Too Close to Heaven
I wake up each morning with a sense that things aren’t right. Sometimes it’s a nebulous feeling that only becomes defined after I shake off the sleep and take a step or two out of bed. Then I remember exactly what isn’t right.
This morning it became even clearer as I walked through the garage on my way to work and got a glimpse of Chandler’s golf clubs. He won’t be using them any more, and that just doesn’t seem right, or real.
Then I passed his bike memorial on Antonio Parkway where he was hit on December 15.
Not right. Real.
I had a dentist appointment today. What usually is a relaxing time for me (I know it’s crazy!) lounging back in a chair with my eyes closed unable to do anything but lay there is now fraught with intrusive ruminations about what was happening the last time I was in that office on December 31. I had to go in to get an infected tooth pulled that morning and left the office in tears, unable to arrange payment, saying, “I have to get to the hospital to see my son.” I was able to go see my son. I can’t see him now.
Not right. Real.
This morning I had a conversation with a friend who also lost someone recently about how the grieving process has affected our regular spiritual practices. As we were talking, I began to make some sense out of my seeming inability or unwillingness to spend any lengthy amount of time in scripture or to listen to worship music or to have a regular devotional time. A couple of things came to me.
First, worship music touches the soul in a deep place, and I don’t want to feel any more deeply than I already do. Not right now. I feel the same about any kind of emotional song that comes on the radio. I don’t want to hear it right now.
Second, I don’t want to get too close to heaven. They have Chandler. And I don’t. If I get too close, I will be reminded that he is right there, but I can’t touch him. And that hurts.
I pray, I journal, I read scripture a bit at a time, but none of it is disciplined or regular. Everything is random. Even the spiritual exercises I chose to do for Lent — not really happening. But my human process of trying to figure out a new normal after losing Chandler intersects with the boundless, incomprehensible grace of God. I’m OK. I know He is with me. I know He is carrying me.
Even when I’m not quite ready to be…
Too close to heaven.