letter doors

It’s been a regular thing to acknowledge Brandon’s death every time June 26th comes around.  This year I’m trying not to dwell in the past, to forge a different path through the matter that wants so bad to remember.

I can’t be afraid of this moment anymore.

That moment is in the past, years past.  My sister had a moment of her own this morning, where she showed us the pictures of the memories and smiles, where we tasted the joy and the fellowship of heaven.

How long do the pains of the past live inside us?

I’m taking my oldest to baseball practice.  My sister said it’s gone by so fast but it hasn’t.  This frequently spoken-of life-speed seems hard to imagine when you’ve felt every bump, bruise, and turn in the road.

~~~

We’re back from the lesson now.

He’s never been on a team before, and is hoping to play on the high school team next spring. My father-in-law offered to pay for private lessons.  He’s got a neighbor who coaches and does private coaching on the side.

He got hit within the first five minutes.

I saw the pain on his face and the way he folded over. I, momentarily, wanted to be done. Two different times I almost got up to go to him, to say “Are you alright?”, with temporary thoughts of “Was this a mistake?”

The coach stayed calm and I stayed where I was.

~~~

I’m kind of excited to be a baseball mom.

We’ve put off sports and activities for so long, and I wouldn’t change a thing about the way we have done it. My son loves baseball and I want him to have a chance to play, to make the kind of memories high school makes.

I liked the coach. He was super encouraging.

I don’t think you can properly coach without the onslaught and appreciation of encouragement.  Every single “Attaboy.” and “Good.” and “Great job, man.” sends a message to the soul.  It says, “You’re never alone and we can do this together.”

Onslaught: a fierce and destructive attack.

Encouragement is a fierce and destructive attack–against every high and lofty thought, every false narrative you’ve heard or told, every lie you’ve believed about yourself and your life.  Thank you, Lord Jesus, for every moment You give us.

Hang in there, friends.

I love you, Brandon.

 

 

 

 

 

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