Sarah's Inscriptions

October 14, 2020 - Two Months  "Was she afraid?" That question has weighed heavy on my heart for the last two months, and I could never bring myself to speak it to anyone, so instead I thought I would write it for all of you.  It is a question that will continue to haunt me, because I simply will never know the answer to it, but is one that will hopefully lighten the more I acknowledge it's there. Part of me thinks that she was, or at the very least was uncomfortable, and when you're uncomfortable for unknown reasons, that can definitely spark fear.  Mom had called multiple people that fateful night two months ago, myself included, and I can't help but think that I could have eased her fear a little by simply answering the phone.  I have to remind myself that there is no way I could have known she was calling - my sound was off and I was asleep - but that fact does nothing to lessen my guilt. I do know that I couldn't have saved her, even the professionals cou...

September 14, 2020 - One month. It's been a month.  Four entire weeks.  Thirty days and countless hours since the worst day of my life.  I remember it all too well.  I think those memories will be branded in my mind forever, but they're the last ones I want to keep. It doesn't help that every day since has practically been a blur.  Nothing seems to make sense.  Most things are quiet - the house creaks and the crickets chirp and stupid nuts from that dumb tree hit the roof - those things are loud.  But the every day sounds of life seem to have stilled.  The house just doesn't feel... alive.  And I know it's because you're no longer in it. The same could be said for my life too, I think - it's still.  It's quiet and it's empty without you, while many annoying, unimportant, and rather negative things are all too loud: your bed is forever made, and your clothes forever unworn.  Your car is abandoned in the garage.  Was I a terrible...

 September 3, 2020:  Almost three whole weeks. Yesterday I got out my stack of holiday cards to try and find your handwriting.  It was quite a stack if I'm being honest.  Most people, though we may not admit it, probably just throw theirs away.  I know a couple years ago I went through my own hoard of things, which explains why yesterday I only had two cards with your handwriting inside: one from you, Jeremy and Heather, the other one you signed for grandma.  You did that all the time, sign cards for her; I wonder who will do that small task now that you're gone?  I'll just add that question to my ever-growing list.   It stung though, realizing I really only kept one card of yours.  One piece of evidence that expressed your love for me.  I know I don't need the proof, but back when I cleaned everything out I thought I would have you longer.  Much much much longer.  I still think that I will, if I'm being honest, which I'm ...

August 20, 2020:  One week after our last conversation. Do you think we can be angry when we get to heaven?  Can we enter the gates and ask "why am I here?"  Can we tell God that our earthly work wasn't done?  That our children still needed us?  That our mothers depended on us?  Do we feel anger in heaven?  Frustration?  Sadness? I doubt it.  I don't know why, but I do.  I imagine earth-side mom saying all of these things - through cancer, surgery, hardship, general obstacles - but for some reason I can only imagine heaven-side mom feeling peace. To be honest, I envy her that.  I want to feel peace.  I don't want to carry around this burdening weight of sadness for another day, but I know it will linger for a long time.  Similarly though, I'm glad it's here.  If I felt absolute peace right now, I wouldn't have loved her enough in life to miss her in death. But the thing is, I miss her immensely.  Too much, almost...