Today is the 7th of April, just one day shy of 8th, exactly 3 months after my son Jason passed on. This is a difficult day, because it reminds me of when he went to be with the Lord, or rather, when the Lord took him. I want to believe that my son loved to be with me, with us, and would have loved to continue to stay with us. But my little darling was unconscious, and that decision could only be made for him, not by him.
God knows best why He took him, what He was saving him from and receiving him into. He knows what it would have meant for us to have him (oh how special in my view!) and what it would mean for us to not have him – and He still must have a good plan, a very good plan indeed, even though it is ever so painful.
The doctors told us that after 3 months, we could go and collect his death certificate. That’s not the certificate that I want to hold about my son. I want to hold his birth certificate, his nursery school graduation certificate, his primary education certificate, his high school certificate, his university degrees certificates…..anything but that death one. It is so final, so finishing, so painful, so terrible. Oh can there be any peace in this?!
I long to be with my son. I miss him every day, every hour. Wherever I am, I think of him, and many times I break down. Sometimes I have to walk away, sometimes my heart just dies again and I disconnect from my present world, and go away in mentally – to a place where I am with him. A place where he’s alive and well, and I’m holding, hugging, and cuddling him. Where I’m looking into his eyes and he into mine, holding hands, smiling. And then the rude reality hits, and I’m jerked back to my empty present, my empty arms.
So I hug his teddy bear, and pour my tears into its warm furry self. I cry and want to sleep and wake up with him near me, next to me, in my arms. My poor little child, my darling, my best baby boy ever.
It’s been a journey of ups and downs after his passing. The greatest down was his passing on. We miss him. It’s a never-ending, sharp, squeezing, pounding, piercing kind of pain. Seeing the support of family and friends is a great encouragement. People sharing their experiences with us is a huge, timely blessing. Support in doing some very regular and mundane things is a big gift. Just breathing is a lot of work. That nice book, text message, whatsapp message, facebook inbox, email, phone call, visit, that hug – that contact means the world when it comes. And when someone cries with me, with us, I feel that they are touching our souls where they need to be touched the most. And I am eternally grateful.
As I stare at my empty arms, I am reminded that God’s arms are not empty for my son. They have my son. He is warm, safe and secure in God’s hands. He is resting on God’s chest, and God is telling him how much He loves him, how special, wonderful and important he is and how great and awesome are the plans that He has for him. I picture Jason as a happy young man, playing with Jesus, asking Him about His big ‘father Abraham’ kind of hair and beard, and playing with huge, lovely, multi-colored toys. He’s also going to see all the places we talked about in Sunday School as I taught his elder sister – Noah’s Ark, the rainbow, the stars and universe that God made, everything. I see him having fun. I see him telling me that he’s in better hands now, and that he’s okay, as okay as he can ever be. So although my arms are empty, my heart is not. It is filled with beautiful things – memories of the good life we shared, and wonderful imaginations of him up there in heaven with Jesus. And because I’m also God’s child and in His arms, then we are still together, even though he’s shining so bright that I can’t quite see him – not just yet.