I’m not supposed to say this!
I’m supposed to be strong and talk about healing.
I’m supposed to trust God’s plan and lean on faith.
It’s been 15 months and the world expects me to be okay. . .
But today, I’m not okay.
Today, I am angry that Rhett is not going to run in the District Track Meet.
Today, I am jealous that all the people in my circle still have complete families.
It’s not that I want them to lose a child, it’s that I didn’t want to lose mine either.
Today, I am lonely because no one understands, but I also don’t want to socialize because I feel too broken to contribute, and I don’t have the energy to go through the motions.
Today, I wonder if I will ever be okay. Really okay? Not just “pretend for the moment” okay.
Today, I wonder how tall he would be? What his favorite shirt would be?
Today, I am trying to figure out how to make the clothes in his closet not smell old.
Because they do; they smell old and I hate that.
Today, like every day, I wonder if he suffered or died instantly.
That question haunts me. Breaks my heart. Keeps me awake at night.
Today, I look at the retainer on the nightstand by his bed, and I think about his teeth.
Thinking about his teeth makes me think about his smile, his dimples, his blue eyes, his freckles, his hands, his laugh, his walk, his everything.
Today, I look at the athletic shoes that the coaches delivered to us from his locker about a month after his death, and I try to picture him still playing sports.
Today, I can’t picture it. It’s been too long and it’s too painful.
Today, I am happy that his classmates are still growing and learning and competing and becoming. . . but I’m too hurt to know how to authentically celebrate that.
Today. . .
I want to kiss his cheek
I want to hear him laugh
I want him to ask me “what’s for dinner, Mom?”
I want him to sleep in his bed tonight
I want my family to be complete
Today, I want Rhett back.
I know it’s too much to ask.
I know it’s not realistic.
But it’s all I really want; I just want him to come home.
So, my only hope is to go back to doing what I’m “supposed” to do. . .
Help me Jesus. I’m desperate for You!
Meet me in the confessional:
1. Not everyday is this bad, but some days are. It is a never ending heartache.
2. I believe tomorrow will be better. I hold on to that hope, and I trust Jesus to rescue me AGAIN.