance. I'd tell him he was only 10 and not to get so worked up. I may as well have been talking to the butterflies in the wind. That thought brings on another of the note I found in my box of old pictures. He'd written it to me before he'd left on a band trip to King's Island. He'd taken the time to write me a note before his dad took him to join the group. It was on a blue index card. He'd signed it "I'm still your little Chatter." I have to laugh. He was a chatter-box. But then, he came by it naturally. We often spent hours upon hours at night, lying in bed talking about everything. God, life, girls, guys, funny things. I wish I had recorded all those conversations, now. But I didn't.
What does one say when someone asks how are you, and your life has been so drastically changed? so changed that you cannot verbalize the oddity of walking on without that crazy, goofy presence in your life? I don't know. It's hard to simply say I'm fine when I'd really like to share the moment I last heard his voice. Would they understand how much I want to bop him for not coming up to spend Mother's Day weekend with me? Would they understand that even though I'd like to bop him, it's not because he missed Mother's Day 2005, but because he missed all those Mother's Days since then? I think of how his last words were "I love you, momma," the night before he died. And I cannot help but smile; he had a special way of saying momma...I've never heard anyone say it like he did. I so wish I had that moment to relive and say, "I love you, too, my precious son." Instead I sit here typing this for no other reason than just to pen the thoughts that run rampant through my head at times. It's late. It's nearly 1:00 a.m.
Perhaps you are a bit lonely tonite, too, my friend--whoever you are. Perhaps you share a kindred bond, or simply want to know how I really am in all this. I can truthfully say, I take each day as it comes and embrace it with as much energy as I have within me. Sometimes that is alot, and other times it could not move the battery-bunny's toe. But through it all the love I have for Chad was not buried in the grave with him. I contemplate the day when I shall see his name in print once again. I clearly see it written in the Book of Life and know someday I'll be able to thank Jesus Who makes it possible for us to reunite and celebrate our life forever in heaven. What a day that will be! What a day! I know I'll be fine, truly fine that day! selahV