I know you’re good. You’re perfect. You’ve always been good and perfect.
Even in your brokenness, you were sparkling perfection.
Now there is nothing broken.
Because I can’t for the life of me get used to being without you. I’m going to heal. I’m working on it. It’s really hard work and I know you get it. I’m trying son, I am.
I’m healing with cracks and scars, smudges and stains, and I wouldn’t want it any other way. I was changed by you in life, and I’m being changed by death. I hope that the changes bring more beauty and more strength into this life that is mine. I hope the scars remind me of this war, this battle for hope, one fought with weak determination.
There is no eraser. There is no way to clean up the current mess of this masterpiece called my life. I’m not pulling the eraser out. I’m leaving the marks, the beautiful strokes of light and life and the dark smudges and smears of pain and sorrow. It’s all me. I hope with all my heart that the darkness will one day allow the light and life to stand out in beautiful contrast on this canvas called “me”.
I know you’re good and perfect.
I know the veil that separates us is thinner than it seems. Some days I feel the air blow through and the light seep in, and I feel hopeful and alive. And other days I just cannot see. It’s dark and muddled, and the distance feels so very deep.
Merry Christmas, sweet son of my love. Sweet beautiful miracle that changed my life. Your gift this year is a mother who is fighting hard to live. A mother who is painting in huge sloppy strokes of happiness and pain, joy and sorrow, deep love and the deepest ache a human soul can know. I hope you like what you see. I hope I’m painting it brightly enough, boldly enough, wildly enough for you to see.
But it won’t be done in time for Christmas.
I’m still working on it.