Where We Are

Every week I begin with the desire to post another update into our lives, but with each good intention the week fills with work and weariness and - to a degree - the dread of facing my own thoughts and emotions. To look into the wound is to re-live the pain, and while life brings balm and time brings scars to close the wound, sometimes I look away from the wound so that I can attempt to re-enter a rhythmic life.

In my conversations yesterday it came up twice that there is no predictability in the journey of grief. There is no formula, no pattern, no firm way of gauging the process. Some days it's three steps forward and two steps back; some days it's three or four steps back; some days there is no stepping at all.

Marie has a job, a real gift from God. She's been working three weeks now at MEI Middle School as an EA (Educational Assistant). She's working alongside of 5-6 grade seven students who have learning disabilities, and it's been an answer to prayer. Marie wanted to avoid returning to lifeguarding - since it was a dream she wanted to pursue with Josiah - and she understandably was not going to teach First Aid. As a part of her employment, she is taking one night class at CBC and aims to complete her EA Certificate over a period of two years. Her time at MEI has been very rewarding and encouraging, and she's glad to be a part of the faculty and work one on one with students who struggle in school. It's exhausting work - just living right now is fairly draining - yet it takes her out of the house and allows her mind to pay attention to other things.

Fall has begun which means all my ministry involvements at Arnold Community Church have restarted for the season. The last three weeks I have pushed myself into full-time hours, but I am beginning to sense that my body is not quite ready for that as I have been battling a cold (or something) on and off for almost two weeks. Everything takes a little more time now, everything is more exhausting, and the ability to focus well hasn't completely returned, and I'm afraid that my expectations of my current self are they same that I would have held myself to 4 months ago, and course that just won't do for the moment. But I'm grateful for my job and absolutely stunned (in a good way!) for how our youth group has expanded for this year. God is good.

We have gone to Josiah's graveside often, but not for the last couple of weeks. Life has been too busy, but I'm getting the inward sense that Marie and I need to return soon. The graveside marker has not arrived yet, but it should be placed by the end of the month. I have posted pictures below of what we have placed there in memory of our son.

A close-up on the frame that my uncle Ron made for Josiah's collage ...
plus a "Cars" spinner that we would put on his stroller during walks

The tin was given to Josiah by his great-grandmother when he met her for the first time 2 weeks before he died. On the cover we had written messages for Josiah (already washed away mostly) and inside is a BCCH "Superhero" bracelet, a "Mommy's Little Monster" bib and a "Daddy's Little Helper" bib, a trach and a trach tie.

We miss Josiah terribly. It's our cry and whisper as we fall asleep at night, and it's our breaking heart through the day when a fond memory is triggered. Many things - it feels - are fading and being lost to time, even though it's been only two months. His touch, his scent, his sounds, the warmth of his closeness - they are slowly becoming only a memory of a memory.

In a way, it feels as though two and a half years of our lives have been erased. We no longer have our child, we no longer are "doctor and nurse", we no longer have our house filled everyday with 2-3 people who were a part of our caregiving family. Almost every day in those two and a half years revolved around our Josiah from morning to night and sometimes through, and it's been hard to find our footing in this new routine. CS Lewis had some good things to say about that in his Grief Observed, but I'll save that for another day.

A term I've been using a lot as I talk to people is "bittersweet". That is what our lives have become. Maybe over time we will experience more sweetness, but for the moment it's an even fifty-fifty. All our opportunities, all our time together, all our 'freedom' has come at a cost, being seperated for a time from our son. Marie and I find it near impossible to seperate our excursions or new livelihood from the bitterness that comes from be away from our son. We may enjoy the moments that we are given, but the experiences are always tainted by this undesired reality we find ourselves living in.

There is always more that could be said, but I'll call it evening for now. Thanks for your stories of Josiah, thanks for your condolences. Thanks again for all your continued prayers. That is the biggest gift and support you can give Marie and I on our journey.

Grace & Peace.
- Andrew & Marie