Sunday Sentiments: Remembering

 

This week has been one of great emotion for me. We have some stories going on that I haven’t had a chance to tell you about yet, but they involve endings and goodbyes. Even when those are good things because of the beginnings and hellos they allow, they’re still hard. Goodbyes are bittersweet.

            We’re in the middle of some other big decisions that may mean more goodbyes, and sometimes I can’t even think about what that would look like in our everyday.

            We moved…and we did it a week early. The push to get packed ahead of schedule – while working – and moved into this place we’ve dreamed of for months was a gift shrouded in a goodbye.

            But beyond these petty-in-the-light-of-eternity goodbyes, this week was filled with other sorts of remembrances that were far more weighty and impactful.

            This week marked two years since Allen died unexpectedly. I sat at our dining room table (converted to my desk after we took apart the actual desk) Thursday morning and remembered that day two years ago.

            I remember how tired we were when we finally fell in bed that night and how the phone rang just as we were drifting off to sleep. I remember knowing – as soon as Ryan answered – that someone had died, but I couldn’t figure out who it might be. Allen wasn’t even on my mental list. I remember Ryan’s look of shock as he stared into our dark bedroom and whispered, “Rod said he thinks Allen died of a heart attack.”

            I remember the second call a few minutes later to confirm. I remember pacing our apartment, unsure of what to do or who to call. Who can you call at that hour? I called my mom. (I told her I was sorry to wake her, but it went with the mom territory. You lose your sleeping privileges when you have children, I’ve been told.) I remember Ryan calling his uncle – because he didn’t know who to call either.

            I remember Ryan going out early the next morning to run the snowblower at WillowBridge. He couldn’t just sit anymore. We’d been up all night, crying, praying, staring.

            In some ways, that long-and-short-all-at-once night seems years ago and in other ways, it seems that it can’t possibly be two whole years ago.

            And even as I was remembering Allen, I received a message from the mom of our neighbors when we lived in Marion. She wanted me to know they lost their sweet baby boy to stillbirth this week. They knew he was unlikely to live outside the womb, but they hoped anyway. This is the second baby boy they’ve lost to stillbirth, and it utterly breaks my heart.

            So this afternoon, while surrounded by boxes that need unpacked but don’t really matter in this moment, I’ll be on our couch, watching little Benjamin’s memorial service and remembering the deep grief that comes with losing a child. Remembering my little nephew, Kirk. Remembering my bonus niece, Carol. Remembering Ryan’s little niece, Kaitlynn – even though I wasn’t part of the family when they said hello and goodbye to her, all in one breath.

            Remembering is hard, but it’s necessary. It’s what shapes us. The moments can be hard to relive, but we are who we are because we lived them in the first place.

            So today, I shall remember. I’ll remember the blessings that have come from the seasons we’ve said goodbye to this week. I’ll remember the impact of lives, long and short. I’ll remember with joy and with tears. I’ll remember with love.