A few weeks ago, while vacationing in Mexico Sarah sent me a message with the attached photo below…. our hello from heaven. I do believe in signs. I believe that the presence of those who have gone before us are everywhere. Some may think the extraordinary wonders of the earth are nothing more than environment, atmosphere, or just a random happening. Until you lose deeply, I’m not sure it can truly be understood.
Here on earth, I can no longer hear or touch Grant but every now and again, I can still smell his scent. Still six years into this journey rolling waves of fear come over me. It’s an indescribable kind of ache of missing him.
As time passes there are more frequent brighter days, I focus better, laugh more often and the similar humor I shared with Grant flares up more frequently. In between those moments, reality will roll in like a tidal wave robbing me of every bit of breath. Death is hard, death of a child is crippling. It’s the darkest, most frightening feeling imaginable. The fear of knowing you’ll be living life without your child is a fight for your next breath. Only empty rooms, have heard the whaling agony of a grieving mother.
After losing Grant, I didn’t know for months, even years, what would become precious to me. Random things tucked and forgotten, old mail addressed to him, insurance cards, anything with his name. The curve of his handwriting, a well wish from the past, can drop me to my knees in the middle of a day. One may think a grieving mother to be crazy in her journey to acceptance. I’ve sat completely numb with his shoes on wishing I could feel something, anything about him. I still bury my face in his cloths begging to still a day in time or smell a scent from the past. Good days, bad days, photograph after photograph, toys, tokens, Grant’s things, Grant’s treasured items that I can still hold, his footprint. I grieve to see a bit of his excitement one more time. Telling myself he’s gone is still unimaginable, it’s still the most aching words I must tell myself when my eyes open each morning.
So, the signs, the hellos from heaven, a dime found, a message through a song, his jokes and gestures reliving themselves through his nieces and nephews, a sunrise, a sunset, a cloud revealing he’s okay; that’s how a grieving mother survives. That is how she gets through a day, that’s how she wears her smile, that’s how she finds purpose, that’s how she seeks the faith that God will see her through earth’s worst nightmare.
I Love you Grantie,