(written august 19th, 2023)
I walk down the steps to this basement bedroom. The tears rise higher with every step lower. Just like they always do.
I have hugged Dave and Amber and all five kids. I have said my final goodbyes. I have watched the window sunset drape golden light down their faces. Love is as strong as death.
I hold it together, mild red eyes, until I turn from them and know that this is the last time I’ll walk down these steps. At least, for this season. I am leaving them, and the summer, behind.
The grief threatens to drown me. I’m dizzy. I prepare to just shut myself behind the door and collapse. But then, just as suddenly as the tears came, they cease.
I am tired. I am ready to rest. The space heater is on. It’s time for the long nap.
Weary, I brush my teeth with Tom’s, just like I did on that very first night when I was twenty-three and lost.
And somehow there is a knowing. This is my family now. I have them, and they have me. I do not only exist to them when I am here. And they do not only exist to me when I am here. They will carry on, into this next season, heads high and hearts leaning with raw expectation into the bosom of their Maker. And I am with them now in a new way.
The rhythms of their life will march on, ever deeper. We have locked arms as we go down together into this death. Someone said that on the other side hides a joy inexpressible.
We will discover it as one.