Well, we did it. We made it through September. I won’t say it was perfect, or pretty, or somehow magically made our grief less intense or desperate to be on the other side. But we did feel held, loved, and as though we were able to honor Deacon’s 8th birthday and his first heavenly anniversary.
When I would think ahead to the anniversary of his passing, and how we might spend that day, so many ideas ran through my mind. Balloon-releases, painted rocks, gathering at the graveside, etc. Somehow, none of those felt very “Deacon”. We stalled and put off making any concrete plans. Then a friend mentioned just meeting at the land where we are building. Just to be together. And that felt right. So we pulled our grief circle together, admitted we didn’t know how to possibly spend such a day, but that we knew we wanted to do it just has we had the day he passed…together.
The only probably accurate thing I did going into that day was set my expectations low. It was going to be a rough day. My kids would bicker about something random. A plan would fall through. Someone would be unhappy. And none of that would matter. I prepared myself to meet each moment with perspective and calm. And it did seem to help.
We spent the morning just our family together, being rather lazy and slow to get going. We decided to go by his gravesite just our little family. The kids hadn’t seen his finished headstone yet, and it did seem appropriate to stop by on such a day. It went as I expected. Some kids were hot. Others didn’t like bugs. Our newest foster son was clingy and fussy.
But there was good too. We watched the video that played at his funeral. And we laughed about a couple memories. We reminded the kids that this wasn’t fair, that the year they’ve endured was impossibly hard, and how proud we are of them. And even more, we reminded them that he’s not lost with the body buried below his stone. Deacon is in the presence of his Holy Father and that heaven is his home. All of our true home….he just happened to beat us there. A reminder I needed as much as them.
We spent the rest of the afternoon resting and doing our own things. Then, in the evening, we headed to our land. The family and friends who have sat with us in our grief the closest this year began pouring in. And we were so, so loved.
It was just as it should be. Deacon’s dream evening. Perfect weather, kids everywhere, games, four wheelers, and food. Then, just before sunset, we headed to a clearing to write notes on lanterns and send them up into the night. A grasping, inadequate way to attempt to connect to my son, but somehow still comforting and joyous to be a part of.
I still don’t know how you should spend the day your child leaves your arms on earth. But I do know, when I crawled into bed that night, I thought a little less about what we were doing at that time the year before, and a little more how very supported and blessed we are.
This doesn’t close the chapter on our sorrow. I woke up the next day, and he was still gone…my arms were still desperately longing for him. But I can look back on this year and see the markers of God’s faithfulness. I could never have dreamed surviving a year of not having one of my children. I’m certain I would have found that impossible. God’s promises are true though. He does comfort. His hope is real. And now, after surviving all the “firsts” without him, we face all the “seconds”. Knowing our tribe is close, our God is good, and our family is incredibly strong.
“Because maybe 80 years on this earth will feel like 20, and maybe, I’ll blink my eyes and you’ll be back in my arms. For now, I’ll soak every moment in, try hard as I can to spread every ounce of love, try as I can to live for a reason, so that on that day, I’ll run to you and tell you everything I was able to do, not for me. But because of you.” Lexi Behrndt
365 days without you. 365 days closer.
Claassen Clan 