Moments with Marri

There is this thing in grief, that those who carry heavy loads hear.  We hear, ‘Be thankful,’ and ‘Count your blessings!’   I don’t disagree that both are a good word to those who can quickly feel consumed by darkness in their grieving, but I suppose I hear something underlying the admonishing that I wrestle with.  I hear that in some mysterious exchange that my gratitude should diminish or rid me of grief.  This concept just simply isn’t true.   These commands are, in a sense, shutting down the aching hearts for a cheery perspective change.  Real gratitude doesn’t always look like cupcakes and rainbows.  This idea roams around in Christian circles and it is isolating to those who suffer.  My gratefulness doesn’t diminish my grief.  My grief doesn’t have to diminish my gratitude.  Unfortunately, it sometimes feels as if the imperative spoken is one that feels more like, ‘Hey, your sorrow is cramping my mood.’  The truth is that...

A week or so ago, I laid on the grave of my son and wept alone.  With my body curled against the cool fall earth, I wailed for the longing within me unanswered, unquenched.  As my head rested on his stone, I watched my tears fall on his name.  My son’s name is carved in stone, and my mind and heart still just want to scream ‘No!’  He went Home in my arms, his brain was giving way where his breath life was already gone.  Never was there any sign of life in his small body after those moments he postured for the last time.  Despite my effort, despite my pleading in faith for a miracle, my Lord said ‘He’s mine’ and took him Home.  Final destination.  My heart hurts so much that it physically aches within me.  Four months have passed.  I had hoped that would lessen with a little time.  Most days I don’t know how I will go on like this, aching, longing, and so weary from the pain of losing him. For Haddon; Haddon James Hampton. ...