My eyes
were torn open this morning by the sound of Damon’s squeal. Then the lava that
refuses to consume poured into my chest. I wasn't awoken by my son. I will
never wake to that sound again, never. That was stolen from me.
I keep
thinking about how I was told it would get worse. How I read books and articles
written by bereaved parents and there it always was ‘it gets so much worse.’ I
think about how my shattered heart and mind simply could not comprehend
anything worse than the tortures they were enduring. Then, I woke up the next
morning… and the next… and the next. It gets so much worse.
He is
gone, forever. I live in hell. I lay in bed with my sobbing six year old and
have no words of comfort to offer. I watch my husband shuffle through life
trying desperately to accomplish something, anything. I sink deeper and deeper
into a pit of longing and despair. There is no comfort. There is no keeping my
chin up.
It
gets so much worse.
I know you feel worse. I've had you on my mind and in my heart often lately. Of course, I pray for your comfort, as many others do, but it's hard for comfort to come when the loss is so great and so hard to understand. And so, I am praying for your faith in the God who does understand our pain and suffering and loves us even when our faith is weak and we feel far away from him. "We believe, help our unbelief."
ReplyDeleteJodie -- you don't me. My husband Jason Whaley went to OC with Dan and we're currently living in Australia. I just wanted to let you know that I pray so often for you. I don't think a day goes by without you being on my heart and I plead to God on your behalf each time. The loss of your beautiful Damon makes me cry 'Lord, come quickly'. I am so sorry.
ReplyDelete