I begin each day the same way. Old familiar
routines. But since he died I notice the path I walk has changed.
Colors arenít as bright, sounds are different, the sun isnít
quite as warm. And I notice the pathway has changed. I find myself
pursued as if by a train on a track. As long as Iím running
straight and true I can stay ahead. But inevitably I stumble and
fall, and the train, itís cars loaded with grief and regret, and
What ifs and If onlyís, crushes me beneath itís wheels.
Then, the last car passes. I find I can pick
myself up, physically unharmed, but my soul is left bleeding. I ask
God to bind me up and give me strength. I take refuge in the tender
love of his mother and his sisters, and a grandson I adore. Much joy
is still here, even though joy is most of whatís now missing in
our lives. I begin again, placing one foot before the other, even
sometimes able to forget long enough to smile and even laugh. But
then I feel the rumbling, and I hear the roar of the oncoming train.
My prayer is that our merciful God will derail
the train. That he will bind up our hearts and in his infinite love
and mercy he will not let us forget that our separation from our
beloved son is only temporary. Because the gift of his glorious son
made it so.