Tuesday, March 25, 2008
The view from my window is beautiful: clear, blue skies, trees blooming everywhere, birds chirping away winter's chill. The sun shines brightly & there's not a cloud in the sky. Spring has arrived. There's something in the cool breezes & sun's clear light that calls my heart back to Chapel Hill. Something about it pulls at the deepest parts of me to return - to that place of describing the window's view to a little boy who had yet to experience fresh air, to the familiar ICU walls & medical alarms, to waiting by the cherry blossoms for the shuttle to arrive, to those 5-minute croissant breaks outside in the butterfly garden. To simply being with my son as he experienced each new day. It has caught me off guard & yet is treasured just the same.
Peace has enveloped our home these past several weeks, allowing in the treasured memories of our sweet boy while holding off the deep pain of his absence. We delight in knowing he's whole & complete, free of pain & strain in Jesus' arms. We've passed the deepest depths of grief's pit to start the long climb up again. God continues to show Himself near & faithful.
But there's something about today...something...that just makes my arms ache for my little boy. Something that calls the depths of me to return to that spring in Chapel Hill. I can't quite define it. All I know is that today...I just want to curl up next to Isaac & hold him tight.
At times I feel like the children of C.S. Lewis' "Chronicles of Narnia," having wandered from the wardrobe, filled with memories from the journey there - the friends gained, obstacles conquered, tears shed, & new joys experienced. Our 5ish months in that distant land (or Holland as once we called it) remain vivid in my mind & dear to my heart. There's a sweetness to those days with Isaac in Chapel Hill. Some would ask, "don't you miss home?" To be honest, I really didn't. Our family is our home & as Isaac needed us at UNC, it had become our home. The hours reading him books & holding hands with Isaac would wake us in the morning, while visits with the PICU staff became much like catching up with old friends. And as our journey took us from hospital to house, our feeling of home followed. Amazing...to have our darling in the place we had long prepared for him. Those days were a gift & a blessing.
Then in an instant, that world was to be left behind & the "now" at times showing very little evidence of our time there other than the change in our hearts & souls. Life moves on, passing people on the street who don't even know of this distant land. And yet the littlest thing - a kiss of the breeze on your shoulders, a song's melody, the smell of a child's clothes, the sound of an alarm - & immediately you're transported back to that place forever captured in mind & time. While the wardrobe no longer grants passage to that place, its memory sweet remains.
Spring is in the air. And on its gentle breeze, the daydreams & longings for the most precious little boy. Something...calling me back to that place & time that will forever remain the sweetest in my heart. So for now, I'll cherish these images of my son: his playful hands, his expressions full of personality, the peace of him sleeping & the joy every time he'd wake to look into my eyes. Thank you, great God, for the treasure of them. I wouldn't trade them for anything in the world.