Matt, it’s been 27 months and 13 days since you left. Today is Easter. It’s also the third Easter since you’re death. I can tell you that time has not helped my grief. It’s a beautiful summer like day. I’m sitting on the deck letting the sunshine warm my aching heart. I keep telling myself to be brave. I keep telling myself that I have been here before. I keep trying to convince myself that I survived past Easters without you. My brain is trying but my hearts not buying my attempt to be strong.
I woke to birds singing and sun shining. For a brief second I felt joy. I tried to remember the real meaning of this day. Jesus has risen. Sinners are saved. I thought I could hold back my tears. Then a memory hit. Walking down the stairs I could see my two tow headed boys. I could hear the squeals of delight as you raced down stairs seeking your treasure left by the Easter Bunny. My precious boys, so close in age. Laughing and running inside and out seeking eggs hidden everywhere I could find a perfect spot.
My heart so full of joy as you and Mike tried to out do each other in your race to find the most eggs. Perfect little boy faces smeared with chocolate. I watched as you shared your secrets with big belly laughs and sticky fingers. Each so proud of your stash. Each trying to get your hands on the others candy. Your laughter so innocent echoes in my mind.
Two boys sharing life as only brothers can. Memories and pictures so precious in my heart. Your last Easter here brought laughter and joy. Your face now handsome smeared with chocolate as you tried to convince me that you were too old for a chocolate bunny. Your body now grown, your heart still that of a little boy.
Memories of life before the demons. Joy and laughter. A mother loving every precious moment of life with her son’s. Life as it should have been. Life where you married and had children. Life where this grieving mother should have been making Easter baskets for your children. A family celebrating tradition of tow headed babies with chocolate stained faces and sticky hands running into their grandmothers arms. Your children I will never meet. So much loss and pain for your mother to bear.
Today I will allow myself to remember every moment of your life. I will allow tears. I will accept that life will never be the same without you. Memories tucked safely in my heart will bring both joy and pain. Dreams never to be.
Today I will accept that you are safe. Your demons are no longer in control. I will acknowledge that you are with Jesus celebrating his resurrection in the most beautiful of places. I will give thanks for the years you blessed my life. I will love and remember you forever. Rest in the arms of Jesus. Until we meet again.