Being Carried

We finally arrived at my mom's.  What a relief it was to be in her embrace.  I don't remember what she said as she held me.  It was enough to have her strong arms around me.  I don't think we ever stop needing our mothers.  I still have my mom, for which I so thankful.  Her faith and strength is such a powerful witness and encouragement to me.  And if I ever needed it, I needed it then.

Focusing on conversations was beginning to become difficult for me.  My mind was everywhere and I felt like I was in a daze.   I remember many times staring at people as they were talking  to me and suddenly thinking that I  had no idea what they were saying, yet not remembering very clearly what I had been thinking about.  I think that sometimes, God in His grace and mercy takes us to that "place" to help us survive. 

I wanted to see my son so badly.  I believe his body was transported to Kennett from somewhere in St. Louis the next day.  I needed to touch his face, hold it in my hands one more time, kiss him, and take my thumb and rub the bridge of his nose ever so gently like I did when he was young. (It always seemed to comfort him and help him fall sleep.)  I wanted to tell him one more time how very much I loved him.  Whenever George and I ended a conversation, I always said to him, "You know where you are, right?"  And he would answer, "Yes momma, I'm in your heart."  I needed to tell him that one more time.  And I needed to see for myself that this person they said was dead, was, in fact, my son.

George's wife and I had planned on going together to see him.  However, she received a call from the funeral home advising against it.  They had seen some terrible accident victims but this was by far the worst.  They said that we did not want to see him that way and further indicated that if we did choose to view his body, we would only be able to see his face and we would have to sign a form releasing them from the responsibility of any physical or emotional problems that may result from seeing him.  So we had a decision to make.  And it was difficult - until I remembered my prayer... honor George.  I knew that George would not want us to see him that way.  I knew that he would want us to remember him as healthy and whole with that handsome smile on his face. So we decided against it.   

Because of the condition of George's body, they were not going to be able to embalm him, thus he would need to be cremated.  However, I found out from his wife that a few weeks before George had told her that if anything ever happened to him, he wanted to be cremated.    I could hardly bear the thought.  This burden I was carrying was simply too much.  The pain was excruciating.   

How could I possibly bear this?  The only answer I have is that I was being carried through this fiery trial in the arms of Jesus.  He was giving me strength to do the things that needed to be done by day and he was holding me close as I sobbed in my bed behind closed doors at night.  

My husband was with me, and was a comfort during that time as he made sure things were alright with the children back in California and he allowed me to literally hit him as I sobbed uncontrollably.  My mom held me in her strong arms from time to time.  But the strongest arms were those of my Lord.  And what happened in the days ahead was truly amazing to others and to me.

If you have lost a loved one, whether it is a child, parent, grandparent, spouse, close friend, please don't remember the sad times with them.  Remember those happy times - the times when you were laughing and smiling together.  That is what they would want you to remember.  And consider letting the "lover of our soul" help carry you through your journey.   Always remember, there is

Sunshine After the Storm
Blessings,
Betsy

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George and Me at His High School Graduation 1999