There is a time for mourning

Since it happened, I haven't been able to write, not even in my journal. Every time I sit down to write about it, my mind either goes blank or I can't stop the tears from flowing. Writing about things usually helps me process, but this time I don't want to process it. When people ask "how are you doing?" I shrug my shoulders or do my best to finish the conversation as quickly as possible. My brother died, and I watched it happen; there was nothing we could do to save him. I watched as his little body went limp and his eyes closed and the heart monitor went flat with a question mark. He didn't have a heart beat anymore; no pulse. I was surrounded by my two younger sisters and my parents. It was immediate - we knew he was gone and there was nothing more that could be done. That hurts.

The doctors said when he was born that he wouldn't live past 2 or 3 days; that his little body just couldn't support life outside of the womb. He lived to be 14 years old. Even now as I write that, I know it's a miracle; but he's not here now. Part of me wonders: he lived all that time and beat all the odds, but for what? Now he's gone. The part of me that mourns my brothers death says that it's not fair and it doesn't make sense! Why did we have to fall in love with this perfect and flawed child, and then have him snatched away right in front of us? 

But there's another part of me; the part that knows God is good. The part that knows that there were lessons in life I may have never learned if it weren't for Jonathan's perfectly flawed presence on this earth. I would never have learned what true unconditional, sacrificial love looked like: helping give to and take care of a little person who can give nothing in return. I would never have learned real patience, perseverance, what real strength looks like, and how close he made our family. He truly was a miracle and fixed many broken pieces inside of us.

When I watched him fade away in the hospital, and in that moment that he was finally gone, I felt an emptiness. It wasn't the same emptiness I felt several times upon hearing the loss of a friend or when I heard of the passing of my Great Aunt. It hurt every time, but this time was different. It was a deeper emptiness; something inside of me felt missing, like I was broken.

My brother just died. I know he's in heaven, and he's happy and laughing and running and talking. There's no greater joy than knowing that he finally feels no pain and he knows things maybe I'll never know until I've passed from this life as well. However, there is a storm raging under the surface, and sometimes it peaks itself out at random moments.

I can write about it now, though. It's been 2 weeks today since it happened. He's gone, and yet he's healed and perfect and whole. I can rest in knowing he is safe in the arms of his loving Savior. We can't be with him here, but one day we will all be united again at the celestial gates. I know for now, in this life I live, I will live and love with great joy. With every breath I breathe I will thank God, because this body is not mine; I am only renting space here for however long I am able. 

“Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of his faithful servants.” -Psalm 116:15