Heavy

Sweetie,

There are days, like today, that just feel heavy. Days that carry a weight with them that I can feel from the moment I wake up. Days that have an actual and physical thickness about them, as if they were bearing down on me, making it hard to breathe. On days like this, I try to remember the words of Jesus:

Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light. Matthew 11:28-30

This morning, I had a text conversation with a friend who lost two precious babies last year.  As we texted back and forth, I was struck by the conversation we were having. When did visiting graves and picking out headstones become normal conversation in our lives? I know the answer of course, but there are still moments like this one when I am taken by surprise by how very different my life is from the life I had hoped for and planned just a few short months ago. Moments when I hear someone say something, and I am shocked to learn that the someone was me. Moments when I find myself in disbelief that I could be talking about losing you so calmly and matter-of-factly as if I were talking about the weather.

I had lunch with a close friend yesterday. We sat and talked for hours, and then we took advantage of the beautiful day and walked the streets of downtown. I tried hard to bring other topics into our conversation, but I always made my way back to you within a few minutes. When did I become this person who is unable to carry on a conversation unless it revolves around you? Again, I know the answer. But as much as I love talking about you, I want to be able to ask my friends about what is going on in their lives and feel genuinely interested in their answers again. I want to not be so consumed by the tragedy in my life that I am blinded to the struggles that my friends are facing in their own lives. I know my friends understand where I am in this moment of my life, and I am grateful that they don't seem to mind the one-sided conversations, but even I miss the conversations we used to have.

Something my friend said to me as we were saying goodbye got me thinking last night. She said that the day she learned you were gone, she broke down and cried telling her husband how your daddy and I would never be the same people again. She said that after spending time with us in the last few weeks, she knows that we are different, but that she can also see how we are still the same Ryan and Keri that we've always been. Her insight struck me as so profound. All I've thought about since losing you is how I'll never be the same person again. I've grieved over losing not only you, but myself. But now that my friend has pointed it out, I can see so clearly that while parts of me have changed, I haven't completely gone away. I am still the me that I used to be, but I am a better me in a lot of ways. I can see how God has been using you to rid me of all the parts of me that needed to go anyway, how He has been using you to strengthen the parts of me that are best.

As I finish this letter to you, it just dawned on me why today feels so heavy. Today is exactly two months from the day that I saw your beautiful face for the last time. Two months from the day we said goodbye. Even on the heaviest days, I am forever grateful that I was given the chance to be your mother. I love you so much.

Love,

Mommy