Last night we sat with our kids and remembered the day, being woken in the middle of the night with news that seemed impossible, incomprehensible, news that caused the blood to rush out of us, breath to leave us. He was gone. Our brother, friend and uncle was gone. We talked about where we were, what we felt, and what the days following this great tragedy felt like.
Grief is a strange thing. Some days you carry it with great intensity, like a mountain climber’s pack after a full day of hiking, undeniable, weighty, impacting every fiber of your being. Some days it surrounds you like the wind, sweeping its way off the tumbling waves of the ocean to brush against your face. It’s there, it’s real, and it reminds you that there is more to life than death. That death is not the end. That He who is greater than the mountains and more powerful than the waves is there, waiting, watching, and loving.
This day grief stands before us. Three years of missing Derek. Three years of wondering why, when there are no answers. And today the wind blows on my face yet again, and He reminds me that this is not the end of the story.