So, I usually write a blog on the 24th of each month. It’s a method for me to express my heart the only way I know; through writing. Today, I woke up thinking I had no words. Every time I think that Christiano will have been gone a year next month, I can’t help but cry. I can’t help but feel like it’s not fair. Our family is still so broken. And, behind closed doors we are all fighting our own individual battles.
There is nothing worse than losing a child, but one thing comes close. And, that is watching my surviving children try to live through it. Innocent children, who’ve been nurtured and protected; children who have known nothing but complete peace and security in The Lord, have now been robbed of their big brother, and traveled through hell and back. At the tender ages of 14, 13, and 11, they experienced something that is unnatural, unfair, and unfathomable, and they will experience it every day for the rest of their lives. They don’t understand the things they were once so certain of, and they wrestle with the why question. Why was their brother was taken? Why didn’t he survive? Why our family? Why are we going through this?
To have to look them in their tear filled eyes and say, ‘I don’t know,’ has been one of the most difficult things for this mother. See, some kids have this concept that their parents know everything. They look to us for guidance, and we are called to be their protectors. Instead, I offer no answers and I still feel like somehow I didn’t protect my kids. I feel completely inadequate in all areas of life, these days. I’ve truly come to the end of me. I’m tired, confused, and broken. But, I’m broken before The Lord. I’m knowing His strength because it’s present when I have none. There’s just so much I grieve for. I grieve mostly for my son. I want him back so badly, and the desire NEVER leaves. I grieve for my husband who is going through the fire in more ways than I can count. I grieve for my children who just want their big brother back and who miss their mom and dad. I grieve for myself because I’m missing. I don’t know where the carefree, bible reading, fun-loving, happy, and praying woman is. I don’t even know HOW to pray anymore. I grieve for my family – the way we once were. I grieve for my hopes and my dreams. I grieve. Eleven months, and that’s still what I’m doing… I’m grieving. And, it’s hard, hard, work.
God is rearranging me. I’m being put back together. I’m being made new. But, it’s a painful process. And, my flesh doesn’t like any of it. My flesh feels like being stuck would be better than being pruned. But, the Spirit in me is strong. For, it’s not by my strength, nor by my own might, but by His Power – working in and through me to will and to do. So, I keep trucking along. And, when I faint, I just wait for the rescue. And, I grieve, and I wait. And, I wait, and I grieve…