I want Christiano to be remembered forever, not just the cliche ‘never forgotten.’ I want his memory to live on through those who were impacted by him. It is difficult watching people move forward with their lives. I know that we all have to go on; to move forward. Will I ever have the strength to do that? I cling to the promise that God is my strength through all of this. Strengthen me God, to do more than just pull through. Strengthen me to live a full and meaningful life, like my son did; to inspire; to speak Your Word, to write Your story, to believe in Your truth again. I want to. You’re the only truth I’ve ever believed, the only rock on which I’ve stood, the only anchor in whom I have been grounded, but I’m so shaken to the core. I feel like a leaf that has fallen from a tree, but hasn’t quite found its way to the ground. It knows that, inevitably it will end up there. It will hit the ground, and become one with it, never to be revived. But, what about my fall? Will I be revived? Will my spring ever come? Will new life come forth? Or, will I reside on the cold, hard, winter ground for the rest of my days? I want to get better. I want to be healed. I want to love like Christiano did, but I am so afraid. Love is scary and it hurts me now. This pain is so deep and makes me want to be removed from this reality. I just want a glimpse of my son; a last word with him. That’s what I’m looking for, but will it truly help? Does anything have the ability to satisfy my aching heart?
Lord, I know it is You alone who satisfies me. Lead me in Your truth. Lead me back to the safety and security I’ve ever only found in you. Shattered dreams that I once had for his future haunt me. How could I have seen a future that will not unfold? From the moment I laid eyes on my baby boy, I knew he was destined for greatness. I saw way beyond eighteen years in that moment. I saw at least a hundred. They say that a mother forgets the pain of her labor once she catches a glimpse of her baby. I can testify to that truth. But, what do they say about a mother who loses her child? I say that all that pain is remembered again and again, and it can never be forgotten. My womb cries out for the child I bore when I was just a child, myself. I will have to wait until I reach heaven to be free from the barrenness that I feel every minute of every day.
A wife who loses her husband is called a widower; a son or daughter who loses a parent is called an orphan. What are we called; us who have lost a child? Who shall we be called? There is no name, no term, no title. There is no word in the universe that could ever describe us. Barren, broken, empty, lost, confused, desolate… Those words don’t begin to scratch the surface of what is going on inside of us. It is like the joy of motherhood in reverse. Moments and memories replay over and over. Mothers like to think of the future and what could be. Grieving mothers are robbed of that privilege, and instead, we focus on what lies behind us. I am so afraid to forget anything because the future isn’t coming for Christiano. All I have left is the past. Everything is in rearranged; memories in reverse. How do I keep his memory alive if mine start to fade? Thoughts of him are already beginning to scatter. Firsts and lasts are becoming connected and memories are merging – his first car ride, his last car ride; his first steps, his last steps; his first food, his last food; his first word, his last word; his first breath; his last breath. They go hand in hand.
How can I think of his life without thinking about the hard fact that it’s finished down here. I should’ve been first. He should have been last. But, I was robbed as a mother. My husband robbed of his first born son; my children robbed of a brother. There is nothing natural about him leaving this earth before me, and there’s nothing natural about the process of living with it. But, I will lift my eyes up to The Lord, where my help comes from. He knows what it’s like to lose a son, and He bears with me through this; He stretches His hand to help me, and He is never frustrated with me. He loves me at all times in all my forms and conditions. Even though the world doesn’t have a name for me, God does.
He calls me His Beloved: “My beloved is mine and I am his….” (Song of Songs 2:16)