Monday, March 28, 2011

Through The Fire

On October 23, 2010, our precious son, Jeremy Kirby, was taken. My heart shattered. Soul twisted.  I was  struck completely down, but NOT destroyed. Words aren't adequate to name the depth of incomprehensible horror coupled with inescapable despair that clenched me. At that point my eyes were opened to the harsh reality of what "true" suffering looks like. Previously, my "suffering" (which I consider all now foolishness post October 23rd: ie--financial troubles, relational dynamics, worrying about my kids etc.) do not compare to the gripping grief that now has become a constant journey partner for me.

Puzzle of 7

One of the first times it happened to me, it literally took my breath away. I was awakened by the sweet sound of birds chirping. As I lay there comfortable in my bed I kissed the morning, “Hello,” and swam in a pillow of warm thoughts about what the day might bring. Sunlight pouring in our bedroom window beckoned me to embrace the day. It was a Saturday. And it was going to be a beautiful Saturday, indeed. I contemplated what the Kirbys could do with this day, our Saturday. In my mind I starting making plans. I rolled over and my eyes caught my husband sleeping next to me. Perhaps he and the boys would enjoy fishing on a beautiful morning like this. Straightening the house was at the top of my to do list. Perhaps Chloe would want to be a little helper. We could get the house in order in a few hours and then have a girl day. What to do? We could go visit Momee and Popee. We could go to Queen's Nails for some pampering. We could see what CC was up to today. My thoughts returned to Eddie and the boys potential fishing outing. My mind conjured up an image of them out on the Ocean Springs pier casting their lines and enjoying some Dad time. There stood my beautiful boys: Eddie, lil Eddie, Jeremy, Mosie and Duke. All together, fishing, joking, enjoying each other's company. And in a flash of an instance it all flooded back.