Peace on Earth…
But let it begin with me.
Let there be peace on earth
The peace that was meant to be..
365. Every day of every year that goes on after his sickness is a day without a piece of my heart. Each day has it’s moment of terrible gut wrenching pain because we exist here without him.
Every day I am haunted by the questions and paths that led to his illness and death. As I think about planning what would have been his eighth birthday, I feel anger, relief and sadness that he isn’t here to celebrate with us. How do you celebrate a birthday without the child? Do you ?
Birthday parties and balloons and cakes flood my mind as I imagine what this would look like. What would he look like? Eight is such a big number. I allow myself a few minutes (okay days) to wallow in this and then try and figure out how to make this not so terribly depressing and instead cling to the good in this approaching day.
What can I do to honor him and remember him? Do I even remember him? Three and a half years old is such a small age. He had so much personality and I feel like he lived a 1000 lifetimes in that small time that he was actually Walker.
Sometimes Weston looks like him and I feel as if I’ve fallen from a swing mid air and had the wind knocked from me. I’m surprised and also captivated by those moments that I know I scare the daylights out of Weston when I grab him suddenly and hug him so tight. Just to see a glimpse of him fills me so full. I miss my child.
I’ve felt so torn between home and church and school and so much more. It feels as if I’ve ridden waves into rocks along the shores of our coast. What is this pain that exists so deep within me? It emerges sometimes and I can hardly breathe beneath it. Losing a child is pain. It is all encompassing and never over. You just learn to live with this deep void in your life each day.
It’s not always present, sometimes it will sneak around the corner and take me over. Sometimes its for days, sometimes its for minutes. The void bleeds all over and takes me back into each dark moment. Each hospital visit, each seizure, each syringe, each bolus, each nurse and doctor. I see my time in these places, in these moments on fast forward as if they are filling the sky as the day comes to an end.
How does that happen? How does all this exist somewhere in the back of mind? How does it stay locked up until a trigger releases it all? A smell, a glimpse, a year ago reminder….The dam breaks and it all floods me again. I soak it up, just to remember him. Just to remember that he existed and that all we went through was real. All of it happened.
He was here.
And now he’s not. But we are.
So I plan to remember him this year and I plan to share his story in ways that I have never been bold before. I have been so ready to just put it behind me so I am not sad anymore. Death doesn’t really work like that. You can deny it, but it comes and has come. But I remember when I am to entrenched in my depths that he is not really dead. He is with Jesus.
He is where we all hope to be. Free of pain and suffering and with the one that made that universe. How I wish I could have that peace that I know he is feeling in his place with the Lord. Peace on Earth isn’t a thing without the one that brings peace.
We will never have Peace until we have him. How that oddly brings such comfort. Walker has what we are all so desperate for. Peace is with Him. Peace is Jesus. We are to seek Peace. Seek Him.
In everything I do, I do it for the glory of God. 1 Corinthians 10:31
So in 11 days, he turns 8. Or he would and we will celebrate because he existed. He was here. He made me a mom. He made me rely on Jesus like I never I could. He made our family unbreakable. He made our community cry out in unison for his life. He made a difference and now so will we. We miss you sweet one.