“My tears are the words with which I tell God of my pain.” Adolfo Quezada
We are rounding another calendar year and heading for that horrible milestone. Dear Lord, why is it still so hard? For days now, I find myself dreading the approaching date worse than I dread a root canal. I am a basket of tears, becoming emotional even with totally unrelated topics. No one would dare mention our loss now . . . and they rarely do any other time of the year.
Do I sound bitter? Perhaps I am . . . just a little, or a lot, I’m not sure. But the awful memories come up and choke me this month more than any other in the year. Perhaps I let them, more than any other time too. The loss of our son was so horrible and we miss him so much, even though we have come to accept his death better now than we did.
I try to have good memories about him and his dad and I talk about those a lot. It helps. But the family members who fell away from us over his death never speak of him to us. I can’t seem to find good memories to erase those ugly ones. My mind understands that each of Your children is Your responsibility, but my heart still hurts for all the things said and done during those few, awful days we were together.
Lord, do those memories ever cross their minds? Do they look at the calendar, realizing that the anniversary date of our son’s death is approaching and feel sadness or remorse? I don’t doubt that they loved him and miss him, but do they feel any sorrow for the way they treated us? Is it guilt, Lord, that keeps them silent? There are no answers to these questions. Perhaps I am not supposed to wonder, but I can’t help it. I do wonder.
I dread the day, but dreading won’t keep it from coming. I will try to occupy myself with other things and with You by my side, I will get through it. We will get through it. That’s my goal. Simple and yet loaded. You are the only one I can count on that day, right? You have been with me all the days . . . before and after . . . even though I must admit that there are many times when I have felt all alone. Please remind me that I am not.
Please remind me that you will carry me through this anniversary like You carried me through the others. And please remind me that You won’t forget to return. Please remind me that it will be soon. I have nothing else I can count on but Your return. And then, any lingering memories will vaporize when I first see Your face and then see my son’s face . . . together. Now won’t that be a scene to commit to memory and savor for all eternity?
Sharing from the book, “Shattered by Suicide: My Conversations with God after the Tragic Death of My Son”
Beloved son, forever 30 (1974 – 2005)