Sometimes I use this space to write to someone other than Morris. Ever since I heard the news of your son's passing, I've been searching for words to write to you. It's pointless really, because there are simply no words that exist for a time such as this one. And yet I find myself aching to say something to you, desperately wanting to be able to offer some sort of comfort in these moments that feel so void and empty.
I woke up in the early hours of this morning in tears. Not just because of the sadness and devastation that yesterday brought, but because I knew the sun would soon be rising. I knew that if you had been able to get any sleep at all last night, that you would soon be waking to another day. My heart broke at the realization that the pain would hit you afresh, that you would be left to wonder how it was possible that the world had somehow gone on spinning, that the sun could be shining as brightly as it always had, that life had continued despite your broken heart. My tears fell heavier for you.
So many times in my life, I've wondered how people could question if there was a God. Even when Morris died, I never questioned God's existence. I don't know why or how, but somehow my faith got stronger the day we delivered our son. I accepted Morris' death as a part of God's master plan, and I was angry when others struggled with why it had happened. Despite all the pain, I've somehow made peace with it.
Your son's death has been more difficult for me to wrap my head around. Like so many people, I prayed the bold prayers. In the face of what medicine said was impossible, I asked for and expected nothing less than a miracle. Yesterday, when the news came, I felt let down. I felt angry. I began to understand how it was possible for someone to lose faith, for someone to simply not believe. For a few hours, I began to question God's existence myself.
Then I remembered the prayer vigil I attended for your family just a few nights ago. I thought back to those moments, and how as prayers were poured out and songs of praise were lifted up, God's presence and love could be felt so clearly. I still have no explanation for why a God who can move mountains and calm the seas didn't spare your son, but I know that I believe in Him. It will be an ongoing battle and struggle, but I pray that your faith will remain strong. There are so many, many prayers being lifted up for you and your family right now. I'm praying Morris' verse over you:
"When anxiety was great within me, your consolation brought joy to my soul." Psalm 94:19The most comforting thing I know to tell you is that your beautiful son has already changed the world. His impact on this community and beyond is so much greater than his three years on this earth. Thousands of people were touched by his endearing smile, life-size personality, and his sheer willpower. We got to know him through your words, and I want you to know that I always found a lesson to be learned about how I should live my life in the posts that you shared about him. Thanks to the amazing parents that you are and the love you have for your son, I know his legacy will continue.
Late last night as I went to bed, I saw your post asking how you could live a lifetime without your son. I didn't know what to say then. But as the sun begins to peek through the clouds this morning, I have only one thought to offer....you don't. You take life second by second, minute by minute, hour by hour. You focus on getting through one day at a time...thinking about anything beyond that right now is just too overwhelming. Most importantly though, you face every day just as you have for the last 18 months...by being #BradyStrong.
Love,
Keri
