Today, Branch would have been six months old.
In honor of his half-birthday, I will post this piece I wrote yesterday for my writing class. Hope you enjoy.
I am in a writing class, and yet I cannot seem to write.
I stare at the blank sheet. Nothing. Emtpy. It reminds me of my arms: where he should be, but instead they are empty. Nothing.
I have been more sorrowful in recent weeks. More emotional. More fearful of the future. More hesitant to celebrate, and needing more time to mourn. I suppose this is part of it all. Life, loss, story.
I do not want this to be my story. I’m done. Hasn’t this gone on long enough? The pain that floods every ounce of my being, missing him and wanting nothing if I can not hold him again, this time forever.
Sometimes I lie in bed and I am angry. Angry that my little boy is in the ground. Angry that life goes on all around me. Angry at the Devil for finding satisfaction in my torment.
I’ve had enough.
I am reading a book that talks about how the only way to truly know Jesus and be close to His heart is to experience sorrow and allow Him to meet us there. I agree with this book, but it’s still hard.
I met with Linsey the other day. I always love meeting with her. She speaks kindness and truth, and she listens to me. In our meeting, Linsey talked about the ‘wrestle’ I am experiencing. There are so many things I know, I believe, I experience about God and His character, and yet I cannot seem to figure out how Branch’s death fits in. I am wrestling. Linsey says it is the wrestling that keeps my heart alive. I loved that picture :: of my wounded heart fighting for its life every day.
I’m doing it.
Tomorrow will be six months since Branch was born. Half a year. In some ways so little time, in some ways so long. It’s unbelievable, really. I think it always will be.
We went to his grave this morning. The grass is growing and it looks slightly less “freshly dug” than it did before. There were jacaranda flowers that had fallen from the surrounding trees, and I took one and pressed it into his book of letters. We saw three or four hummingbirds. We saw the groundskeeper begin to dig a new little grave for another baby.
Just like that, I find myself here again, staring at the blank part of the page. There are no more words I can add. This part will stay empty.