8 years.
I remember, in the early days of loss, when it was new and it hadn't quite set in yet, that I always said three. People would ask that dreaded question ("How many kids do you have?") and I said "Three" without skipping a beat. I would state their ages, and the age Ezra would be. It wasn't lying. It was more a concealment of truth. I have three. One is just not with me. But, you don't really want to explain that to a stranger you meet at the park while our older children play together.
But, the more the years went on, and the "older" Ezra got, I couldn't really do it anymore. So, now, I say "two". I have a 14yo and an 11yo. I do not have a 9yo. I would have a 9-year-old, but he died 8 years ago, so...
It just felt weird after those first couple of years. The more years that went by, the greater the distance I felt from my Ezra James. Even though I no longer feel his physical presence anymore, his presence is still in each corner of our home--we have a photo in almost every room and hallway. And, I feel his presence in the ache in my heart from missing him. An ache that isn't getting sharper or duller or fading with time. Just a constant nagging, like I'm forgetting something. Someone. Or, like a scab that you pick at and pick at until it leaves a scar. Well, Ezra has left a scar on my heart and on my spirit. And, at times, it gets sharp, like it's been re-opened. But, it doesn't fade away--not like the physical scar from the C-section I had when he was born--which you can barely see at this point. He's here--even when I can't feel him anymore.
So, today, we scattered some ashes outside the hospital where I work. We thought it was fitting, since he is the whole reason I became a nurse. We are grateful for the gift he gave us that I can now share in my care for others.
Happy Eternity Day, Ezra. We look forward to seeing you again, in the presence of our Comforter, our Redeemer, Jesus.
No comments:
Post a Comment