A Year Later

I boxed up the Christmas decorations today. As I swept up the cookie crumbs and stray greenery, I remembered Christmas a year ago. E.J.’s death was fresh. We learned Christmas Day that he would not survive and informed family and friends of his untimely and sudden demise. The normally family filled day of dinner, gifts and joy was spent in utter sadness, disbelief and shock!

After E.J.’s memorial service we came home to a quiet house, decorated for a festive Christmas that would not be celebrated. The family traditions we have enjoyed through the years would not happen and the twinkling lights on the tree lost their brightness. In the midst of unimaginable grief, I moved through the motions of boxing up the decorations. I cried and cried as I packed up the memories of Christmases with E.J. and his brothers. At one point I recall James picking me up off the floor to hug me and cry with me.

The gray winter days were long and hard. I wasn’t sure spring would ever come. The deer wandered through the yard aimlessly as I wandered through the house cold and frozen with sorrow. I prayed for God to be with me while I watched for spring, to be with me when the icy wind blew, and to be with me when I slipped and stumbled through grief. I begged for God to help me endure the winter and look for signs of something green and hopeful.

William Shakespeare wrote, “What wound did ever heal but by degrees.” The loss ravages my life like a tsunami and devastates my way of life. I am not the only one affected in our large family. Each member is on a grief journey: some of us have sought counseling, some have needed medication to sleep without nightmares, some of us have started new exercise regiments, and some of us are ministers, chaplains, and grief counselors who have needed spiritual guidance.

I moved through the seasons of sorrow as I moved through the seasons of the year. Death changed me. I have become more aware of life. The small details in my loved ones are more valued, and I hug and kiss them more. Friends are more precious to me, and I tell them often how much I love them.

When I scatter feta cheese on a salad, I recall E.J.’s lecture on feta cheese being the perfect cheese for his diet. I can’t stop smiling when I see a little white mini Cooper, or when I see a man (one of E.J.’s brothers) wear a bow tie. There are daily reminders of E.J.’s relentless belief in “technology” clothing to make his golf game and daily run more resilient. I admire his calm demeanor which quieted a crying baby (the baby whisperer), and his incredible off-the-charts intellect that earned him scholarships and awards. Memories of his big smile in every photo I took of him (when he was young and when he was older) grace our walls. His precious daughters exhibit his mannerisms and quick wit with antics that resemble their dad.

As I moved the last box of garland and took the wreaths off the front door today, I noted the significant changes in my life. Yes, I am different and transformed in my grief. Life will never be the same and there will always be a hole in our family circle. But today I noticed my sorrow is turning to joy. (Jer. 31:13) I am thankful for my loving boy/man who brought smiles, laughs, pride, and total joy to my life. And I thank God that my son lived and is living still.

“When you are sorrowful, look again in your heart, and you shall see

 that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight.”

~ Kahlil Gibran

One of his favorite Christmas presents from his brother John.

The baby whisperer with his niece Ellie.