Taking pictures is what I know how to do. It's not as difficult as thinking hard and having to decide what to cook for supper. Or which clothes to put in the washing machine. Or what should I do with Trent's trophies.
Taking pictures again, tho, has proven to be difficult. Difficult because of the guilt. Guilt that I was enjoying something without Trent being here. How could life go on, the grass get green, the family still be a family and have fun and create new memories to take pictures of without Trent here?
How could I be just two months later after the death of my son and live life without him?
Because of four other children who need a mother and need memories. Because God is gracious. Because it is healing. Because God has my day to die planned as well as He had Trent's and it wasn't February 18. Because Trent lived while he was here and taught me how to do it.
Because whether I take pictures or not he is still in heaven. Because there are still a lot of things to take pictures of. Because I want to remember. Because I want them to remember me.
Grief is a balancing act. All those articles and books don't even come close to describing it. Reading through the pages or paragraphs that talk about the 5 steps, or the 7 steps, or the 12 steps don't leave much room for the days you can't figure out which step you are on or if there is even a step for where you are. Some days just staying on top is too much. Which step is it that you just want your son back but you know above all else that God has something better planned and one day He will make it right but today you just can't seem to remember that for all your worth? 
Loving and enjoying Your simple gifts. 
Until You call me home. 
To watch a child is to understand God on a whole different level. Jesus said that unless we had faith like a child's we would not enter heaven. Is salvation really as hard as we want to make it out to be? Is trusting God really that difficult? Did He say it? Then why don't we believe it and simply live like He instructed? Traci shared with me that the day after the accident, when the house was overflowing and the multitude of kids were all enjoying the party, one of her six came and said they couldn't find Trent. She reminded them that Trent had died and was in heaven, remember? Oh that's right, and off they went to play. Total trust. God said it, God did it, keep living, keep laughing, keep believing, keep smiling. Let me sit at your feet and learn of your God little one's. 
Today I am trying to imagine heaven. I can look out my window and see snow on the fields; physical buildings half done and waiting for finishing touches; animals contentedly eating their hay; young boys' bikes waiting to get rode. But I cannot envision heaven. I cannot begin to fathom where Trent is or what he is seeing. This boy whom I lived so intimately with for his whole 12 years I cannot imagine where he is right now. It's a bit different than dropping him off at summer camp for a week, seeing which cabin he is in, meeting his counselor, and watching him head off to the lake to go fishing. That whole week I can envision the wake up bell ringing and sleepy boys pulling their clothes on to hurry to the dining hall for breakfast; chapel time; playing with friends; games and campfires at dusk. 
But how can I begin to imagine what Trent is experiencing, and has experienced, the past several weeks. "Where are you, Trent?", were the first thoughts that ran through my mind when I saw his dead body in the hospital. I knew where he was when he wandered the woods at home in search of pheasants or squirrels. I knew where he was when he went to shovel snow at Russell's house and sat down in Russell's kitchen for coffee and cookies. I knew where he was every morning as I sat in the recliner reading the word of God and he lay in his bed, sleeping safely. I had been where he was. 
But where are you now, my son? What is heaven like? Are you talking with Gideon about the battle's of long ago? Are you discussing ancient weaponry and the might and glory of God to send so many home that the battle would be won with God's strength alone? Are you talking to Enoch or Elijah asking if they are the prophets who will return? Are you asking Paul about the stonings, about the scales, about the shipwreck? Are you worshipping under the alter, asking "How long oh Lord?" Or are you still just standing in awe of the God and Savior that your mother could never have come close to describing to you? One day you were here, the next you were at the throne of God. How I long to know what heaven is like so I may envision where you are. How I long to stand in awe with you, praising the God who gives and takes away. Lord, I need your reality today. Show me, again, yourself. Comfort me with your peace. Send me your words that I count on to endure. 
Scripture is vague on what heaven is like. The apostle Paul said it was indescribable. John tries to use terms that we can understand from an earthly perspective, but even those words fail him to try to describe what he saw. The description of the new heaven is beyond our mind's comprehension to even imagine. The most beautiful place in this fallen world doesn't even come close because it is God himself that makes heaven so indescribable. 
Today I will listen all the more for the trumpet call and watch closer for my Savior to return. When the good works He has prepared for me to do here are done, and when my duties that bring glory to His name are done, I too will know what heaven is like. The earth and everything in it will fade away, but the name of the Lord will endure forever. Lord haste the day when you make all things right for your glory.
Pastor Doug started his sermon at the funeral by saying {in my recollection}: "Funerals are hard. You never know what to say to those left behind. My advice, tho, is that if your cat or your dog just died don't tell Rob and Terri you know what they are going through. You don't know." Of course we all laughed. Of course Doug has been to a few more funerals than I have and knew what was to come in the many days ahead. We are beyond the stage where everybody who sees us hugs us. We are not quite to the stage where most people forgot we ever had a twelve year old son. We are in the stage where nobody knows quite what to say to us (except, of course, those few brave souls who give up their mornings or their childrens lunch time or their ice cream time to ask) so it is easier to not say anything at all lest they have blubbering parents on their hands or we start sputtering about Jesus and salvation and heaven and all that again. So if you chat with me and I don't quite get excited over new faucets or the agony of what color to choose for the third bathroom or the hangnail on your big left toe that has been dangling for a week~ know that I still care, it's just that I am probably trying to process things like which clothes are sentimental to keep and which ones should I donate to Goodwill; what were my last words to my son and what will be my first ones; will that insurance company really cover all the expenses or do we have to dip into our savings or the memorial money that we long to honor God with so the gospel can go forth even more. Somehow priorities have changed a bit for us. Faucets still leak and hangnails still hang, but when your son just entered heaven they don't seem to hold the same weight anymore. Give us time, ask us how we are, we'll try not to get your shoulder too wet and pretty soon we'll care about glossy or satin finish again. Or maybe God will keep eternity very close to our minds and we'll ask you yet again "Where would you be if it had been you that Friday? Are you ready to meet your Creator? Do you know His son Jesus?".
This journey has led me to places I could not fathom going. It has also lead me to knowing and trusting God in a way I could not imagine~ pondering just who God is and why He does what He does; looking at scripture with a whole different meaning; loving the promises with a whole different depth; counting on God to really do what He says He will do, in His time.
Am I willing to let go? 
Can I trust Him and let Him be God with His plans for my life and not my own? 
By His grace I will keep looking up and keep saying yes Lord, your will be done, not mine. Take me where you please because your ways are not my ways and your plans are not my plans. Yours are better, and I surrender all to you.
I wake up everyday and Trent is still in heaven. The various range of emotions go from elation to uncontrollable tears. I hate crying. I don't know why, I just have never been a crier and I don't know how to do it well. Maybe it is the loss of composure or my need for control. Maybe it is because of the facade of my own strength that I don't want revealed. The tears come easier now which "they" tell me is good. I should be crying "they" say. I make people uncomfortable if I don't cry. But I make myself uncomfortable if I do cry. Quit being such a people pleaser, Terri, and be where God has you today, right now. Trent is in heaven, I would not wish him back. But I see him everywhere. I miss him. I long for him. I ache to feel him in my arms. Somehow I have to learn how to live again. The things of this world have failed to bring any charm or joy. Only the things of God hold any hope. To hear the stories of changed lives already brings great joy. The many, many people we have been privileged to share the gospel with gives this a purpose. To think of Trent, free from the bondages of his sin, standing in awe of his savior, looking face to face with his creator makes me smile. This is not about me. But somehow "me" has to live here doing the good works that God has ordained until my day comes to go home.
