Matt, I went to your memorial garden yesterday to water the flowers we planted. The weather has been scorching hot and I’m trying to keep the beauty surrounding your stone alive in this heat. It’s typical July in Delaware. I remember you complaining about the crowds and traffic that would invade your happy place as the temperatures soured. You hated sharing your paradise and always wished the summer season to finish giving you back your peaceful place.
My neighbor, Debbie has become my garden companion as my back surgery has made it impossible for me to plant or water your flowers. My job is to keep the bird feeder full and she lugs the watering can around the garden giving those flowers a refreshing drink.
We pulled up and parked next to the garden. Deb grabbed the watering can and I grabbed the bird food. I headed toward the garden as she headed up the parking lot to where the hose is stored.
A piece of paper was lying on your stone held in place by 2 quarters. My curiosity peaked as I wondered who visited and left this mysterious note.
As I began to read I could feel the tears forming in my eyes. My body enveloped in chills even in the 90 degree heat. The letter was written to God by another mother who knew my grief.
She was asking God the same question I did after your death. Why? Why? Why? did God allow her son to die. She poured out her heart onto this precious piece of paper. As I continued to read I could no longer hold back my tears. Debbie seeing my tears thought I was crying over you. I handed her the note and watched her face as she read this grieving mothers words to God. Both of us stood silent with tears running down our cheeks as we continued to read this broken mothers words.
She was begging God for her son back just as I did and continue to do. She was begging for just another moment in time with her precious son. Begging God to give him back to her just as I have begged. To think this mother came to your garden and stood at the foot of Jesus’s cross pouring out her grief was so bittersweet for me. I could picture her talking out loud begging for her pain to stop and her son to be alive just as I have done many, many times.
I will probably never meet this mother but I know her as I know myself. A mother who’s heart holds the unbearable grief of losing her precious son as does mine. Mothers, strangers bonded by a grief no mother should carry. Both standing by your stone in the peacefulness of your garden asking the question that has no answer………