Hey Dad.
So I’m going through another grieving season.
One that was so unexpected.
Since Grandpa passed away back in April, I’ve gone through other grieving seasons–ones where I’m saying goodbye to different seasons, friends, and transitioning into new places.
But this season is one that reminded me of the reason I don’t like horses.
Do you remember when I was two or three, Fran took me to a farm or somewhere out in the middle of nowhere? And then she put me up on a horse.
I remember that I didn’t really want to be up there, and then all of a sudden, the horse bucked, kicked Fran and threw me off the back.
I felt like I couldn’t breathe. I wanted to cry, because what just happened hurt so badly, so deeply.
But all my brain could recognize at that moment was my need to breathe.
I remember Fran telling me to take deep breaths.
That everything was going to be okay.
But I just needed to keep breathing.
Eventually, I caught my breath. And then I realized that it really hurt–what that horse did wasn’t nice. Thus began my fear and dislike of horseback riding.
What just happened to our family was unexpected, scary, and left us all just trying to breathe.
Aunt Sue passed away.
It all happened so fast.
Monday afternoon I was driving with my friends to a grocery store, and I felt this pain in my chest, and immediately the Spirit was telling me that something was wrong.
It was around this same time (I later found out) that Aunt Sue was headed to the hospital.
I couldn’t shake this feeling of uneasiness until I got a text from Mom later that something was going on with Aunt Sue.
And thus began the waiting game.
I stayed home from the office the next day–talking with Jesus, asking questions, waiting, crying, painting, asking more questions, and even more waiting.
And then I finally got the news that she was gone.
Less than 24 hours.
Dad, I still just don’t get it.
I don’t understand why she wasn’t healed, why her body couldn’t pull through, why this even happened in the first place.
I’m faced with questions that I can’t answer.
I’m faced with people telling me, “It’s okay. She’s with Jesus now.”
But it’s not okay.
It’s not okay that she’s gone.
I refuse to let that blanket statement diminish my loss.
Because it’s real.
And it’s okay to feel it. To feel the loss, the pain, the sorrow.
Because as I let myself feel those things, it’s also a reminder of the joy, happiness, and peace I’ll be able to feel at the end of the day.
These last days have been filled with laughter, crying, tears of sorrow and of joy, excitement, fear, sadness.
A mix of emotions.
And I can go through those emotions within minutes, seconds even.
And that’s okay.
To help get some of my feelings out there, I wrote Aunt Sue a letter.
And then I felt like the Lord was asking me to share it.
So I did.
I was actually able to share it at Aunt Sue’s memorial service yesterday.
It was a lot harder than I thought it was going to be.
As I looked up at the sea of faces that she had touched over the years, tears came to my eyes, and I had to work through them.
I tried hard not to look at the family, but I couldn’t help but make eye contact with the people I loved as I shared.
I feel like this season of grieving is going to be different.
I feel like the pains of death have been surrounding me over the past few years.
But this time around, I feel a little more hope.
It’s not that I’m not sad and grieving.
But the Lord is filling me with hope for the journey ahead.
Hope that His light is still shining.
Hope that our family is going to keep coming together–fighting for and with each other through this season of loss.
Hope that this isn’t the end, but the beginning of something even more beautiful.
I think I’ve learned after your passing, that our memories of the ones we’ve lost become so much more enhanced. We don’t glorify those who have gone ahead of us. But we see them with even more grace, and we get a little more clarity on why we loved them so much.
I think that as this journey keeps going on, that we’ll hold even tighter to the lessons we’ve been taught by those who aren’t here with us anymore, and that we’ll keep fighting for true life and how to put those things into practice.
I miss you so.
And yet again, I am so thankful for everything you’ve taught me along the way. And really, everything you’re still teaching me through memories.
Give Aunt Sue a hug from all of us.
