October 12th, a day indelibly etched into the fabric of my life, marks the passage of four years since we lost our precious Jimmy. An inexplicable paradox, it feels like yesterday πππ a lifetime ago all at the same time.
This path, I have discovered, is not linear. It twists and turns, often leading me back before propelling me forward. In the past four years, I have traversed a landscape of profound grief and unexpected beauty, finding moments of joy amid lingering seasons of sorrow.
Jimmyβs loss was seismic, the void he left, vast and impossible to quantify. In those early days (actually, for years, it seemed) every moment was a struggle simply to breathe, to move, to continue, to survive. Thinking back now, and taking stock of all that has comprised the last four years, I marvel, not only that I made it, but that I made it intact, emerging joyful, full of hope, and in love with life.
I am not brave, by the way; I am carried. I am not strong; I am bolstered. Many times, I lost my equilibrium on the tightrope suspended between grief and gratitude, but God was present in calamity, unveiling for me the hidden joy of a sorrowful season.
Aware that it is always better to light a candle than to curse the dark, I learned to embrace the life I have while mourning the one I do not. We donβt always get choices, after all. Sometimes the only choice we get is how we respond to the things we would never choose. So, I chose. I shook hands with grief, made peace with lament, and begged them both to be gentle.
Choosing joy is now a conscious act, a rebellion against the sadness that once consumed me. It is not a denial of my grief, but a choice to live a life worthy of both my Savior and the only boy I ever loved. My search for joy is not a replacement for the love I lost but a celebration of the life I have been given.
Mary Oliver famously said, βTell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?β
Well, Iβll tell you what πΌβπ going to doβI am going to wring every bit of joy and purpose there is to be had in what is left of mine. I am going to hunt for wonder like hidden treasure, and I am going to empty myself out to the dregs for Jesus and others.
I am going to do all the things I did when Jimmy was here. I am going to dance and twirl and giggle and love. I am going to picnic in the park. I am going to swim in the ocean. I am going to clap my hands over fireflies and ladybugs. I am going to show up for every possible meteor shower. I am going to pay attention to clouds and marvel at sunsets. I am going to wish for bear sightings. I am going to notice the surprising artistry displayed in glistening, dew-covered webs. I am going to pet every dog I see, and delight in the deliciousness that is puppy breath. I am going to sing and read and dream and create.
I am going to help myself to the joy that abounds under the care of the One to whom I am eternally bound. He loved me first. He loves me still.
I wonβt forget my Jimmy. Ever. I will simply take him with me. He is as present in his absence, today, as he was four years ago. The passage of time has done nothing to diminish the love. I will love Jimmy Carroll until I see him again. But in the meantime, in the words of Louis Tomlinson, βI will be living one life for the two of us.β
The future, for so long unwelcome and unimaginable, now brims with hope, and beckons me onward. God didnβt take away my sorrow, He just diluted it with His joy. So, I choose it again and again. I didnβt get the life I expected, no, but what Iβve ended up with is more than worth my gratitude and participation.
So, I surrender to what I did not choose, and embrace what lies ahead. I close out this bittersweet day with cherished memories, and with a renewed gratitude for love that transcends, mercy that endures, and purpose that prevails.
Lord, You may help Yourself to my life.
“I believe that the highest, purest happiness is known only to those who have learned Christ in sick-rooms, in poverty, in racking suspense and anxiety, amid hardships, and at the open grave.”
~ π¬ππππππππ π·πππππππ