I didn’t like any of my other ideas for today’s post so I decided to participate in Five Minute Friday again. Every Friday, The Gypsy Mama offers a writing prompt and suggests you write about that subject for five minutes with no stopping, no editing. I almost turned around without looking back when I saw this week’s prompt, but I’m going to gut it out anyway.
Today’s writing prompt? Loss
By the way, she said we could use more than five minutes for this week’s assignment, but I’m not planning to camp out here for too terribly long.
I was dusting the living room. The boys were watching Indiana Jones with their daddy. It was the newest one, the one I haven’t seen. Besides hearing the occasional crash or explosion, I was hardly cognizant of what was happening on the TV until one sentence stopped me in my tracks.
“We seem to have reached the age where life stops giving us things and starts taking them away.”
I’ve been slowly chewing on that sentence ever since and felt the weight of its partial truth.
I see it every morning when I look in the mirror and see that the night has erased a little more of my youth and replaced it with a new line or spot that wasn’t there before.
I feel it when I hold a friend’s new baby and realize my season of raising babies seems to have passed away.
“The LORD gave and the LORD has taken away; may the name of the LORD be praised.” Job 1:21
But mostly I live it everyday that I’m here and my daddy isn’t.
Before he went to Heaven, I’d lost people I loved before. But losing my father has changed me in ways I never realized it would.
It’s not the same as when I felt homesick for family because I could at least call and talk to them in between visits. Knowing I won’t speak to him again this side of Heaven has left a gaping hole in my life that has threatened to consume me. Time has not worn the jagged places smooth. They are as sharp as the day he died. I just try not to stay so close to the edges as I did right after it happened.
Today my friend is taking her son to his very first memorial service. He will try in his nine-almost-ten-year-old best way to say goodbye to his soccer coach and two of his teammates. His mom will try her best to comfort him, but she will know as I do, that this won’t be the last time he says goodbye.
Yes, usually it’s just goodbye for now. But knowing that doesn’t always make the pain of the loss hurt that much less, now does it?
Until Heaven, I will rest in the hope of my salvation, ever thankful that God has promised that hope will not disappoint (Romans 5:5), because Heaven certainly knows that we can certainly be disappointed here. And I’ll continue to be grateful for the glimpses of Heaven that I see here.
Well, that was ten (remember, she said we could break the rules) minutes of not-so-cheerful, wasn’t it? I don’t even really mind not reading back over it to edit, if you want to know the truth. I’ve written about loss more than I ever wanted to on this blog. I try to file most of those posts in the My Grief Observed category over on the sidebar to the right. They’re posts I’ve written about my journey through grief.
I hate to leave you for the weekend with such a morose taste in your mouth, so I’d like to share another link I found with practical ways to help us teach our children gratitude. This is a list of 100 Ways for Your Family to Make a Difference from We Are That Family. This weekend the kids and I are going to write letters and draw pictures for Tekalign, our sponsored Compassion child who lives in Ethiopia. Does anything on the list jump out at you? Anything you might try this weekend?