I am no longer a puddle on the floor. I no longer feel tortured by each breath, nor cry with each thought of him. I am no longer angered that others pass by, and live life--as if his life had no meaning. I still swell with pride at the sound of his name, and slow down at the memory of his words, "chill out". I continue "to stop and smell the roses", and pick wildflowers by the side of the road. I try to "count every moment special, and make every moment count". I still remember his warm for-nothing bear-hugs, and miss his just-because phone calls. I still long to hear his voice and see the brilliance of his smile. I wish we could still hang-out while he runs errands, and share stories of God's intervention in our lives. I doubt that will ever change.
Time is a strange commodity these days. It no longer feels like it is standing still, yet it never seems to fly by either.
Whenever heartache comes my way, I "remember the good times". Sometimes I still cry. Sometimes I still get angry. Occasionally I wonder "why".
I've let go of the dreams I once had for him and am resting in the reality of what is left in the wake of his life. Brooklyn. Abby. Love. Sunshine. Flowers. Soccer games. Softball. Playing hard, and living each moment as if there is no tomorrow. Sharing my heart as if I will not have a chance to say all I have to say after the sun sets today. Treating each person I love in light of that May 8th five years ago; a call to go to our heavenly home could be here for any of us--at any time. So take no one for granted. Forget the small stuff. Forgive quickly. Seize the day. Make time to say you care. Live with all your heart--for your family. For friends, and strangers. And most of all--for Christ.
[Remembering your life, my son. Rejoicing that you are in the arms of the Lord. I love you, Momma]