I miss Isaac.
I consider that I might have been welcoming him home after his first year of college, shortly. I think of how happy the whole fam would be about it. And it almost takes my breath away, again, for the 10th time already today.
But I don’t want to talk about sadness.
I want to talk about solace.
I want to talk about how the sun shining on my face on this last day of April along the shoreline that I call home, warms my spirit.
I want to talk about how a dog slumber party that stinks up the house makes me giggle.
I want to talk about how the love of a strong man has made my life better.
I want to talk about how sisters and sistas sending me messages just to share their deep affection for who I am makes me stand a little taller.
I want to talk about how the tasks of keeping a home that is a sanctuary keeps the wolves of angst at bay.
I want to talk about how work that nourishes others sustains me.
I want to talk about how a strong back and sturdy legs, good food and enough to share with others keeps me going when the weight of grief presses down.
I want to talk about how good I feel.
About how resilient I have become.
About how much has changed inside of me that needed to.
I miss Isaac, and I would give everything that is good in my life away to hold him close.
I can’t help but think that all of these other gifts that are so accessible to me are consolation prizes for losing a child, said to be the greatest pain one can endure.
But here is the thing. The one true thing. Nothing will bring him back. And I know that I could easily surrender to the gravity of this; it would not be a stretch for me to lay down and never get back up.
Have you ever forgotten to water your garden plants? Found them droopy and wilted and yellowing? And then have you taken water and hope and waited as it comes back, tougher than before, bursting with green, reaching toward the light? Defying all that you know of decay?
This is an approximation… This is what my heart has become. It isn’t what I wanted– I wanted my seed to keep growing. Beside me, within me.
But to say that my life cannot be as good as possible, and that possibility cannot ripen to full glory, would be so much more sadness than has already come.
I want to talk about and live about this. I want to love without fear of loss. I want to believe that all the love that I ever gave to and received from my beautiful child is all still right here. This is what my faith looks like. This is what keeps me in bloom.
This is my comfort in sorrow, misfortune and distress; my solace. At once perplexing and of great relief; life carries onward.