It would be natural at this time to constantly run through the myriad of questions that I suspect I one day will have -- the hows, the whys and the what ifs. But I cannot get there now. My thoughts bounce back between denial -- my inability to accept that Jonathan is gone -- and the hole that can never possibly be filled because of his absence.
The pain of seeing my family of five become a family of four -- forever incomplete and forever broken -- is beyond description. If you are a parent you know that there is no way to describe the birth of your children, and particularly your first. It is an experience of overwhelming emotion and of overwhelming joy. An so it is with the loss of a child.
It is an experience unto itself. It is a place of special torment. It is a deep and dark hole in which we awaken each morning.
I really need to get back to work this morning, but the thought of doing so is agonizing. Even worse is just being alone with my thoughts. So, in an effort to move things forward and occupy a little time I called the financing company that Jonathan used to buy his car. I needed to let them know he didn't need it anymore.
When I dialed the number I thought I was fine. But when the lady on the other end of the phone asked how she could help me I could barely get the words out. I had not planned on which of the awful words to use to explain the situation with my son, but the word "deceased" is the one that came out. The woman on the line said she was sorry for my loss, but unlike some of the other, similar conversations I have of necessity had in the last two weeks, I could hear in her voice that her heart also ached in that moment.
I briefly recovered and the woman began to ask the necessary questions to solve the problem of the car. Several times as I struggled to get the words out she kindly told me to take my time, and that she was in no hurry. At the end of our conversation, when the business was done, she said "goodbye, and God bless you."
I have many times over the years taught that Christian love must be "sincere." Indeed, one true mark of authentic Christian love is that we "rejoice with those who rejoice, and mourn with those who mourn." And though it did not lessen my pain in that moment, authentic Christian love is exactly what I experienced on the fourteenth morning in the most unlikely place ... and it was a beautiful thing.
9 Love must be sincere. Hate what is evil; cling to what is good. 10 Be devoted to one another in love. Honor one another above yourselves. 11 Never be lacking in zeal, but keep your spiritual fervor, serving the Lord. 12 Be joyful in hope, patient in affliction, faithful in prayer. 13 Share with the Lord’s people who are in need. Practice hospitality.
14 Bless those who persecute you; bless and do not curse. 15 Rejoice with those who rejoice; mourn with those who mourn.
2 comments:
Pastor John, your blog brings me both comfort and pain. Pain for what you are going through, pain that you are joining the club in which no one wants to be a member. Comfort in your way with words. You describe your feelings and experiences where I completely relate but couldn't put into words myself There is a comfort knowing you are not the only person who felt that way - that there is a commonality in such a great loss. I lost my only child 8 years ago. You are never the same person - you can't be. I am impressed with your honesty. I felt I couldn't be honest with my grief, my pain. People want to dismiss it - push you to move on - it makes them uncomfortable. You are comforting people by sharing your pain. Thank you for that. You are an eloquent writer. Maybe this will bring you some comfort....you are swimming in an ocean of sadness and despair but there are islands of hope, islands of happiness, islands of peace. Swim towards those islands. They will come.
I am glad you found comfort here, as I did from your comment. Praying for you as you continue in your journey.
God bless,
John
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