losing a son

I want to sell Ben's jacket;  his leather one.  It's painful touching it, knowing he wore it.  Too painful to write down.  There are so many pathways to the grief of losing him, and sometimes I'm forced into walking down one of them; like when I look at his stuff.  But I keep rejoicing

But you know, sometimes, while I realize that this can be a healing mechanism, sometimes it's only with my mind I'm rejoicing;  the brokenness of my emotions, my heart, my spirit, my life's drive-wheel, knows no such rejoicing.

In that part of me there is still the savage screaming voice of the embedded grief.  And I don't know how to heal that, except to say to the tortured, suffering Christ "Look on me and have mercy, as you had mercy on the criminal who hung beside you on your cross".

Lord Jesus, live in my heart today.  I discovered after Ben's death it's the only way I can live trimphantly and happily.  The only thing that really enables me to live with the grief and pain is to keep my eyes on the suffering Jesus, knowing he has suffered too, and invite him to my spirit and heart.  He walks with me then, and while the darkest hours, are not kept from me,  I'm sure He knows the ones to stop because He knows when it would be too much - the darkest hours have a light and a peace which co-exists with the sorrow.

The journey of grief is a long one, sometimes traversing through places which I've had to travel over and over.  But it's easier than it was.  I have great expanses of time when I'm fine. 

But I am still sometimes plunged into dark valleys where no sun shines and all I can see is my lovely boy's corpse in it's new coffin.  The myriad distressing circumstances of his death come back to me, and I am assailed again with  grief which breaks afresh on my bowed head.

It's then Jesus, the suffering one, wordless, walks with me.  These episodes always pass and I'm in the sun again.

What helps  is to remember to give thanks for his life - to give thanks for all he was;  the humour, the steadfastness, the love he had for me;  the quirks of personality which made him uniquely him.  It doesn't take the pain away, but it helps to provide a foothold to climb out of the darkness.  Sometimes, the really sad thoughts now act as a sort of warning bell "ding ding.  You're sinking into self pity Suse.  Use the rope of thankfulness to climb out" 

So I'm not denying the grief, or running from it, but I'm not letting it swamp me.  I'm facing it, but in my own time and with much thankfulness.