Peace

I had an interesting conversation with my kids yesterday morning about something we hadn’t really talked about.

The day their dad died.

The details about the timeline and the experiences I had, had never been shared with them before. I don’t know why…I thought I had. Maybe the time was never right. But it felt right yesterday. So I relayed to them how the day had transpired…how when I walked into the hospital room that night, I remembered thinking So this is how someone looks when they die. How I had held his hand while we waited for the helicopter to arrive. How I kissed him and whispered, “I’ll see you on the other side” before they sedated him. How my dad and I raced to St. Rita’s when we were told the flight had been diverted from its path to Columbus. I told them how the world became fuzzy when the doctor told me he had died, and how I had gone back and seen his body so my mind could wrap around it. I told them about calling their father’s father, and telling them their son had gone..talking to my brother in law Kent, who through tears said something rather profound. How I sat in the waiting room, in shock, with my dad and felt David come and give his last good bye to me. How my mother had felt him come and say farewell to his dearest blessings…his beautiful and long awaited children ( a blessing he believed he may never have). And I told them how I knew love crossed between worlds, and that I felt sure the hardest thing for their dad, was that he could see them, and whisper things in their ears when they dreamed…but could never touch them. How I had gathered each of them in my arms one by one that morning, and tried to explain why their dad wasn’t ever coming home again. And how only Maryn was old enough to really understand and how her only question for me was simple yet profound. “Will he still be my daddy when Jesus comes again?” I whispered that he would be. She wrapped her tiny 5 year old arms around me and whispered back, “Then I will be okay.”

They sat by me on my bed. Their eyes and cheeks wet with tears. I let them ask questions. I let them share feelings. And did not push any thoughts away as silly or needless. If they wanted to say it, it needed to be said and so I permitted it.

And it hit me how death changes how you see things…their view of the world is forever altered. But even more, it struck me how profoundly they had been affected by love. Love is the one thing we share with others that cannot be hindered by whether or not you still dwell in mortality or not. All they really needed was two things. They needed to know that I loved them and that despite the fact they could not see him…so did their father. They needed to know that their Savior and Heavenly Father loved them and that He knew them, their sorrows and their pains, and blessed them with what they needed to handle all He had allowed to come upon them.

And it was thus we ended the discussion, their hands in mine, and everyone was at peace.