The days of our lives keep turning like pages in a book in what seems like fast forward and slow motion at the same time. Our current life story feels empty. The pages blank. There's highs and lows in every chapter but the hope of a happy ending feels too far out of reach. Julian has been left out of the last six months of our story and it often feels we are living a Shakespearean tragedy. I've been quiet here on social media and this quote kinda sums it all up: "I wanted to write down exactly what I felt but somehow the paper stayed empty and I could not have described it any better.”

 

Six months ago today started on such a high note. I was in what I considered my happy place, escaping a week of Colorado winter, in the sun and on the beach. But the day ended with a hole in my heart. A literal burning heart. I thought for sure I was having a heart attack. When I think of that day, the events that surrounded it, the things Noy had to endure alone, the phone calls, the screams, the burning inside my chest returns. Never as bad as those first few weeks but it's still there. And as uncomfortable as it is, I hope it never goes away because the hole Julian left won't ever go away.

 

Grief for us at six months isn't much different than it was in the beginning. Life is busy in the summer, which keeps us distracted and living but the quiet times bring random anxiety about everything and nothing, restlessness, and a heaviness about all that was lost...the summer memories that we should be making, the family vacations, Julian starting 10th grade, eventually taking Julian's senior photos...SO SO much lost.

 

The grief still catches us off guard. The other day the tears came out of nowhere while I was preparing to leave for a shoot. Maybe it was knowing that we were hitting the 6th month milestone, maybe it was the upcoming start of school or that Bella leaves for college next week and the house is about to get uncomfortably quiet again. Maybe no reason at all. Just that I miss my son.

 

Yesterday I visited Julian's grave. I told him how I was feeling and reminded him the void he's left. I apologized again for whatever part I played in driving him to such an end. I can't help but wonder if it was something I said or didn't say over the years to make him think he couldn't face another day. Is God disciplining me by taking my son? But sitting there on his grave, the grass nearly covering it all now, God reminded me that Julian's life and death was ultimately between Julian and God. Noy and I were blessed to be his parents for 15 years but he was God's child first. God determined long before we even knew about Julian the day of his birth and the day of his death.

 

WE have the story that happens to "other people." The story no one wants to be their's. The story that people try to hide from the public view. But we don't want to hide any of it. I share so that other's can walk beside us, so that there doesn't have to be awkward conversations, so that just maybe others don't feel quite so alone in their own sad story.

Julian's earthly story is complete but his ever after story is the one that really matters. And truthfully, my story, Noy's story, your story, isn't really our own story anyway. Our lives are just chapters in God's bigger story. One that He's not done writing. Right now it seems like every single page left to be written will be filled with all-consuming sorrow of missing my son. But even in deep despair I can take comfort in knowing that in every hard, traumatic chapter of my life, God's grace is weaving together a beautiful ending. Like the back of a tapestry in progress, the story is ugly and pieces of it seem chaotic and left undone to my eye but Jesus told his disciples, “you do not realize now what I am doing, but later you will understand.” I'm holding out for that "later."

 

And just like God used tragedy and suffering in the lives of Esther, Job, Moses, Joseph, Paul, and every other character in the Bible, I know that God will use our hard, traumatic story to ultimately point to His goodness and His sovereignty because that is what He promised.

 

I've mentioned before that the boys and I started every drive to school with "happiness begins with gratitude" and listing what we were grateful for that day. This school year, I'll honor Julian by continuing to do that with Wesley. Today, I am thankful that God's promises mean so much more to me now than they did six months ago. Specifically His most beautiful promise that "all things work together for good to those that love Him."

 

His providence truly is the softest pillow, the lullaby that sings us to sleep, and the chirping bird that brings a morning song. I have so much more to learn on this grief journey but through it all, I'm learning to kiss the waves that throw me against the Rock of Ages and trusting that His ending to my story will be far better than any happily ever after I could dream up.

 

xo

Dawn