Moments with Marri

I always knew if the opportunity arose, my answer would be a resounding yes.  I never dreamed my yes would come from my mouth on behalf of my child.  I said yes to the little red heart they place on your driver’s license the first time those questions were uttered to me, and I talked to my husband about it.  He hates those conversations.  You know the ones.  If I’m gone, these are my desires.  Having cared for terminal patients for many years, the sorrow of loss provokes conversation.  I needed to have them so periodically we did.  He would sometimes tell me to stop, tears welling up in the corners of his eyes. Fast forward to the night of July 4th.  Our time at the hospital seemed so incredibly short.  The ER team stopped CPR a little over an hour after I started it.  Haddon’s heart never produced a shockable rhythm, never anything but a flat line.  The knowing...

Lately I’ve been quiet, living in my head a whole lot, unable to finish much of anything I start writing.    I am wrestling, begging God to teach me to lament.    Maybe nobody does this adeptly, but sometimes I feel like a flopping fish out of water.    I am reading, praying, and still trying to make sense of it all.    I want my boy.    I want us all together.    I want to remove the dark clouds of death and grief that loom so heavy.    I beg.    I still beg God for mercy.  I am trying to gain some footing in the realm of anguish and grief.  I haven't, but I keep trying.  How do I walk this treacherous path with holiness?  How will I be self-controlled with my children in their grief when my own heart is shattered and I need so much myself?  Sometimes I want to scream the most guttural scream as an attempt to release the absolute hatred for death, for this lot. This book in particu...