And, like that, our journey of survival began. But, instead of sobbing with each post, as I did, yesterday, I'm able to get through. Not sure why, because, this morning, I'm reminded of the knock at the door at 11 pm.
Of the chaplain standing there and me asking why he was here.
Of screaming at the top of my lungs and being certain I'd never walk again.
Of feeling so shattered, knowing that my life was over.
Of sobbing so hard I had to be reminded to breathe.
Of Stephen and the chaplain going to Josh's house to bring him to be with us.
Of looking at Boo and begging her to make this better.
And, right now, remembering, my living room being so full of friends and family that there was standing room only.
They stayed for days, literally, until my body would allow me to somehow rest. Then they'd sneak out and somehow magically appear as quietly as they slipped out.
Looking back, they must of had assigned late night schedules, because they were always on point, and somehow refreshed, never letting me see their exhaustion.
The family and friends that left important jobs and didn't ask permission, just said I'm leaving, we will be back when they're okay
Those days, are blurs. I don't remember a lot. But the food kept coming to me on paper plates, because they knew food would be the one thing to comfort me somehow, and they'd have to use paper because I hate people in my kitchen.
They'd grab the phone when I couldn't complete a sentence while talking to the highway patrol, and take over. They'd protect me from the details that were allowing any additional breakage of the heart, until I could get through the conversation.
They'd just keep coming, in such numbers that we'd go through a Costco sized package of toilet paper (grieving parents measure things differently, I guess)
We weren't alone for days. They'd meet up in the driveway and somehow figure their reponsibilities for the next shift. And, they'd show up again and again.
We asked for nothing, they just kept handling our needs with no hesitation.
This grieving began, and somehow comes to us in waves. I wish I could say the pain has eased a bit, but honestly, we lost a child, our son lost his sister. That loss doesn't go away. That pain doesn't stop. She was our child, and it isn't supposed to happen. So it still hurts like hell, and every single day we make the decision to get up and be strong, because she was the strongest person I ever met and we all know that she'd be livid to see us crumble.
And back to our people and the thoughts we had of crumbling. They would convince our hearts that we were loved too deeply to crumble.
Those hugs, the words of assurance, the love, it continues, and today we see past the hurt and focus on the blessings that we have.
There is no question as to how we've survived. It's honestly right in front of us. We are blessed by the best of the best being in our lives. We hold onto the strength that is our family and friends. And because we know love can help us survive the unimaginable, we remind each of you that love can indeed make it better, when nothing else will do.
You see, we know it to be true. The whole love makes everything better, even if just a bit. Because, we survived that knock at the door, simply because we are loved.
And for that, we thank those who loved us through. It matters, people! Love with all your hearts. And be kind! And make a difference to someone who's only chance of survival is to be loved through.
And, to my village, I love you back, hard!