Shine On, Reed

Dear Reed

I just never know how this day will go.  Year after year, the anticipation of the day is agony.  Much like the siren song that compels me to walk to visit your gravesite, my body feels time dragging me forward to this day.  Every cell in my body aches, but it’s my heart and my mind that just simply hurt.  In many ways, I feel like they are in the fight for their lives to insulate me from the pain.  But as anyone who has endured grief knows, the pain is heart wrenchingly the cost of love. 

Please know that I know that you would never want us to hurt this deeply.  You loved us too much.  But yet this day doesn’t come without its added sorrows.  This year it hit me hard, like couldn’t pull myself out of bed this morning.  I just didn’t want to face seventeen years without you. It’s just so cosmically unfair.  Under the covers, I honestly laughed thinking of the irony of what all those who think I am so incredibly strong would think of me curled up in tears thinking of you and how much I miss you.  The biggest ache comes from the realization that all of our grandchildren will only ever know you through our stories, and they will never have the joy of being loved by you.  That ache hit really hard this year.

Even in the hardest moments, today and over the last couple of days, I have been reminded of how deeply loved we are.  Words spoken over us and promises to share you with those who didn’t get to be loved by you brought me joy.  Friends who have walked along us in their own deep journey simply wishing they could take our pain because they know the depth of grief.  Flowers, dinners, texts, calls, messages, driving long distances just to hold our hands, dinner delivered (the Reed special, if you know, you know), sightings of cardinals, gifts designed just to make us smile, all to simply shout into the universe you are seen. You are loved and Reed is remembered.  But most profoundly beautiful is that every single one of the extraordinary moments of these days have come from souls who, too, have known loss and sadness, broken beautiful vessels of God’s love. 

While I would never profess to know God’s ways, maybe the best of this side of heaven is how broken people learn through grief and sadness to just simply love because love is a radical, revolutionary act for light to overcome the darkness.  And isn’t that just fitting . . . because you were always our sunshine. Light shines through even the tiniest of pinprick holes even when you are hiding under quilts and especially when you walk through the valley of the shadow of death.  Through every revolutionary act of love, we felt the love we all shared with you.  

And like our pastor says, “God is crazy cool like that”, and I have to believe you would tell us just how true that really is. So, until we can hold you again, shine on, sweet boy. Shine on. We’ll always be watching for the signs, because despite what some say, we know that love lingers.

Hug Hucky for me and loving you always. 

Mom