This coming week is always a difficult one. Every year like clockwork it comes. August ninth then August eleventh. Both days, so close together.
I was sitting here watching television, the Irishman listening to music in the other room. I hear it, I mute my television, it’s Eric Clapton, Tears in Heaven.
The song he wrote after his son died, the first time I listened to the lyrics it literally took my breath. He sang everything I have thought since losing Michael.
Would you know my name, would you take my hand, would it be the same. I think those thoughts and to this day I miss him so much. His birthday is August 9, 1984, he was beautiful and perfect.
His short life was filled with laughter and love, 12 weeks was just not enough time. I look forward to the day I get to see him again. I hope he knows me, I hope he takes my hand and that it will be the same.
August 11, 2003 is when my mom went home. The event was a mixture of loss, sadness and joy. Yes, joy, my mother longed to be with my dad. He was the love of her life, since she was five years old. She had missed him for 10 years before joining him. The last few of those years was spent with Alzheimer’s robing her of her memories.
She told me once she wanted to go home, I knew what she meant. I said you will, she looked at me with the saddest expression. She said I don’t know, they tell me I do things when I’m not in my right mind. I said it’s ok, God knows who you are and know Jesus is in your heart and soul. He’s ok with you in either mind. She smiled brightly and said alright then and we continued our conversation.
I asked her what she thought she would do first when she would finally get to go home. She said she imagined she’d have her meeting at the throne of God, then she would give her daddy-o a big hug.
I always imagine her doing just that, what a joyous day for her, getting to go home and be with the loves of her life. Jesus and my dad.
It doesn’t mean I miss her less, it just means I’m good with her no longer being in pain from her broken heart.