One Month.
One month to absorb the reality that he is never coming back. One month to realize that he will never age beyond the age of 15. One month to grasp that I can never again create another new memory with him: the already-elapsed years of memories, photos, writings, mementos are all I will ever possess.
One month to learn that the human body has the ability to generate a never-ending supply of tears. One month to face that all aspects of my daily life – laughter, distractions, moments of joy, feelings of peace, times of productivity – are now overshadowed by a pervasive sadness and an unnamable disparity resulting from his absence on earth.
One month to discover that my ever-present thoughts of him are too frequently paired with the breath-stealing pain of the most abject sense of loss imaginable.
One month to recognize that the truth of heaven, the love and comfort of friends and family, the knowledge of the end of his suffering, the realization that his life forever changed other lives, the understanding that I will one day see him again…none of it makes me hurt less. None of it makes me miss him less, yearn for him less, wish for him less, cry for him less, grieve for him less.
It does, however, make me very aware of so many blessings. It does, however, make me thankful. For the loving arms of my husband. For the meaningfulness of my career. For my church. For newfound relationships. For my unshakable faith in a good and loving God. For having the years with him that I did.
Just as I could go on endlessly to describe the anguish that now permeates my life, I could go on just as endlessly to name the many blessings that now flood my life from having parented him, from having journeyed through his life, his illness, his death.
The ache and the sorrow are not lessened by the depth of the blessings. The blessings are not lessened by the depth of the loss and the pain.
One month has taught me that they simply co-exist.
Tyler Shane McGinn, I love you and I miss you more than my broken heart could ever convey.