One Year Later
One year ago, I received a phone call at 12:23 in the afternoon that no parent ever wishes to receive. My beautiful son was found unconscious after a morning nap at daycare. The minutes and hours that followed this phone call left me in a daze. Although when I close my eyes and picture that cold January day, every second is so vivid I can replay it in my head.
After what felt like a lifetime trying to find our son in the hospital and waiting for doctors, my husband and I raced into the emergency room, and every muscle in my body gave out as I collapsed to the floor, screaming out to the only one I knew who could protect my son...Jesus. As my son’s arms were stretched out like Jesus on the cross, my husband prayed over his lifeless body to be healed. Moments later, our beautiful, 8-month 23-day-old son was pronounced dead with our hands laid upon him. The room that was seconds ago filled with doctors and nurses was empty, and we were left to begin this journey of grief we now find ourselves on.
This year has simultaneously been both the shortest and longest year of my life. I have learned a lot about grief through my experience and the experience of others, one being that this is a lifelong journey. There is no time frame to grief. While the intensity of grief has lessened from that first day, it is still ever present in my day-to-day life. I live each day with the reality that my son, the very flesh and blood brought forth into this world by my husband and I, no longer exists on this side of the veil. My son, whose body is now buried in the ground, is no longer here to fill our home with his immense joy.
As I live with this reality of death in my life, I also live with the reality of my Catholic faith, that I have learned to place all my weight into. While my son is no longer physically present in this world, he is alive and sharing in the eternal bliss of heaven. I live with a great hope that we will be reunited, but it does not diminish the sorrow I feel of the physical separation I share with my son.
On our way to Christmas Mass, our first without him, we stopped by the cemetery. The gates were closed and locked due to hazardous road conditions brought by snow and ice. We sat in the car, a few hundred feet away from our son’s grave, and finished our rosary. My husband reflected on this moment as a reminder of the reality we face. As we sat on the outside of the locked gate, we knew where our son was, but we couldn’t get to him. In this life we now live, we sit on this side of the heavenly veil, knowing where our son is but unable to get to him. The yearning of reaching my son brought tears to my eyes as I long to be reunited with him.
This deep yearning for my son has left me with many questions this year. The obvious one-word question that I instinctively asked is, why? This simple question is the start to many questions that have come to my heart as I grieve the loss of my son. I can spend my days desiring nothing more than an answer to this question, or I can choose to trust God. I choose (although not perfectly) to trust God. I choose to let go of the control that I desire and allow God to work through this suffering. If I were given a choice between knowing the answers and living in mystery, I would choose the mystery. While hard to grasp, I am not God, and I doubt these answers would provide peace...only more questions. Would I ever be satisfied?
I recently read a reflection by Caryll Houselander, and the first line has deeply penetrated my heart. “Today, every sensitive person is shocked by the sight of suffering, or more accurately by the sight of evil suddenly made visible.” I must admit, in those initial days, I was shocked by this suffering and couldn’t fathom how death had just entered into my life. Over the past year, I have often thought back to before our son’s death and how naive I was to the suffering of this world. Truthfully, there are many times when I wish I could once again be naive to suffering. This isn’t what I have been called to, though. I have been called to pick up this (extremely) heavy cross and follow the Lord.
Over this year, I have come to understand that no one is immune to suffering. Jesus never promised us an easy life telling us, “In this world, you will have trouble, but take courage, I have conquered the world.” (John 16:33). I am not immune to suffering, and I am certain that there will be more troubles in my life ahead. All that is left of me on this side of the veil is to allow the Lord into my life and let this suffering transform my heart and soul.
I have been given a choice...to either run to or from the Lord. I choose to run toward the Lord. I choose to allow him to use this suffering for His greater good. I choose to take courage, pick up this cross, and follow Him who has conquered death and given us life.
