This weekend, we will officially be moving into the house on your great-gradfather’s farmstead. After moving back to Kansas over a year ago, we will finally be home.
Today, while I was alone at the house, I stood in the kitchen looking out into our living room and just soaked in the stillness. the silence. the solitude. Because I knew that in just a few days, that space will be filled. It will be filled with family, with furniture and with love.
There in the stillness, you found me – like you always do. I caught a glimpse of your bench out the big picture window, and I knew you were calling to me.
As I walked toward the place that we call yours, the brisk wind cut through my flannel shirt and pierced my skin. It was the bitter kind of cold. But I hardley even notice as I knelt by your bench, traced my fingers across your little feet etched in stone and let the sadness soak in.
These momentous and joy-filled life events will always, always be permeated by pain. I could not be more excited for the life that lies ahead for our family on that farm. But your absence is so much more than physical. It has left a void in my heart and an ache in my soul for which there is no remedy. And as I watch your sister grow-up – in that house, in those barns and on that land – I will look to the heavens wishing you were right there beside her.
With tear-stained cheeks, I told you how much I love you. How much I miss you. And for a brief moment, I let myself be angry with God for taking you from me. But in that same instant, I heard these words that were shared at your memorial echo through my soul:
When peace like a river, attendeth my way,
When sorrows like sea billows roll
Whatever my lot, thou hast taught me to say
It is well, it is well, with my soul
This grief is a constant journey, little one. Thank you for walking through it with me.
Miss you most,