Train

I begin each day the same way. Old familiar routines. But since he died I notice the path I walk has changed. Colors aren’t as bright, sounds are different, the sun isn’t 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 I’m running straight and true I can stay ahead. But inevitably I stumble and fall, and the train, it’s cars loaded with grief and regret, and What ifs and If only’s, crushes me beneath it’s 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 what’s 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.