Camouflage Overalls
I felt the tears hit my cheeks. They were hot and heavy. I would have never thought the small drops of liquid could bring so much weight.
I took a deep breath in and wiped my cheeks. I was crying again. I didn't even realize I was feeling upset.
I had walked into Creek's room with such determination. The annoyance of the mess was the only emotion I had been fully aware of.
I looked down at the culprit in my hands.
Camouflage overalls.
These were the bringer of tears today.
They must have fallen from the shelf that now holds everything my once energetic, busy and ALIVE child owned.
They laid in my arms, heavy, carrying the burden of this past year.
I could almost feel my son's body inside these overalls. I could just barely hear his laugh from another room.
It's interesting how, in one moment, the mind can bring you back in time. The memories can become so clear.
Two sizes too small, Deral wore the fleece lined camos and played army all day in the intense Phoenix heat. Heatstroke being the very last thing on his mind. He threw himself on to the floor and sneaked around corners. A smile plastered across his face. He was in his element.
Most of the time he would wear a large camouflage coat and wrap his head in a bandanna to fully dress the part.
He wanted to be a sniper for the United States Marines when he grew up. He said he was practicing. My heart always broke a little because I wasn't sure about the policy for eye site in the military.
My eldest had inherited my eyes. Beautifully, light green with specks of blue. They had a way of changing with emotion, clothing or even the time of day.
But, they required glasses.
Deral was seven years old when we found out his eyes needed correcting. We also learned that day that my perfect boy was color deficient. He struggled with blues, purples and greens.
It became a family joke to ask Deral what color different items were. We would laugh when he would shrug his shoulders with a carefree, "idonknow", and smirk.
Looking back, Deral didn't seem to take much seriously. Not in a way that felt dismissive or uncaring. Just in a way that felt like he knew how to keep perspective on the big stuff.
I remember the way he would shrug and smirk about things that I was so worried about. One time, there were some kids picking on him at school. My momma heart was crushed.
When I talked with Deral he spoke so kindly about the other kids. He had such compassion and understanding. He shrugged and smirked. He told me that everything was fine and he would try playing with them again the next day.
I was always amazed by Deral.
The overalls still clutched in my hands, I sunk to the floor of the once shared bedroom of my boys. Deral's things had gradually been gathered and stored just out of sight to create normalcy for Creek.
Tears welling in my eyes, I looked at Deral's dresser, still full of his clothes. A large bin sat on top, full of sympathy cards and gifts from precious friends and family.
I stared, mouth agape, and took in my reality.
Then, I wept.
I cried so hard into the clothes that used to hold my son.
I sobbed.
I let my tears stain the toys and nick-nacks that my son used to hold in his hands.
My throat made unnatural noises as my heart shattered over and over.
Today, there are no words of encouragement.
Today, there is no purpose for this pain.
Today, there is just a momma, missing her baby.
Today, there is only the gut-wrenching, vomit inducing pain of child loss.
Thankfully there is tomorrow.
Tomorrow, I can choose to find the purpose.
Tomorrow, I can choose to hear the encouragement.
Tomorrow, I can choose to fall into the arms of Jesus instead of the pit of pain.
Tomorrow, I can choose hope.