I experienced a gorgeous moment of peace last week. I was outside with Bryson, following him as he rode his balance bike. We’d been inside all day, looking out at the dark clouds. When the weather unexpectedly improved, we delayed bedtime to enjoy the sunshine.
Something about getting on his bike floods Bryson with thoughts of Brody. I think because Bryson learned to ride that bike with Brody following along in the stroller. The three of us went to the park together as many days as we could.
Now, Bryson gets on his bike, and before he starts to move, he will stare at the ground as though he’s waiting. “I miss Brody, mama. I didn’t want him to die,” he reminds me.
This evening was no different. Bryson was telling me how he missed his little brother as he biked along.
Then, in a brief moment of silence, I felt the sadness and confusion inside me dissipate and give way to a new feeling of acceptance. I felt as though I could stop looking for Brody – stop desperately trying to get him back. He was gone, and I felt at peace with that for the first time. I knew that I hadn’t and would never lose him completely, and that became comforting and meaningful in a new way.
The moment passed quickly, but it was an encouraging glimpse of what it feels like to heal. Before that, I could only imagine, and the peace in this moment far exceeded my expectations.
Of course, experiencing the contrast also made it all the more clear that I am still in turmoil. I haven’t accepted that Brody is dead, and it is torture to search for one who cannot be found. It hurts my head and my heart.
Just recently I went somewhere I hadn’t been in a long time, not remembering ’til I arrived that I had last been there with Brody. It was such a strange experience. I felt as though my brain was somehow hopeful – as though it was thinking: I haven’t checked here yet! Look for him! Look for him! He could be here!
All I found were memories.
I am thankful for the brief parting of the clouds – the affirmation that the sun will still be warm when I finally see her again. I don’t know how long it will take for the storm to pass and the sun to shine in clear skies. But I know it will.