I’ve been staring at this screen for months…waiting for what I’m supposed to say next and wondering what I can say that will “make it all better”. Or what will make the reader on the other side of this page feel better.
And now it's Christmas. I don’t have anything. I don’t have an eloquent poem about a Christmas in heaven, nor do I have a “Dear John, Merry Christmas” letter to share.
I just miss him. I miss hearing him say, “Love you”. I miss the way he hugged me. I miss the way he punched me in the arm as he walked by me. I miss his grumpy face and the way we both love sour candy. I miss the way he played with my kids and that he never got to meet James. I miss his dirty hands, stained with oil and grease from working all day. I miss the way we could share memories with each other about our childhood…especially around the holidays.
I don’t miss wondering if he’s okay. I don’t miss the tears shed when he was mad at me. I don’t miss the unanswered text messages or when I heard that he couldn’t stand me. I don’t miss walking on egg shells because I didn’t know what kind of mood he was in.
I’ve been praying that God would bring to my mind the times John and I laughed until we cried. I want THOSE memories at the forefront of my mind, but all I can seem to do is remember that I’m sad. Where are the hilarious-make-you-pee-your-pants moments? I know we’ve had them but I can’t remember them! I want to sit down to write about my brother while rolling on the floor laughing for once…instead of in a puddle of tears.
I’m expectant. I know I will remember at the perfect moment. In the meantime, I’m letting myself feel however I’m feeling. Especially around the holidays and despite how it looks to those watching me. I encourage you, from the still-grieving-places of my own heart, to do the same.