Seasons
I am taking a break from the retelling of my walk with Josiah through his journey with DIPG. I will post again in January. I need to stop keeping an eye on the season.
We have just passed Josiah’s birthday. He would be fifteen years old. The following is from a email I sent when I celebrated the first birthday after his passing:
December 3, 2016
Today is Josiah's birthday. He would be eleven. He would have been stoked to wake up this morning knowing the day was dedicated to him. There's just nothing like remembering his sly smile as he walked down those steps on his birthdays.
It has been a hard week. Though impossible, I feel like I have missed him over the past few days more than in the past few months. His physical absence has been tangible. The void has been even more present.
The time around his birthday continues to be difficult. His absence is a tangible felt reality. His birthday is surrounded by times of celebration like Thanksgiving and Christmas. The day is also a time of mourning to lament his passing and the shortening of these winter days.
We are in the season when we celebrate the birth of Christ in the midst of short days and cold nights. It is a time of year that I feel in the pit of my stomach or in the aching, racing of my heart. For it is a season of celebration and a season for lament. I celebrate the salvation that God has brought for us all in His Son and mourn that God did not save my son.
So I want to pause from writing during this current season. I want to heed the wisdom of the Teacher in Ecclesiastes:
“There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens: a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance” (Ecclesiastes 3:1,4)
I will take time to dance. We celebrated the life of my son. We had his favorite colossal doughnuts for breakfast and toasted him with milkshakes after dinner.
I will take time to mourn. We remembered his life with items out of the wooden chest. We each chose an item and told a story about Josiah that surrounded it.
I will be back to write about the last part of Josiah’s journey in January. It is a winter’s tale. Until then I will cry, laugh, and remember. I see his face in a Christmas ornament and catch a new tear. I will see another Facebook memory and laugh as I see the joy of a child excited about the wonders of Christmas. I will remember both the son who I lost, dream of who he would be, and know that he is with the One we celebrate who gives us hope for today.
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