The grief and sadness of losing and missing Lacy hits at odd times. I think I'm doing well, have moved past some of the worst of the pain, when a song, or a memory hits me and I'm weeping. I've learned to let my tears flow. The tears seem to heal the pain, and if I let myself feel the loss, I'm able to move on with my day once the worst of the sorrow is over.
We never get over our loss, but we get accustomed to the loss, and the hole in our hearts is not quite so tender.
I have so many Facebook friends who are experiencing that loss right now as their children, husbands, wives, mothers, fathers, siblings are dying from Huntington Disease. As I read their posts I feel afresh the pain of losing inch by inch the person you love. I remember how burying a child is impossible to fathom, even as you sit across from the closed casket. I cannot imagine the pain of losing nearly everyone you love to this disease - sometimes your spouse and all your children.
Note to readers: I have edited this post because I realized I did not include the meaning I felt upon seeing the fallen pictures. My edited comments are in italics below.
May 28, 2018.
The day was beautiful. Sunshine and green leaves and grass everywhere, perfect for a trip to Decatur and Falling Springs Cemetery.
I'd bought flowers for our immediate family graves: Lacy, Mom, Dad, and my infant brother, George Edward.
My brother, Dave, came with Kenny and I. We drove the 20 minutes together to Falling Springs and placed the flowers near the resting places of each of our loved ones. I never feel that they are "there" but I am so grateful that we have a place to go and reflect on their lives and the love we shared with each other. The little Nativity I had put on Lacy's stone was still there after 6 months. We moved it over and placed our small offering of love and remembrance next to the tiny creche.
I brought a prayer to read at the gravesides; a prayer of…
Four weeks from today will be two years since we lost Lacy.
I keep getting reminders on my Facebook feed of the last few weeks of Lacy's life. The last year, I took a picture of him every week. I wanted to make sure I could remember him, and the good - and bad - times we had together.
I feel a sense of dread about May 28. I am thankful that it falls on Memorial Day, so we will not have to go to work.
I am also thankful that we took every opportunity to spend time with him. The last time was 5pm on May 27, 2016. Nine hours later, he was gone.
As I drove away from the nursing home that evening, a scripture popped into my head:
...that I may know Him and the power of His resurrection... (Philippians 3:10)