Light
It has been eleven months and two days since our sweet boy went to heaven.
How can it be that long? The time simultaneously feels as if I had just blinked and like many life times have past. Each thought brings new pain and suffering, all while every passing moment brings new resolve and acceptance.
The Lord has provided an incredible amount of grace and distraction these past eleven months. Our family has done more and seen more this past year, than in all of our life times. The adventures and discovery has brought both comfort from the busyness and an acute awareness of the void Deral has left behind.
Child loss is like that. All feelings of joy are overshadowed by intense, searing pain. Every emotion is double edged. Happiness is never without sadness, laughter is always followed by tears and enjoyment is tainted by the sting of disappointment. However, I feel thankful for the emotional ambivalence. The awareness of the darkness allows for the light to shine more brightly than before.
I've recently started watching the instructional painting show from my childhood since it just became available on Netflix. The program is hosted by an excited and positive man named Bob Ross. He shows the basics of oil painting using a wet-on-wet technique. He makes painting gorgeous landscapes look oh-so-easy while he softly encourages the viewer to coerce the "happy little trees" out of the brush. According to Bob, the trees simply "live" inside the brush, you just have to get them out. During the half hour program, Bob speaks lovingly about the beautiful scenery he is creating on the canvas and often explains that to show highlights the artist must first apply dark colors. He, knowingly, reminds us every episode as he pushes his brush haphazardly onto the canvas, "you must have dark to be able to see the light."
That saying has played in my mind for the past eleven months and two days. The questioning of "why" is one that circles the recesses of the minds of every person experiencing loss. Our human nature expects order and reason. When an event occurs out of that normal our brains need an explanation. In cases such as mine, there will never be an explanation this side of heaven.
The absence of answers leaves me with a choice. I can either dwell on the unknown reasons behind loosing my son, I can fall, deep, into the pit of despair loosing all will to continue living life. I could allow my mind to continue revolving in the never ending carousel of doubt, shame and regret.
Or I can turn to Jesus. I can allow him to show me the hope through the ashes. I can lean fully onto His understanding. I can accept that nothing on this earth makes sense. I can look up into the eyes of my good Father and see the things he wants me to see. I can use the darkness of child loss as the background to see the most beautiful light. The darkness that my son's death brings is consuming and never ending. But just as Bob Ross reminds us with each landscape he so expertly creates, "don't get rid of all that darkness, you need it to see the light".