Losing a child is like falling into a fathomless pit, a deep well of sorrow that leaves an enormous void in the center of life. One moment, you are on top of the world, an instant later you are plummeting into the deepest depths of despair. Tumbling like a stone into utter desolation. Where sorrow pours out in a cascade of memories and mixes with the deluge of tears. The pressures are immense, and the solitude is unbearable.
Since my son Brandon’s death in August of 2009, I have been struggling to pull myself out of this dreadful hollow. But, my emotions are so frayed that I can’t seem to get a grip. Sometimes, I can cling to the poignant moments. But then, the gaps in time send me reeling. My heart plummets, and I fall deeper into the depression.
On the surface, those who are closest can sense the enormity of my sorrow. But, they can not reach me. That’s because there is no bottom to the anguish or limits to the pain.
It seems the further I get from that horrific day, the more detached I become. I have few ties to this world, and my faith is in tatters. As time rushes by, I can not discern life’s direction. And the more I struggle to gain perspective, the more difficult it is to grasp.
It is all so far beyond me. And, still I make this stretch:
In the desolate barrens of grief, hope still blooms among the emotional crags and withered expectations. It is rooted in faith, and thrives amidst the yearnings and inpatients. Although it looms beyond my grasp, it reaches into the heavens, stemming from the assurance of death, and unfolding through the promise of incarnation.
John French 2011Tags: anger, Depression, guilt, signs and connections