First Of Many
It struck me yesterday, while out for lunch after church, that yesterday marked one month since Peter died. Not the day he was found, but the day we are quite certain was the day when his heart stopped beating.
One month.
And now, today marks one month since he was found.
One month since I last called his cell phone.
One month since I sent him repeated texts begging for him to respond.
One month since I asked a neighbor to check on him and the boys.
It’s been one month since my neighbor found my husband dead.
When I mentioned this to our boys, our one son was surprised that it’s been that long. Because it feels like only yesterday that our world fell apart.
Moving through life now without Peter means that there are going to be many days of recollection like today.
Next month will mark two months… not to mention it’ll be the month of our 21-year anniversary. It is also the month we celebrate when our boys first came to live with us. And it is the month when we adopted two of them.
November will be three months… and Thanksgiving.
December, four…
Oh, December is going to suck!
Two of our boys have birthdays in December. The other is in January. So the holiday season has always been pretty frantic. Add to the family schedule the fact that I am a pastor and Advent is one of the busiest seasons in the church year.
So yeah… this December is going to suck!
We’ll celebrate two birthdays. Well… three if we count Jesus.
And our celebrations will be overshadowed as we remember that it will have been just four months since Peter died, and that these are the first birthdays, the first Christmas without him.
With each flip of a calendar page… these dates; 15th & 16th will return time and time again. As will the heartache, the fear, the loneliness, the dread, the anger, the numbness… much of which never really left.
I recognize that today is just a first of many in what will be a long line of difficult days.
And today has already proven to be that.
I made the mistake of listening to a song by Pink while driving back after picking up my dogs from the vet this morning. The song; When I Get There, contains words of love spoken from the one who is still living to the one who was “first in line” for Heaven.
As the song played and my heart was ripped open, I belted out the lyrics in what has to be my worst singing voice ever.
Each word, each phrase drew from me an unending stream of tears. They caused my throat to tighten, making it more and more difficult to sing out the words… words that I was singing to Peter.
Will you save me a place
With all those pearls of wisdom?
Yeah, I’ll make some mistakes
And you’ll watch me as I live them
’Til I’m through
’Til I’m with you.
I played the song on repeat as I drove. And I sang and cried and yelled obscenities while hitting the steering wheel.
I sang to Peter.
I sang him words that very well could have come from my own heart.
I sang him words of love.
I sang him words that speak to my loneliness.
I sang him words that are causing my body to heave in a series of sobs even as I write this.
I sang to Peter, the words that take me to a place where both deep pain and equally deep peace coexist.
And in a truly bizarre way… it felt good.
I sang to him on the day marking one month since he was found.
Maybe I’ll sing to him again next month, and the one after.
And each month that confronts me with that deadly reminder of the day my heart was ripped in two… one half never to return.
I will continue to sing these painful words of love to him. Until I see him again.
I think of you when I think about forever.
