April

This month has been full of markers on the timeline of life that are hard to pass by. It marks the anniversary of three of the most impacting losses that I have ever known. Though I have been contemplating this irony all month, I have not been able to collect my thoughts well enough to articulate a post worth writing... and to be honest, I am still pretty sure that I haven't... But tonight it has been heavy on my heart - the remembering - and I feel the need to write.

April.

Spring has arrived and the earth is blooming with new beginnings, but I don't think that I will ever have another April where I innocently watch the trees and flowers bloom without thinking of things that are not flourishing and growing like they naturally should be.

I don't think that I will ever see another Bluebonnet patch without thinking about my nephew, Brooks. Two years ago, on a day in April, we had his funeral. He was only 19-years-old. There were Bluebonnets in bloom. My kids played near them as I sat and looked at them and marveled at how beautifully and innocently life goes on at the same time as life tragically and abruptly ends. I was in a whirlwind of emotion as I tried to reconcile all of that in my head. Some days I still am.

Only two weeks after Brooks passed away, on another April day, I was with a dear friend in a delivery room moments after her premature son, Zachary, did the same. Nothing about that process was natural. It grated against everything in me. I walked away from that hospital that night confused and heartbroken. Some days I still am.

Only 18 months after that, another of my nephews passed away. It was unbelievable that our family had lost another nephew. Another 19-year-old nephew. This month marks 6 months since that horrible day that we lost Gabe. The day that I received the call that he was gone I was in shock. Some days I still am.

So, what do I make of all this? All of these heart wrenching anniversaries that fall in the same month. I am not sure. 2 years later, I am still not sure how to make sense of it. Maybe I am not supposed to. And somehow, I think that is okay. It is probably how it is supposed to be. Because of my complete inadequacy, I have only one person that I can look to for comfort. He is the creator of the universe. The one that holds all of the months of the year in His hands - including April. There is so much that I don't understand about loss. I do know this though. Through all of it, God remains sovereign. My job is not to understand Him. It is to trust Him. And I do. Though so many things don't makes sense, I have faith that He is in control and that He has a plan. None of this surprised Him. Psalm 139:16 in The Message translation of the Bible says all the stages of our lives were spread out before Him, the days of our lives were all prepared before we'd even lived one day. He knew that these events would happen. He knew about my Aprils - my emotion and confusion and brokenheartedness and shock. He knew how I would feel them then.... and 6 months from then and 2 years from then. Still, I believe without a doubt that He loves me - He loves us, and that if we are willing to let Him, he can work the tragedies in our lives together for good. Not that that is painless. Not that that is not confusing. Not that it will ever feel normal or natural. But I believe that if we can hold on long enough, we will see that He has brought good from the most horrific and bad situations.

We can cry with hope. 
We can say goodbye with hope.
'Cause we know our goodbye is not the end.
And we can grieve with hope.
'Cause we believe with hope.
There's a place where we will see your face again.
 
 
From the song With Hope by Steven Curtis Chapman, 1999

Brooks and Zachary and Gabe,

Because of your lives, my life is changed.

Every day, I still am.