A Distant Figure in My Rearview Mirror

STOP!!!

I really would like time to just stop.  
Be put on hold.  
Freeze frame…

Today it is two years since we lost our “baby”.  In some ways, these have probably been the two shortest years of my life; I can hardly believe it’s already been that long! 

As I’ve mentioned other times, my perspective has changed so much since Benji’s death. Previously, I would have thought that one would have had plenty of time to have “moved on”, two years after a death.  I’m so sorry to all of you whom I may have judged about where you were at in your grief process!

For me, as time goes on, the pain isn’t as raw, but it’s still there- just under the surface.  At times, it doesn’t take much for that deep, stabbing pain to resurface and it’s impossible to hold back the flood of tears.  I’m still frequently hit with the realization of how much I miss him and long to hear and see him again. 

I was poignantly reminded again of his absence a couple days ago when, while climbing out of my vehicle to go into a restaurant, a thought flashed through my mind…“do I have Benji’s enzymes with me?”  (We always carried enzymes with us because Benji needed them whenever he ate).  Two years later, I still have moments when my brain goes back to the routines and habits that were part of our lives for so long and the feelings of disappointment and sadness wash over me as I am reminded why those things are no longer necessary.

Though the pain isn’t as raw now, the ache of missing him so much has gotten stronger.  I can’t even begin to explain the deep longing I feel to see him again. 

And as time goes on, the memories of him are beginning to fade; it’s more difficult to remember the sound of his voice and his laugh…  


Yes, at times I wish time would have stopped.  Even during our most anxious moments in those last months of Benji’s life and the initial devastation and pain of his death- I would rather, at times, live the rest of my life in that state because then, Benji was still with us.

Is this what we mean when we say one is “living in the past”, or “wallowing in their pain?”  If so, then I, two years later, am telling you that while I am moving forward, there are times I just want to live in the past and wallow in the pain.  I want to experience those feelings again, as if they were still fresh.

I am SO grateful for photos and videos!  I can’t imagine not ever being able to see his face or hear his voice and his laugh again!  It seems to me that the longing to go back to those times would be even greater without them! 

   
You know, a month after he died, or even two, three, six months, it still felt like my memories were pretty fresh.  But as time goes on, the miles between us just keep growing.  I feel like I’m in a car, driving down the road away from my child, watching him wave goodbye in the rearview mirror.  Our car isn’t going to stop, it’s never going to turn around and my child will never catch up with me.  We will keep driving away from him for the rest of our lives… leaving him further and further behind. I want to go back, at least to the goodbyes or the first mile when I could still see him clearly… I DON’T WANT HIM TO BECOME A DISTANT FIGURE IN MY MIRROR!

 So I want time to stop.  I want to quit driving away from him.

But that’s not how things work.  I can’t go back there.  Ever.  

And it is a good thing that God, out of his love for us, created us in a way that the memories of those excruciatingly painful times do fade.  I wouldn’t be able to bear it, if I constantly lived in the reality of those moments! 

As life is moving on, things in our family are changing. Cory is in Bible College, Aaron is married and Tyler is getting married in May.  I’m enjoying this stage of life and I love the addition of daughters to our family.  But with these changes, (like always), I think about how things would be if Benji were still here- I know he would have loved his two new sisters and I so wish they could have known him. 

I play that “what if” game quite frequently.  Not “what if the medical staff or we had done things differently, could we have saved his life”, but “what if he was still here?”  There have been so many occasions and events that I’ve wished he could be here for, and at those times, I can’t help but ask myself how Benji would have responded or if he would have enjoyed it.

So this is where I’m at in my grief process, two years later.  My biggest struggles are the  “what ifs” and the memories fading in the rearview mirror. 

But time and distance are healing some of the rawness and I continue to cling to my faith in a loving God and the hope of eternal life, and that I will be able to see our dear Benji again.

   

Ultimately, it always comes back to our faith and I will close with the end of a short article I wrote for a periodical last month.

“We believe what I told Benji over and over, “I don’t  know what God’s ultimate plan for your life is, all I know is that: 1) God loves you more than we can ever imagine and 2) He only does what is best for us.”

Is this not what this Easter season is all about?  God proved his love for us by allowing his only son to die a torturous death on the cross and he gave us a purpose for our lives and a hope for our futures by bringing him back to life.  I can’t imagine having to go through the excruciating pain of losing a child without the assurance of God’s love and the knowledge that our son is now in the presence of a living Jesus.  That hope of eternity with Christ is much more tangible than before; we now have someone we loved and nurtured also there, waiting to see us!”

Now faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see. Hebrews 11:1