Missing

Last Saturday I sat in shade of my sister's garage while she had a yard sale.  It was boring, and hot, and ordinary.  We sat for hours and looked at magazines, ate donuts, and made up arbitrary prices for forgettable items.  I felt fine.  I felt normal.  It seemed like just another morning, but then in a moment it changed for me. 

Towards the end of the sale my amazing friend Katie arrived with her three beautiful children.  They quickly discovered the few remaining toys, while we chatted about ordinary things.  I watched as Katie's youngest discovered my niece's charcoal gray baby bunny.  She delighted in touching it's soft fur.  She seemed to experience simultaneous joy and hesitation as she dared to touch it.  My eyes followed her expressions, and I instantly ached for Jonah.  I missed him so much I couldn't hold back my tears.  They seemed to rise like a flash flood and could not be contained.  I sat on the step of my sister's house and wept for the memories I am not making with my sweet boy.  I mourned the chance to see Jonah discover the softness of this bunny's fur.  I longed to have him with me in such a simple moment.  I find in grief it is sometimes the quiet, simple moments of life that are the most painful.  They seem to magnify what is missing in profound and unusual ways.   

I have thought so much this week about what Jonah would be doing now.  What words would he know?  What mischief would he pursue?  What food would he love this summer?  Would he throw horrible tantrums in the grocery store?  Sometimes I try to imagine him in the faces of the toddler's I see in the store or in my neighborhood.  But it doesn't satisfy my curiosity.  I know that he would have been more trouble, more fun, and more beautiful than my simple mind can imagine. 

To escape my yard sale sorrow I dragged Jordan to Great Basin National Park to find some solace and hike a mountain.  The hike was relatively simple, but the wind was ferocious.  Jordan estimated it to be about 60 mph at the saddle.  The wind left little energy for conversation, so as we hiked I thought of Jonah.  I thought about his upcoming birthday, and how I should remember him.  I thought about the pain that plagued me through the weekend.  I thought about the gaping hole in my heart that seems impossible to fully heal.  And then amidst the constant roaring wind and my busy thoughts I was delivered to a moment of peace and clarity.  My mind seemed to rise above the physical stress of the moment, and as I walked I had the sense that Jonah was with me.  I can't explain how.  New thoughts entered my mind, and I knew in a completely intrinsic way that our hearts, his and mine, were connected for a time in the chaos.  The moment was so beautiful that the tears welled up in me as I picked my way over the rocky windswept slope.  Like before the tears came suddenly, and unexpectedly.  Only this time the source of my tears was not the cavity left by Jonah's absence, but the strange moment of healing created by his unmistakeable and beautiful presence.


Be still and know that I am God. Psalms 46:10