Today I'm linking up to Lisa-Jo, aka gypsy mama, who chooses a topic every Friday and writes for five minutes.
Only five minutes.
And the rule is that whatever she writes about in that five minutes is what she posts. No editing her thoughts.
Today, her topic choice is "Loss…"
So I'm going to set the timer, write some thoughts, and then I'm going to stop.
Ready? Set. Go.
I didn't expect this a year later.
I knew it would be hard. I knew the anticipation was weighing on me. But I didn't expect for it to be visceral. I didn't expect for my body to feel in shock again, for the nausea to creep in. I expected sorrow, not grief.
But I felt grief again.
I have felt all week like I needed to reach my hands into my chest and hold up my heart for the weight of it. I missed my family and I missed the community and I missed my dad.
Oh, how I miss my dad.
And tonight as I'm writing this, tonight is one year exactly since his funeral. And I remember the moment my friend Kelly walked into my condo on that day, one year ago, to watch them bury my dad on a large screen that carried the skyped image of his casket in the church.
I remember saying to her that I hadn't forgotten. And she said, "No. Today is about your dad."
And I said, "No. We have enough love for both of them."
Because eight years ago today we had sat in a hospice room and said goodbye to her eleven-year-old daughter, Kaitlyn. I had sang to her, we had prayed over her, we had cried with her and then she was gone.
So tonight, as Lisa-Jo picked "loss" as our five minute prompt, I said "Yes."
Yes, today of all days, loss is heavy in my heart and fresh on my lips and quick on my fingers to type to you. And I grieve for us but I rejoice for them.
Because our loss is their joy as they bask in the bliss of His love.
But that doesn't stop us from the ache. From the loss. I wonder if it ever will.