Butterfly Chronicles Volume 46: Sad Week - Soul Weak

Dear Zachery,

Daddy, Madison, and I have been reading a series by Gary Paulsen about a young boy names Francis Tuckett.  It's all about his adventures traveling west on the Oregon Trail.  The series begins with Francis being stolen by Indians and ends several books later when he finally reunites with his family.  In reading the final chapters last night, we peeked into the life of Francis's mother and how she, like an angel, floats into Francis's room night after night after his return, just to find the flesh and blood him there, just to make certain he is really home. Standing over him, she strokes his cheek as his breaths heave and ho - a quiet rhythm of sleeping life under her mother fingers.

Like so many things do these days, the stroke of that cheek flooded my vision and I damned those tears so we could walk to the end of Francis's journey.  Heartbroken and thinking about that mother, I wished for a chance to feel your warm life against my palm on your cheek.  The last time I stroked your hair, your shell poised expertly on a bed of satin, your soul already flown to heaven, resting at the throne.  I long for my heart to be resting too, beside you in the presence of the King.

There are days when I'm so overcome by the truth that you are gone, I closet myself and scream into hands pressed against a face streaming tears.   A heart flu I have, and it aches, fevers, exhausts.  Fuzzy thinking, frozen brain unable to organize or recall or remember.  Confused.  Grief - a phantom I can't capture - hissing a fog - clouding sight and senses.

Life looms ahead, a road traveling to a future I can't see, and I want heaven.  I hear life buzzing around me; I shut it out to save my energy for Michael and the girls; I have only barely enough to walk beside them.  Ten months without you; how many years to go?

 Zach, I don't know how God's plan works out this grief, sadness, depression.  But if I don't have faith that He will, this life means nothing.  I hope God can use us someday - to gift His gospel to a dead soul, to stop a child or person or friend from doing what you did, or just to keep walking until He calls us home.

My heart breaks anew every morning and feeds on His mercies - new every morning too.

Zach, I want to stroke your cheek.  I want you to hold my hand.  I want to hear your laughter, your jokes, your wisdom.  I want to see your dog licking a life filled face.  I want to feel your breath on my neck as we hug goodnight.  God is my stairway to joy; I'm just stuck right now.  It's been a week of calling God, God, because I can't pray.  I love you.  The you part of my heart will never heal.  God send your mercies, new every morning.

We're walking toward you day by day, Zach, to fill the hole you've left behind.

I love you my man-child.

Mom