March 1. It was two months ago.
Sometimes as I’m going about my normal business – working, shopping, cleaning – it hits me. Last night, I was shopping for teal pillow shams online, and then out of the blue, I remembered….Chandler died. There are only five of us now.
It doesn’t seem possible. But the evidence tells me it is. He’s not coming home. He’s not texting or calling. I haven’t seen him since January 1.
Chandler is not here any more. I always know that, but I think it’s still mostly hovering on the surface level. No, I’m not crazy. I know he won’t be walking through the door after work and hanging out in the kitchen to discuss politics, hairstyles, fitness, work....
How do I say this? I know he’s gone, but I am certain I don’t know it in every cell, every pore, every fiber of my being. If I did, I don’t think I could stand up. I don’t know if I could take a breath.
I think this is by design. It comes as we can take it in. We just can’t possibly take it all in at once. I don’t know what that looks like in months, years, decades to come. I wonder if I will ever take it all in while I’m in skin?
A friend gave me a beautiful cross she’d made for me. I keep it in my office at work. She made various decorative ornaments to go on it that say things like “anxiety,” “fear,” “anger.” The idea is that whatever heaviness you are carrying that day, you choose that ornament and hang it on the cross as a physical reminder and prayer to give that to the Lord, to lay it at the cross. Today I hung the ornaments that said, “sadness” and “change.” I knelt before the cross and the picture of Chandler and me and cried.
I’m still sad. And my entire reality remains drastically changed forever.
But I know I’m not in this alone.
As I take it in a little at a time, as much as I can, I’m grateful for family, friends, and all the tangible ways God continues to show up.