Unfinished Thoughts on Love & Heaven & Loss

Happy New Year! Although I feel very far from the holidays, I know we aren't really that removed from them. Two weeks ago my family was still celebrating Christmas! And now here we are. The world has returned to normal. The days are back to our routines. Rhythm has returned. 

I can't help but go back to the day Thao died. January 13, 2012. I was walking out of the hospital on that snowy day, arms filled with the remnants of a life cut short, the sun still shown. The snow still fell. The wind still blew. And time still clicked on, one minute at a time, the clock counted the moments he was gone. 

But I had to remind myself to breathe. 

Someone else is out there, reminding themselves to breathe right now. Whether it is their own physical pain or the pain of loss, someone is consciously telling themselves to put one foot in front of the other. To take a deep breath. To relax their muscles. To let themselves cry. Or move forward. The world has not stopped spinning. The days still turn into nights and the sun still comes up each morning. The trees are preparing for spring, to grow new leaves again, even while they are mourning the loss of the old ones. 

I still miss Thao. I miss what our family was. I miss the dreams I had. Even while cherishing the new ones, I remember the old. I long for the day when the pain is gone and all things are made new. 

When I will be reunited with my sidekick, my sweet boy. And I'm not the only one. 

Just recently, my boys were having a conversation that I was fortunate enough to overhear while driving. My wide-eyed boy, he's ten. He came home to us when he was nearly seven. He has few memories of his biological family, and quite possible they are remembered through rose-colored glasses. But that's okay. I want to know his history as much as he does, maybe more. Whatever memories he does have, I treasure, right or wrong? Who am I to say?

Anyway, the ten-year-old says to the eight-year-old, "...and when Jesus comes back as King, he will make all things good. And I will get to see my mom again. And my sister. Maybe she's all grown up now. Do babies grow in heaven?"

Do babies grow in heaven? What is eternity with perfection, without the boundaries of time? How can our minds and emotions, our desires and memories wrap around this construct? What if perfection means I am no longer the primary caregiver? But I am not. I will not be. Perfection needs no mother. Glory needs no human caregiver. Heaven works me out of a job. And my relationship with my children is no longer mother/child, but perfectly warped into order below our Father, our Caregiveer, our Creator. My mind swirls around so many thoughts. What could be more perfect than my entire family walking together, peacefully through nature? That is heaven right here on earth to me. Yet I cannot hold it this side of heaven. My family is before and after. If Thao hadn't died, where would Crusoe and Isa be? Would there be other children? We would have stopped long before Luca? How can I both treasure the past and the present with the same love and affection? The same gratitude? The same depth of passion for parenting all of my children? 

I stop myself before I get too far because the reality of every step I've taken hits me like a brick. Or rather, I've run full force, face first into a brick wall. 

My child died. He is dead. The words ring loud and I want them out of my head. I turn my thoughts to his life rather than his death and still, I cannot fathom life without him. But I live it. Every day, I live it. Without him. Because of him. With his memory loud and strong, humble and sweet. Bold and brave. And also weak and scared. 

With joy and sorrow. Deep sorrow. Abundant joy. 

This life. Life after loss, one step at a time. I jerk back to the conversation I just overheard. I don't interject. I don't tell them my thoughts. I don't comfort or encourage. I am simply in awe. Of childlike faith. Of his brave. His strength. His courage. His love. 

How can he know to love again? After so much loss. After so much trauma and chaos and strangers being kind or worse yet, unkind? How can he trust us? And his siblings? And how does he have so much love to give? How can he simply accept me as I am to be his new mom? 

Grace and mercy and God's overwhelming, unconditional love has brought us here. Right here, to this place. When Satan and this broken world wanted to take us right down with them, God gave us a choice to rise above the desperation and to claim His power and peace over the chao and bitterness and spiraling out of control. 

It is not easy. It is a battle that we will fight until our dying day. And we will fail. We will fall. And by the grace of God, we will get back up again. We will survive because the Lord give us manna for the day. 

I've been asked a million times how I do it after the loss of my child. I simply don't know. I cling to God. I trust His promises. I hope for the future with Him. I cry. I doubt. I question. And I come back to the Lord with my fears and anxiety and questions. In fact, this past year I have been asking a lot of questions. I hope that someday I will finish a second book on grief. One that I began and then had to put down. I have picked it back up and continue to write. How do I do it? One step at a time. Sometimes those steps are baby steps, sometimes they are leaps of faith. Either way, I'm moving forward and I am one day closer to being with my sweet Thao, my Savior and so many others. And my kids know it, too. They, too, have suffered great loss. And they, too, look forward with hope. To heaven and to Jesus and to everything being made new. 

If only my faith could be that of my child's. If only my love could be like his. If only my trust could be as deep as theirs. 

This is my passion. Thao had us to love him and fight for him and hold him close. Every child deserves that. Every child needs a family to fight for them, to hold them close, to remember them. To love them unconditionally and forever. 

I've taken a break from writing. I've struggled to figure out how my passions all make sense. Writing on grief and parenting and life after loss and adoption, orphan care, the fatherless. It makes sense to me. I see how God threads it all together. We love because He first loved us. We grieve because He gave us so much to love. We keep going because He pours out His love on us. We are blessed, so we bless others.We have been given much; food, money, possessions, family and time. So we share much; food, money, possession, family and time. 

We will continue to love the ones we have for the time we have them. And be thankful.