46 Weeks, and Tender Mercies

Dear Aaron,

As I drove home on Thursday, to the east the black mountains with their white peaks were silhouetted against a darkening indigo sky.  At the cemetery, I looked to the west and the last oranges and reds of the sunset hung over the western mountains. 

I felt sheltered, embraced, protected by the mountains. That might seem silly. I mean, you're still gone, not coming back, but they're sturdy, constant, and (hopefully) immovable.  They were there long before you or I were here, and will be long after I'm gone, too.

It's 46 weeks today, Aaron.  And 45 since we close the casket and I last saw your face, touched your hair, kissed your cheek, tucked you in. Today felt so, so lonely...

And then I got home and found a package on the porch.   

Just after you passed, a friend reached out and said she wanted to bring me a special blanket. She lost her own angel just over two years ago and somehow, God knew that I needed to receive this today. Not just after you passed, not on your birthday, not after you'd been gone six months or even on your angelversary.

Today. On a day that was just a normal, typical Saturday for everyone else, but when I felt alone and lost. 

I know she is close to Him, and her heart follows His promptings. I am so grateful...

Six years ago today we took a family picture. Joseph was leaving on his mission; we had everyone here, but just barely.  We had a tiny window of time. 

Deborah and Bronson were home from their honeymoon and Joseph was going to the MTC on Wednesday. And you were sick. How sick? Well, sick enough that I had bagged you a few times at church. I knew we needed additional help, but also, Joseph was leaving. While ultimately, you were here when Joseph came home (and Andrew after his mission) we couldn't expect it. As I read back over my writing from that November, someone had asked me when I would stop being worried that ________ (fill in holiday, birthday, picture, whatever) was the last time it would happen. I replied, "when one comes and he's not here," and choked back tears.

So we took the picture, and I called an ambulance. Sigh... 

Now you're not here, but I can't take a picture without you. And I have no idea how to do the holidays without you. And so I won't. I mean, we'll still do pictures and holidays and birthdays and hopefully weddings and so on. I figure you'll be here in spirit anyway, so I have a stand in for you. Because you're still important, still a part of my heart, and you always, always will be.

I love you, Aaron.

Love you so much.

Love,
Mama

“Heaven doesn’t ignore cries of a broken heart.”

Toba Beta