Today is the first day of December.
The holiday month, the jingle bells and mistletoe and carols and manger scene month.
It’s also…that month.
In the weeks after Robb died, I would go to the living room and lie down on the couch. Where I’d sob and cry out, “I want my son. I want my son!”
Almost 7 years have passed. And my heart still cries out with the same desire…
I want my son.
I want to answer the phone and hear his voice.
I want to come home to a voice mail from Robb.
I want to get a text from him, teasing me about–anything!
I want to watch TBDBITL without tears in my eyes, not feeling that all-too-familiar piercing stab of pain to my heart. And especially when I see a trombone.
I want to celebrate a Buckeye win by answering a ringing phone, and it’s Robb.
I want to visit Denver, knowing I’ll be seeing all of my sweet family, not the “bandaged” one that it is now–the gaping hole in the family portrait, the empty place at the table.
I want to have our family Christmas Eve service, like we used to.
I want to listen to Robb share about where his heart is, what he’s feeling and thinking and desiring.
I want to give him presents that make my heart smile and his eyes twinkle.
I want to watch him interact with his sons, making them laugh and giggle and laugh some more.
I wish the month of December would be jingle bells and mistletoe and carols and manger scenes.
But it won’t be quite like that for us, ever again.
Will we know joy?
Of course we will.
Will we find love and happiness in being a bandaged together family?
Will we always know the meaning and true depth of this month is not about us at all, really? But instead, is the amazing gift of a Savior for the world?
We dare not forget that. Especially since that Baby’s birth made the resurrection–seeing Robb again!–possible!
I cling to that hope with every ounce of my being.
But there’s a sadness. An underlying loss that clings to every single day of this month.
You see…I want my son.