I Wonder

Before buying the “legit” skate ramps that occupied most of the space in the two-car garage of our condo, Chandler and his brothers would devise their own. A couple of tool boxes and a piece of plywood on a curb equaled hours of pure bliss.

Tonight I look through Chandler’s album and see a toddler, a little boy, a young man who drank deeply of life.

And I wonder…

How long before the sound and sight of an ambulance ceases to highjack my thoughts and hasten my heart rate?

How long before looking at pictures of Chandler brings mostly pleasant, joyful memories rather than an ache in my heart?

How long before the days leading up to any holiday are marked by anticipation, not dread?

I know there is no discreet answer because every grief process is personal. I also know, from talking with those who’ve walked this road before me, that it does “soften.” The loss, the missing, the empty place, the wishing they were with you remains. But the feelings, the weight of it, changes. I think that must be true because how could those of us who are left ever lead sustainable lives otherwise? How could you endure the pain of loss if it remained fresh, acute, year after year after year?

Since January 1, Chip and I have often said to one another some version of, “It hurts so much. I don’t know what to do with it.”

I only know what I do. I let the intense darkness fall…let the pain wash over me. I feel it. Sometimes I cry. Sometimes I don’t. I remind myself that I’ve felt this before, and it subsided. It did not remain at that unbearable level of intensity for days and days on end with no reprieve. There were always moments of relief. As time goes on, except for times like this -- leading up to holidays -- there seem to be a few more moments of relief that add up to hours and sometimes days.

While I tend to look on the bright side, to always find the life lesson in any situation, I am learning that sometimes faith allows you to experience the dark night without a need to point to an inevitable positive outcome. It’s OK to just be sad. In sadness, we find a companionship with Christ, a fellowship with his kind heart, that can elude us when we rush always to the silver lining.

Today’s Chandler-ness:
9/29/97 Tonight while we were reviewing the family contract, you said, “If you blow up the house, you get a sad face.”