I Just Want To Make It Okay

I find myself layered with grief upon grief this day. These weeks, really. For here we are, right back to the weeks where Allison spent her last days with us, oh the memories, oh the pain of loss. I find myself saying out loud and more often, OH GOD can you just help me to be okay. I want to be okay. He comforts me and lets me know I AM okay, already. Even when I don't feel it, seem paralyzed, feel sick, I AM okay...or as "okay" as I am supposed to be, for now.

I also find myself wanting to help others be "okay"...my heart holds too much this day, this season, this holiday. I wake up from dreams that hold Chrissy, CJ, Scott, Kathy, David, Erin, Lilly, baby Faith, Jessica, Phil, too many faces gone too soon, too many loved ones left behind. Names that could fill a wall and consume a heart. And of course, there's Michael. When I pray about him, my own brother-in-law, lost too soon, gone from our physical grasp, never to hear his voice or jokes again, I DO have that sense of peace, at times. God has promised, through the gift of salvation, that Michael's body is now a new one, the one that Michael really would have loved on this earth! No pain, no fatigue, no cancer, the new body of a man who accepted Christ and the gift of grace under heaven. In doing so, he is free. His spirit soars, as does Chrissy's, and all the names mentioned, and unmentioned. And so it goes for my precious Allison. She, along with the others, are free, free to be. Those of us left behind are the ones with the pain, imperfect bodies, shattered souls, and broken hearts. Why is it, when we know where our loved ones are, we mourn as if this is a terrible thing? Why is that we set the holiday table, minus the place setting of the one gone before us, that we can be brought to our knees? Why is that we long for one more time, even though we know the blessing of passage into eternal peace? We are human, but we still ask WHY? Why do I get a funny feeling deep inside when friends and family talk of their children's plans to come home? Why do I lean toward a bit of angst when people complain about their 20 something year olds or watch others take for granted what is theirs, when in reality, I would most likely be doing the same, had my world not collapsed and shattered into many pieces. Why is that I can feel the burdens of the hearts of friends, family, my own sister and her children, as the "first" holiday season arrives without the physical presence of their loved one? And why is that I cannot promise them that it will get better, that if I am truthful, I would wish for the "first" because that was easier than THIS? Now I know. And knowing is painful. Painful, indeed.

Sure, there will be laughter, there will be joy, there will be new memories. We will all keep keeping on. But in doing so with such a heavy heart, well, it just makes it different. We will stay focused on what a glorious Thanksgiving it must be in heaven, Allison, Michael, reunited with our parents, their souls soaring and infiltrating ours until it is our time for the reunion. We will stay focused on the blessings, and there are so many. We still have each other. We may never do things quite the same, but we are family, and we are here, and we have this moment.

But in spite of it all, I just want to make it okay. Okay for myself, my husband, my daughter, my sister, my nephews, even Michael's siblings. I want to make it okay for the parents who now face that "first" or "second" or "tenth" holiday without their child, for Frank, without Chrissy, for Barb, without her, too, for another Barb, without her sister, Kathy, who she lost to lung cancer this summer, to CJ's mom, dad, sister, to all the all but forgotten siblings who are left alone in families, just to only name a few. My heart is full, most likely because I know what I know. And all I know right now is that I just want to make it okay!

But I am learning that I, alone, cannot do that. I can send the note, drop off the flowers or cookies, or ice-cream, or card. I can feel what I feel, pray and hope and believe that they will be "okay". I can share their journey, but just as I have my own, theirs is theirs to own, as well. I believe it helps to know someone cares. I believe it helps to know someone remembers and will speak our loved ones name. I believe that the little random acts of kindness matter. But I also believe that when we each lay our head down at night, and wrestle with sleep and loss and our own pain, that it is the one true God that will show us the light. I believe that without Him, I would not move, live or breathe. I believe that He holds my child safe and sound, happy and perfect, cancer-free, and that every day is Thanksgiving, a holiday spent in perfect bliss. A holiday spent in heaven.

I just want to make it okay. I seek to find the way. And the only way is through the love of God who holds the key to us all being "okay". Through the tears, the memories, the traditions, the place settings, somehow, we will be "okay".