Broken Road

I know broken.

I know numb.

I know empty.

I know sad.

I know despair.

I know guilt.

I know anger.

I know release.

It has been nine years since we last laid eyes on our son and still it was a moment that will forever be frozen in time for me.  I remember my husband.  How he lost his voice.  He couldn't talk for two days.  He just sat. And stared. As tears rolled down his face.

Broken. Numb. 

I remember going through motions as the time passed.  I heard people's laughter, but couldn't find my own. I couldn't smile.  It hurt too much.

Empty. Sad.

I walked along quietly. Often not knowing how I got from one place to another.  Wondering how I would get out of bed.  I would cry in the shower. Scream into my pillow. Sink to the floor.

Despair.

I went back in time.  Looked at my calendar. Replayed the days.  Was there a change in movement I didn't feel?  Why didn't I ask to be induced earlier.  Why hadn't I let her strip my membranes to get things going.  Why did I wait?

Guilt.

He shook his fist at God.  Went toe to toe with him.  How could He take our son? He went through the motions, went to church to appease me, but he wasn't really there.  He turned his back for two years.

Anger.

And then one day it came. I didn't cry.  And I cried because of it.

He went to the garden.  I heard his guitar sing. 

Friday's events brought back many of those feelings for us as I am sure they did many in this community.  That night as we drove to a Christmas party, we hardly felt like celebrating.

"How could God let this happen?  Where IS He?"

He was angry.  Furious. Broken.

I reminded him of the release.  Of our road.  Of the God that got me through.  Got US through!

He yelled at me (at Him), "Where is He now?"

We stopped talking.  Went through the motions of the evening.  Put on our smiles.

Where is He?

He's with them.  He's next to them in the silence, as the tears roll down. He walks with them in their haze as they cry in their showers, scream into their pillows, sink to the floor.  He's beside them as they wonder why they sent them that day.  He's facing them as they scream and curse His name screaming WHY?  WHY DID YOU LET THIS HAPPEN?

And one day it will happen.

They will feel His presence.

They will have that sweet release.

A feeling of peace that covers you when you're ready.

Falls down over you like a flood.

That knowledge that they are OK and so too will you be.

You are not alone, they've left you with something you didn't think you'd ever find again.

Hope.

On Saturday he apologized.  He held me.

On Sunday he stood before our church and before he strummed his guitar he pointed out a lyric.

One that I had sung many times, but had never resonated with me like it did in that moment.

He spoke,

"And I will walk by faith, even when I cannot see.

Because this broken road, prepares Your will for me."

We have certainly walked a broken road.  A road that at times I crawled.

But that road has helped me.  It's shaped me. Prepared me.  And I am so proud that I can call myself Andrew and E's mom.  I can call myself blessed.

They won't get over this, but they will get through it.

These lives will not be in vain.  They have shaped a parent. a sibling. a neighbor. a teacher. a town. a state. a country. the world.

And we will be blessed.