Merry Christmas Mark

Dearest Mark,


It has been too long. Each day without you brings us agony. We find the joy in the life that we have here with each other, but you are never more than a thought away.


We have been so very, very busy this month. Running around from here to there...watching your sisters in their programs and concerts...but nothing that we do feels right without you here with us. The daily reminders of your absence are painful and everywhere. Daddy saw a toy tractor that he would have bought for you this year and as I wrote out tags for your sisters' presents...I saw the indentions from the pen where I had written your tags the last Christmas you were here. "To: Mark, From: Mommy and Daddy". You should be here shaking the presents under the tree...begging me to tell you what is in them. All I see in the stores are things that I know you would have enjoyed.


Being the imperfect person that I am, I miss you in all of these worldly things. Christmas pageants, shopping and baking cookies. It may be that I feel that you should be here for all of this, but I know the truth full well. There would never be anything here on this earth that could make you want to leave the arms of Jesus. Knowing that we will be with you after the toils of this life keeps us going...it gives us hope for our future, but it doesn't take away the sorrow. We can only focus on the reason we celebrate Christmas, remembering to be forever thankful that Jesus was born to save us all.




I haven't been to visit your sweet grave lately even though I know that the flowers must be so faded by now. I thought about bringing some poinsettias to replace the blue ones, but I can't make myself go. It doesn't help. I don't know if it ever will.




I cleaned out the coat closet the other day and I took your coat out and put it in the garage. Leaving it hanging for the last two years has been a strange comfort of some kind, but it seems as time goes on, some things just get harder...I couldn't stand to see it in there anymore without you here to wear it. There was also the jacket that I bought a few sizes to big for you to grow into. Gone...into the boxes of your things.




My mind held better aspirations for this letter to you...I had so many things that I wanted to say, but my thoughts are a mess. After more than two years of missing you every minute of the day, I can't explain nor describe the pain any better than I could in the beginning. The shock of your death and the grief of losing you are as present as they ever have been. It is easier to hide it, but I still wake up every day, longing to see your face and kiss your cheeks...crying most every morning on the way to work...seeing you in almost every little boy...mourning the loss of all of the dreams that we had for you each time I think of you...and not wanting to take a picture of the family because you are missing.







Merry Christmas son...wish I was there.

2,3,4

Two years, three months and four days since I've seen this beautiful face...


it isn't getting any easier.

Love them well

Today, our baby Maegan is one year old...so hard to believe. I think that she grew up overnight. She had a wonderful day at Mother's Day Out with her friends, helped us vote and then she took us to dinner at Chili's. What one year old doesn't like sweet corn and mashed potatoes from Chili's???



Three years ago, I was completely at peace with our decision to not have any more children. The four that God so richly blessed us with absolutely filled our lives with happiness and joy. We would often catch ourselves just basking, if you will, in their innocence and love. I can even remember telling Joe that I wish that we could just freeze them all at that moment so that the goodness would last forever. Then, Mark died.



We have learned that God is, indeed, sovereign. He will do what He must for the good of those He loves. For me. For Mark. For my other children. I don't understand how Mark's death was good, but I trust. There isn't any part of me that is really at peace with it and there isn't a minute that goes by that I don't long to hold him again. However, everything in me is going to continue to trust in the God that gave me my children in the first place. The God that has Mark in His arms while I wait to get there. Even when I don't feel like it. It has continued to be a choice that I make while I grope through the darkness of grief...based only on faith and not my feelings.


While I don't consider any part of Mark's death to be good, I have to consider that if he had not died, we wouldn't have Maegan. I would give anything to be able to go back in time and have life the way it was...with Mark. At the same time, if it meant not having Maegan, I couldn't make that choice. I'm glad that I don't have the option one way or the other. God is God and I am not.


I praise God that we changed our mind about having more children and that God chose to bless us with another child despite our feelings of inadequacy and imperfection that come from not being able to protect our son from death. Maegan fills my broken heart with joy and she reminds me how much I loved Mark. Even as I struggle with the guilt of how we lost our precious child, I know that with each cuddle, each tickle, each lullaby and each kiss that we give Maegan...I can remember how we did all of those things with Mark...and with all of our children, as we still do. I remember that we loved him well and that we couldn't have loved him any more than we already did.



And, certainly, I cannot forget our three oldest girls...daughters that continue to hold strong in their own storm of sadness over losing their brother. Daughters that are patient as their parents, especially their mother, try to find joy and purpose each day...daughters that are loved beyond measure. More than they know. Here are the most recent pictures...Halloween, of course! The girls and I were trying to decide what costume Mark would have worn this year.

The little things can hurt so much.

I wasn't crazy about her costume...but it was a battle that I chose not to pick. :)

Maryanna

Madison


Macy

Maegan

Will there be a day when I can look at my son's sweet face and have true peace in my soul? A day when I won't long for what was? His smile rips open the wounds...the curls, the eyes...my Mark. How am I supposed to let go of my child? Is there any way???

I see his picture and I am back with him...hugging him, rocking him and laughing at every little antic.

Looking at him...I am remembering it all and wanting him back with me as much as I did the day he left.

I have managed to remain on the "not-so-depressed" side these past couple of weeks. A new part-time job has helped me tremendously. I may be physically exhausted, but it has kept me from being so consumed with emotion. Being away from the house keeps my mind from dwelling in the land of "why me" and "if only's." And, aside from that, the book that I quoted from in the last post, "A Grace Disguised", has been a source of comfort each time I sit down to read it. Taking it from a guy who has been there...this long, lonely and dark road of grief...I find hope in so much of what he writes.

It seems that the rarity of being hopeful is, in itself, a little gift. Sometimes I don't realize how much of a gift it is until I feel like I do today. Angry. Hopeless. Just plain ticked-off that Mark isn't here with me. Pity party...table for one, please.

(Sigh.) Grief requires work. Hard work. And frankly, today, I just didn't feel like putting forth the effort. From all of the "wrong" songs that they played on the radio to remembering something that Mark used to do that I had forgotten until today...it just stinks. It is much easier to give in to the grief. Must I keep fighting this good fight...getting up in the morning to face another day that will end the same way that it began? How long? How long?

For now...I am still walking in the midnight, but facing the east...Lord, please send the dawn.