This year was the same with one exception. You see that little girl in the picture? That's Aaron's niece. Her name is Skye. Her daddy Jonny brought her and she's so precious to all of us. On a hard emotional day, that little girl brought joy and laughter - something we were able to receive.
The entire picture was one of the most precious moments at our balloon lift off for me. You see, the taller young lady is my niece, Alicia. When I look at Alicia and her niece Skye's face, as well as their hands, they have just released the balloon. Look at their faces! They have the same expression! Anticipation. How high will the balloon go? How far will it travel? Will we ever see it again? Will it land in someone's yard?
I think a lot of us ask those same questions when someone close to us dies.
How high up is Heaven?
How far away is my loved one?
When I die, will I ever see my loved one again?
If my loved one is lost, will they ever be found?
Some of those questions don't have answers.
Some of those questions can only be answered when we die.
Some of those questions are only answered by a loving God.
Some of those questions may never be answered.
For me, four years after hearing the heart monitor make that monotone sound telling us he was no longer "alive" is still very painful and sad. More than I expected this year. I thought it wasn't going to be as emotional so I wasn't prepared.
It still hit me like a rock. I didn't do much crying but I felt the weight of being with him that day/week. I have the memories of making this t-shirt with the Alateens, being with my family, being with Shawnda, finishing my talk with Aaron by leading him to Christ and baptizing him in in hospital bed. I pinned a small cross and a small angel to his hospital gown. My heart felt so tender when I saw those pinned to his collar at his funeral. Those memories aren't going anywhere. Their planted inside my heart.
And someday, I don't know when, there will be a shift. Two weeks or so before April 16th, I won't be an emotional wreck. The sadness I feel inside won't be so raw - it will still be soft and tender. The anger I feel about huffing won't be rage - it will be compassion like alcoholism, it's an addiction. The numbness I go through will no longer be needed - I'll be able to balance the extreme feelings with forgiveness, mercy and grace.
It won't be perfect. It will be messy. It won't be quick. But it will happen. I know this because of my relationship with God and His relationship with Aaron, which are now, forever more.
