Tonight it is New Year’s Eve. Typically we try and do something fun with the kids. Last year we went to our local Aldi that had just opened and let them each buy some fun snacks. We had meat and cheese and crackers, fun cookies and sparkling grape juice. We watched a movie and the kids threatened to stay up until midnight and no one made it.

Last year my sister shared something they were going to be doing at the start of the new year. It was a memory jar. The idea was simple, write down a memory from the week and put it in a jar. On New Year’s Eve as a family you go through the jar and read off all the fun memories. I thought it was a fantastic idea, so I have had a memory jar on my counter for 52 weeks. There are more than 52 slips of paper inside. Some weeks we filled multiple post-its.

I haven’t been able to put anything inside since December 21.

I suppose the fact that Isaac is gone IS a “memory” but it feels oh so wrong to include it in the jar. It is just another admission of the truth of what has happened. I don’t want that to be a part of my 2019, and yet it is.

Today we had to go to his apartment so that we could bring home the rest of his things. On the drive in to Sioux Falls we were surrounded by all of these beautiful trees that were glistening in the sun. Because of the recent snowstorm, the trees had been covered in a layer of ice and they sparkled in the sunlight.

We almost stopped for a picture, I think we are both grabbing onto moments of beauty in what are painful and difficult days.

Packing up his room was hard. I will be honest I was desperately hoping to find something, anything that would make sense of all of this and it makes me angry that I didn’t get the answers I was hoping for. I guess that is the reality of the beast of depression and mental illness. It doesn’t make sense and I can’t wrap it up in a pretty package.

Dominic had taken the last load down and I was standing alone in the room. We had left these two small shelves that his roommate is going to use against the wall and in the corner was a roll of this Christmas wrapping paper. He had purchased a couple of gifts for our family bunco exchange, but had never wrapped them.

In that moment, I just wanted to break something.

I grabbed that roll of paper and just started hitting the shelves. This dull sound echoed through the room. Over and over again…I just wanted to pound the reality of my new life away.

But I can’t.

I started a new book this morning, I am listening to it on Audible and am going slow and taking notes and I wrote this down… “God is doing more good than you can imagine through the most painful experiences of your life.” Things Not Seen by Jon Bloom

As we walk through these last few hours of what has ended up being the most painful year we could imagine, I continue to ask God to do good with this. Do something Lord. It is my deepest heart cry.

2 Corinthians 4:17-18

“For this light, momentary affliction is preparing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison, as we look not to the things that are seen but to the things that are unseen. For the things that are seen are transient, but the things that are unseen are eternal.”

Last night we watched the movie Flubber together as a family. We needed something light and funny to occupy our minds. Of course even that is a stark reminder of our reality….the lead actor in the movie being Robin Williams, who himself struggled as Isaac did, and took his own life a few years ago.

My body and my eyes especially were so heavy and halfway through the movie I stopped fighting sleep. I woke with the final credits and realized that most of us had missed the ending. It seems easy these days to fall asleep when there is something going on in the background.

We all brushed our teeth and went off to bed and in the dark of my room, with only the whir of the fan in the background, my mind started spinning again. When I had gone to the doctor last week he had prescribed me a light sleeping aid, which I have resigned myself to taking….but even that wasn’t working.

All I want is my son back.

I saw the bathroom light click on and called out to see who was downstairs but there was no answer. A quick check revealed our girl, standing alone wiping silent crocodile tears from her eyes. “I can’t sleep mom” she said. “I just wish Isaac wasn’t dead.”

Oh sweet daughter, so much like me….

We grabbed some Kleenex and went out to the couch and huddled under cozy blankets. She told me that she wanted to make something special for Isaac’s birthday and was sad she couldn’t get it to him. I told her that sometimes people write messages to their loved ones on balloons and then release them up to heaven. Maybe we could do that?

“In the spring” she said, “in the spring” I agreed.

I rubbed her head just like I used to rub Isaac’s when he was a little baby and fought sleep. We each chose an end of the couch and settled in. As I lay there waiting for sleep to come I prayed for my kids. Prayed that God would heal their broken hearts. Prayed that they would be able to sleep well and not be scared.

I haven’t dreamed about him yet and I wonder why.

I feel like I am desperately trying to recall memories, voices, conversations and I can’t think of anything. Maybe I am still in shock. I am praying they start to come. I am so afraid I am going to forget.

Maybe I shouldn’t say that out loud but it is the truth. People ask about a favorite story or memory of Isaac and I can’t think of something specific. It is like I can’t remember. I feel like the worst mother in the world. Please Lord, help me remember…..

