I can see him standing before me. My face is chest height, my eyes guilelessly staring straight ahead, getting lost in his white clothing. There is no conversation. No music. No wind. Nothing. It is just him and I. I don’t look up. I don’t look down. Nor to the left. Nor to the right. I carefully stare straight ahead. He doesn’t look down. Nor to the sides. He simply stands. There is no touching. Our bodies don’t touch. Our garments don’t touch. We are honestly standing…an inch apart….waiting.
I am not waiting on him. I have no answers or solutions. He does though and he is lingering. Bravely holding his ground with me. He waits for me to ask the question. To be able to hear what He has to say. He knows I want to understand and that right now…I simply can’t.
I don’t want to be loved right now. My heart is on a protest. Unwilling to take the step forward, lean my head into his chest, and ask the question.
I expected death to be easier. I knew Katie Grace was going to die. We had to make some really hard decisions for her and we knew what those decision were leading to. We did a really hard thing when she lived here and I truly expected that then God would make it easy for me, when death came. Like a reward. A prize for doing a really hard thing. When you end a marathon you get a prize. A medal, for some a trophy. I figured my trophy would be a free pass on pain. The pain that hits you physically. The one that has your body crying out for your child. The one that reminds you that mothers were not meant to bury their children. My prize was supposed to be an ease into death.
And it hasn’t been. My body has ached and hurt in so many places. I have picked up and run and then just bam hit a wall, dazed from the strength in which I hit it. And so I don’t want to be loved. I don’t want Him to help me make sense of it all. He was supposed to make it easy.
I am also a little bit afraid. Afraid that Katie Grace’s story will die away, and I will have no connection. I am not ready to let her go that way. I still want to hold onto her. I want talk about her and cry over her. As my body gets used to not having her here, my heart longs to cling on as long as it can. I am simply afraid, He will tell me it is time to move on. That she is as happy as she can be and there is much for us to do. And I don’t want to leave her behind. My rational brain knows she isn’t behind, she actually ran ahead. I just can’t seem to get my heart to understand that. It stands deep in it’s protest.
So he waits. And waits. And waits. He knows my heart. He knows I will soon lean into his chest, always defaulting into trusting him. Always finding a way back to his heart. Always knowing who He is and His love for me. He knows our bodies will embrace, and I will look up into his face, ask the question, letting our conversation begin.