It’s Caleb’s 3rd birthday in heaven today. The 3rd one without him here. In some ways it seems like yesterday since he ran ahead to heaven.
In others, it feels like a lifetime ago.
I woke up early today and drove out to “our place.” Every time Caleb would come home for a visit, we would go to breakfast at the Main Street Cafe, and talk. We would share hopes, struggles, and dreams. And our hearts would feel a little bit lighter.
There is a sadness now, as I gaze over at the empty chair in front of me that I know he would have occupied. So much has happened. So much has changed. I would like to tell him all about how his brother and sisters are doing. How they have grown, changed. Esther has grown into a young woman since he last saw her. Liz is pursuing a deeper relationship with God and community in Colorado. Sam is content, serving his country overseas. Abby is using her gifts of style and artistry in a boutique in California, and Esther is starting high school this year! Ren is growing in her faith through the trauma of loosing her husband, and has even found love again. They are all following their own paths, growing in so many ways. They have their struggles. But that’s not unusual, seeing as how we are not yet crossed over to that place of endless joy, as he has.
In those first days and months of grief, I couldn’t bear to think I would have to walk this way without him. It sincerely frightened me when well meaning others would say, I wouldn’t always feel this way. I didn’t ever want to stop feeling the sadness, because in the fog of grief, my tears tied me to him. The thought of loosing the tears meant that I was loosing him. Forgetting. And that was worse than the grief itself.
But as I’ve walked this valley of the shadow of death for almost 3 years now, there is something I’m beginning to understand.
I will NEVER forget him.
He will always be in my heart. Most days, the ache is never far from me. Tears come unbidden out of the blue. But alongside this grief, I carry a deep, abiding joy. This joy is intertwined with hope. This hope is not like a wish that I will one day see my boy again. It is a certainty. A sense that Caleb is not just a part of my past. He also is a part of my future.
I am in a season of letting go.
My parents have been living with us for 7 years in Missouri, but after a couple of strokes for my dad and most recently, a fall for my mom in which she broke her pelvis and experienced a sharp decline with her dementia, I quickly realized that they were going to need 24/7 care, which I was not able to provide. So we moved them across the country, back to Connecticut, where they are from, to be closer to the rest of the family.
Letting go.
In the midst of this, we took our beloved cat to the vet because she had been loosing weight and vomiting. I was convinced that she had worms and we would get some medicine and be on our way. But the vet picked her up in his arms, and expressed some concern over a bump that he noticed and recommended an ultrasound. Coming back into the room, he sat down with a serious look on his face and said he was so sorry, but Luna had a tumor that was most likely wrapped around her intestines. He laid out the options and I left feeling shell shocked. A week later, we laid her to rest in a freshly dug grave down the hill. I was floored by the depth of my grief over this sweet pet that brought us such joy over the years, and since Caleb died, brought such sweet comfort to our hearts. Alone in the house, I held her limp body, crying out with tears that lashed out against the brokenness and sadness that hounded us. The darkness that mercilessly pressed against our fragile frames.
Letting go.
But through all these heart aches, there has been a gentle reminder that has whispered into my soul.
God is breaking through.
Hundreds of years before Christ walked the earth, Isaiah prophesied,
“But there will be no gloom for her who was in anguish. In the former time he brought into contempt the land of Zebulun and the land of Naphtali, but in the latter time he has made glorious the way of the sea, the land beyond the Jordan, Galilee of the nations.
The people who walked in darkness
have seen a great light;
those who dwelt in a land of deep darkness,
on them has light shone.
You have multiplied the nation;
you have increased its joy;
they rejoice before you
as with joy at the harvest,
as they are glad when they divide the spoil.
For the yoke of his burden,
and the staff for his shoulder,
the rod of his oppressor,
you have broken as on the day of Midian.
For every boot of the tramping warrior in battle tumult
and every garment rolled in blood
will be burned as fuel for the fire.
For to us a child is born,
to us a son is given;
and the government shall be upon his shoulder,
and his name shall be called
Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God,
Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.
Of the increase of his government and of peace
there will be no end,
on the throne of David and over his kingdom,
to establish it and to uphold it
with justice and with righteousness
from this time forth and forevermore.
The zeal of the Lord of hosts will do this.”
(Isaiah 9:1-7)
And I see it…
He breaks through.
We all walk through this valley together. Whether we experience big losses, small ones, or ones that are years in the making, we ALL experience this valley of the shadow.
But he has broken through!
One night, 2000 years ago, he broke through time and space, left all the glories of heaven and perfect communion with God behind, to be born of a woman, in a stable, and hunted down by powerful people who in their zeal to annihilate him, killed all the baby boys in Bethlehem, 2 years and younger.
And…
“A voice is heard in Ramah, lamentation and bitter weeping. Rachel is weeping for her children; she refuses to be comforted for her children, because they are no more.”
(Jeremiah 31:15)
Brokenness. Death. Weeping.
Into this brokenness, grief, and hatred a bright star illuminates the sky showing the way to a stable for a group of wise men who wanted to worship him, while a heavenly host lit up the darkness with a song of great joy to some shepherds, announcing to them this truth…
Love has broken through!
And it’s this truth that my heart holds onto with a grip, as determined as Jacob when he wrestled with the Son of God and said,
“I will not let You go until You bless me!”
(Genesis 32:26)
God himself has broken through the darkness with His glorious light. And this truth keeps my heart pumping as I fix my gaze ahead and know that though the path may be dark, there is one who walks beside me.
Jesus tells us, “I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will not walk in darkness, but will have the light of life” (John 8:12)
I am ready to meet my Savior, to see my sweet boy again. But I also know that, for now, God in his wisdom, has me here for a little while longer. And the future doesn’t seem so interminable or dim. I know that as Paul says in II Corinthians 4:17,
…this light momentary affliction is preparing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison” and my heart sings that in the whole scheme of things, this time walking through the valley is so short compared to the eternity that awaits me.
So, as I whisper a “happy 26th birthday” to my boy, his 3rd one in heaven, I walk out the door of the cafe this morning, confident that the one who was with my boy in his last moments on earth, and was the first face he gazed upon as he closed his eyes in death, is the same one that will carry me to the finished line.
Praise be!!