I’m finding myself turning to my journal a lot lately. I suppose its to be expected. Each new season of life brings with it a flurry of emotions and all the feels, good and bad, to process but also document. I think that has been one of the best outcomes from this little journal experiment of mine: documenting all the things. I’m not a very sentimental person, but it is truly lovely to look back over old entries and reminisce about the highs and lows of each moment in time. It is also particularly useful in reminding me of all the ways that God has provided through the most difficult decade of my life.
So, as I wrap up the initial excitement and nerves of sending our big girl off to kindergarten, I’m finding myself needing to write. As I mostly keep myself busy, its not often that I get to really sit in the quiet of these days. Working on house projects, catching up on all the “spring cleaning” and organizing that didn’t happen because of those pesky broken ribs and a newborn, spending more intentional time with the Lord. Busy is my go to. It has worked for so many years. But it also has its disadvantages. Mainly, it becomes a way of coping without processing. So yesterday, as Harry had an unusually fussy day - more cuddles happened in the last 24 hours than I think have happened in the last 5 months - I had time to sit in the “quiet” of comforting a baby. As always happens, the emotions let loose.
George Mason would be 3 and a half right now, and that means he should be starting preschool. There is so much to unpack in that statement. Three and a half. Its really hard to believe. Its also the first “real” milestone that he has missed. It sounds silly to say it like that. There have been 3 birthdays missed. We didn’t get first steps or first words. We missed the special moments of baptism and first Bible stories. But somehow, not being able to take first day of school pictures, or listen to him tell me all about the things he did at school, feels big. And awful. And then, in the very same breath (or lack there of…), I’m almost jealous of that sweet boy in heaven. His eternity started before he really knew the brokenness of this world. He is abiding, quite literally, in the God who formed him and knew Him from the beginning of time. He isn’t experiencing the weird season of pandemic living. He doesn’t have to grow up in a world that is divided among varying world views that clash at every meeting. He will never experience a bully or a booboo. The heartbreak of first love.
I don’t know much about Heaven and what its like to be there while you’re loved ones live out their time on earth. I am torn between wanting my son to know me and watch his siblings grow and cheer them on, and knowing that pain doesn’t exist in Heaven. How does one know someone and not miss them? How does one miss someone without pain? Perhaps George Mason is watching us and delighting in the siblings that God gave him, yet completely absent of the pain of loss. Or perhaps he is blissfully ignorant of the people here that love him and miss him, because he is with his Heavenly Father, praising Him with the angels. Maybe it falls somewhere in the middle.
George Mason will never again experience the pains of living in a broken world. His death at 16 hours of age completed his work for God’s kingdom and now he has been made whole. But his wholeness has left a hole in our hearts and in the dreams we had for our future. I’m thankful that his life is a part of our story and I’m equally sad that there will be no first day of school pictures, along with a slue of other firsts and lasts that make up our lives here on earth.
