Love's like a hurricane, and I am a tree
Bending beneath the weight of His wind and mercy"
I can't accept that I will hurt each day until heaven welcomes me.
It feels like defeat every day.
The struggle has kept me from writing, from peering into my thoughts for the strength that faith often offers me. As a result, heaven's hands reached for me in many forms:
A letter from my mom related how our friend Tim told Taylor's story to a man driving a truck of supplies to the victims of the flooding in North Carolina. As the man left for parts east, Tim told him to "go light the world" and told my mom, he tells the story of Taylor to "go light" as often as the opportunity is granted.
Texts from Taylor Renee's sweet friends sharing their hearts and sometimes their pain also came. They haven't outgrown us or their love for Sister.
A friend let me tell Taylor stories as if she were just down the street still at school and could come bounding up to to hug my neck at any moment. She didn't flinch at the sound of Taylor's name; she didn't look away. She stayed in the moment with me completely unaware of the week's grief storms.
My sweet boy decided at the last minute to wear his "Go Light the World" t-shirt for one his senior picture outfits. I worry so about where he is in this grieving process, how he juggles finding himself, growing himself, not being defined by the loss of Sis but still taking her with him. He amazes me.
The photographer taking Wade's picture, a Theta from OU, is graciously donating 10% of her earnings to the Taylor Witcher Foundation through May, 2017. Additionally, some kind soul paid Melanie (the photographer) for Wade's sitting fee. Melanie said they wanted to "Light the World" for Taylor.
Like shards of light raining down from a dark, storm-filled sky, God reminds me that the loneliness I feel is something I have created. He allows me to wrestle with scripture like... "And the peace of God, that surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus." Phil 4:7
I haven't found that peace yet in Taylor's death. Peace came so quietly when my grandparents left this earth - heaven being a just reward and welcome relief from the degenerative state their minds and bodies lay victim to. I haven't found that peace. It occurred to me that I may not be looking for it, may not want to find it. I have more wrestling to do.
However, the shards of light, the messages from all these friends and more did protect this mother's heart just as the second part of the verse promises. Always, my son's voice, hungry for food, in need of an essay editor, a listening ear to his rant, or laughing with his father brings me out of the dark
I picked up Bill Hancock's book, Riding with the Blue Moth as I finished this post. A narrative depicting his fight with grief (after losing his son, Will, in the OSU basketball team plane crash) and the physical battle he made while riding his bike from coast to coast, I looked for his analogy regarding this wrestling match....
"To paraphrase Winston Churchill, 'This is not the end, it is not even the beginning of the end. But it is the end of the beginning.' In our race with the blue moth, [we] were in a land without time; there was a beginning to our sadness, but no end in sight and few discernible mileposts. On the bike, I was thankful for measurable progress."
..."the end of the beginning..." It is another loss in and of itself. We have entered the time in our story where our lives intersect with people who do not know Taylor and do not know what this world has lost. Our minds are aware of the time that has passed, our bodies tired from carrying the days that have passed, but our hearts are still broken like the drunk driver and head-on collision was yesterday. And there are "few, discernible mileposts".
Tomorrow is coming; each tomorrow a milepost of sorts, our "measurable progress". Thankful the light will come even if I am still wrestling.
eclipsed by glory-
And I realize just how beautiful you are and
how great your affections are for me