Pinpricks of Light

Dear Reed –

Sometimes your heart just simply knows how hard something will be, even long before it actually happens.  Today, your 30th birthday, was that day.  My heart was bracing for myself, but even more so for Dad, because since you have gone to heaven, Father’s Day has fallen a few times on your birthday.  Once again, my heart broke into a million pieces for him.

He reminded me today after telling him how incredibly sorry I was that Father’s Day fell on your milestone birthday that he was okay, because you made him a dad and you were a really big deal in his life. Just writing that makes me cry all over again.

You were definitely our big deal, just like all of your siblings (biological and adopted) and now nieces, nephews, and soon-to-be niece or nephew are to us too.  So much of our lives has wrapped around our biggest dream which was to be parents, that when we have these celebratory moments without you, we realize even more just how much we miss you.

Your other big deals have been doing big things themselves.  Sawyer and Sydney were recently extras in the Life of Chuck movie. With your love of movies, you would have been one of the first in line to buy tickets just to say, “that’s my brother”! The girl who used to swoop around asking to have your and Sawyer’s hand-me-downs, now owns a boutique and is an amazing businesswoman and mom.  You’d love her little girls, especially how one has freckles that remind me so much of yours.  And your baby, who you doted on every time she made a peep, well now she’s making roars as an accounting intern on the top floor of a bank.  I know you would be impressed with the view from her office.

It isn’t just in the big moments in life that we miss you, but in all the moments in between where we know you would have been celebrating with us too. 

One of the first things I saw when I woke up this morning was this quote.

You are not the darkness you endured. You are the light that refused to surrender.

 ~John Mark Green

That darkness can be really powerful sometimes, soul-crushing, agonizingly gutting, and not wanting to get out of bed heavy.  Just a couple days ago, an example would be choosing to buy a new Toothless toy for your gravesite because the other one now resembles that sweet dragon’s missing tail parts.  But even while in the checkout, I felt darkness’s tentacles as I resisted having a meltdown because inside my heart was screaming, “This is so wrong.  He’s turning 30. I should be buying him something for his grill or gift cards to take his wife out for supper. NOT. A. TOY to put next to his headstone.” Then my heart just goes numb for a while after those moments while the tormenting and tumultuous seas of sadness threaten to choke out any glimmers of peace.

But hope – courageous hope – continues to be a beacon in my life where light always comes after the darkness.  Many times, for me, hope begins as a whisper until it crescendos as dramatic as a raging storm across a prairie sky.

After family Father’s Day breakfast at the lake and even as the pall of sadness clung in the damp air, we saw pinpricks of light starting to punctuate the darkness. We had message after message of love and support. Some so deeply touching, we are continually reminded how many lives your light touched. We had hugs both in person and virtual, phones, and reminders of how wonderful you are and how loved we are.  We chose to do some of your favorite things and to remember you. 

We had blizzards for lunch because you and ice cream for meals were synonymous. Then Dad and I went to see How to Train Your Dragon live action because I still remember the joy of having you read the book to me on our drive back from the Mayo Clinic after one of your eye appointments. Your laughter erupted with each page, and your joy was simply contagious.  At times, I almost wanted to look at the chair next to me, half-expecting your fill-the-room smile looking back at me.  In the middle of the dark theater, I still felt your light and the love of so many thinking and praying for us today.  

Even though darkness found us and we have endured more than our fair share, we continue to just love – simply and extravagantly – because that is truly healing. But more so, I think it represents our lights that refuse to surrender.  Because if grief is the last act of love, we will love you until our lights no longer shine and we love you too much to give up and let the darkness win.  You were, are, and always will be our sunshine, and we’ll just keep on shining your legacy for you until we can see you again. 

And when we do, I will be so ready for one of those giant amazing bear hugs.  For now, I settle for heaven holding you while I hold you in my heart until I can hug you again.

Happy birthday, Reed. I love you always and forever.

Love, Mom