I am sure there are 1000 books on grief, how to walk through it, what is typical etc. I don’t know that any of those would be helpful now. I think they might just make me angry. Instead I am just going to keep walking through each day and write down MY experience. Process the way I am and trust that what I am going through is ok for me. Continuing to ask God to be near because I can’t do this alone.

My friend Rachel took a few pictures at the funeral yesterday….and I am so glad she did. Now I wish there were more honestly, I have been writing so much as a way to process but also because I don’t want to forget.

She snapped this shot of me during one of the songs. It so deeply reflects exactly how I feel. Overwhelmed by sadness but hands open praising the only One who can make any good of this.

People keep saying how strong I am. I am not strong at all. I equally feel like I need to put on a brave face for my remaining kids and want to crawl into my bed and stay there forever alone. I have to fight to find some middle ground.

If you see strength in me at all it is an over pouring of Christ. It is not me but He who lives in me. I am not capable of this on my own.

On the night we heard the news I sent a desperate vox text to my two best friends Gindi and Cathryn. It said Isaac was gone, don’t call, we are on the phone with the detective but please pray. Once we spoke with the detective I called my mom and then I guess at around 11:30 pm I called Gindi.

I don’t remember making that call. She recounted to me that my request was for prayers that this would not destroy our family and my marriage. And then I kept repeating I just need to see Jesus in all this, I just need to see Jesus in all this…

She prayed specifically for those things and I feel like in the last 8 days God has been faithful in that. Today is the first day we don’t have something specifically to do. There are more details that will need to be finalized with his things, but today we can’t really “do” anything.

I think I survived the last 8 days having a purpose in planning his service. Today I must sit with the reality of our new normal and it is uncomfortable.

After our hard, scary years with Isaac I told my friends that I spent this last year with my hands open. So grateful for every moment I didn’t expect, but recognizing that I didn’t have control over any of it. Isaac was always God’s child first. It was easier to say that than actually walk it out….So today, in the hard uncomfortable reality, I sit in my brokenness. Hands open. It is really all I can do.

I just need to see Jesus, I just need to see Jesus…..

Today was the first day that we didn’t have anything to “do.” The visitation and the funeral and done, thankfully the storms that have been swirling all around us stayed at bay and everyone was able to get home safely either last night or this morning.

It is Sunday and while we would normally go to church, we had decided that we probably had a pass and could skip, it was cancelled because of the weather. I couldn’t seem to pick myself up from the couch. I can feel it, the heaviness settling in. The understanding that this, life without my beloved firstborn is my new reality, and I want to get out from under that reality but I can’t.

There are moments that I have energy to do something. I will fold a load of laundry or put something away and then I find myself sitting again. Facebook has been a welcome or maybe better said a bad distraction. I have scrolled through my feed over and over again. I am not sure what I am searching for, most of the time I am not looking at anything…..just mindless scrolling. Anything to occupy my mind. Anything to stop the reality from rushing back in.

He is gone.

In a few short days my kids will have to go back to school. I guess that means that I will have to try and be in a normal routine as well. Part of me is terrified at being anything “normal” because maybe it will mean that I am moving on. And how can we possibly move on from this?

I know we will never be the same. I know that we will have a “new normal” but I am afraid at what that looks like. I don’t want a new normal. I just want my old life back. I just want my son.

This afternoon an old neighbor friend who moved to England last year came down to visit our kids. I had been lying in bed but could hear them outside laughing and playing. This is what it is supposed to sound like. I got up a time later and saw that it was snowing. It was one of those beautiful snows, light and fluffy and covering all the dirty with a blanket of white.

Laughter and beauty, it is present even in the midst of deep sorrow and loss.

I willed myself out of bed and made a sandwich. I have had no appetite but I know that not eating is not going to do me any good. Even the smallest bit of nourishment helps wake me up and bring clarity back to me. I need to remember this every day.

Karlena came and sat down beside me and said that she didn’t know what to do. Her friend was over and they had been playing, but she sat beside me and said she was sad and this was hard.

No truer words have been spoken.

We are sad and this is hard.

We love God, we want to make an impact for His kingdom…but man if there had been any other way….

Well Isaac, we did it.

Each step in this process has been so hard and brought about new waves of grief and tears. Today was no exception. Your dad said it best that there was only one person in the world like you. You were funny and quirky and made us laugh we are so sad that we won’t ever hear your voice again or see your smile.

But Isaac, despite the crummy weather, you were celebrated today. In the last two days so many people came to show us love and support and we are honored and grateful. Your dad and I did our best to share our love for you and even more importantly, the hope we have in Christ.

Isaac I was always so proud to be your mom and until my dying day – that will never change. We mourn because you are gone from our lives now but we cling tight to the promise that this goodbye today is NOT the end.

Son, I have always and will always love you. Mom