Becoming Accustomed

In a few short hours we will reach the two year mark since your passing. It seems hard to believe that it’s been so long. Yet, the more I ponder upon this point the clearer it becomes. Much has happened since your passing with each of us changing in a myriad of different ways. And yet it has seemed as if every moment has been a struggle…like we’ve had to earn each minute of survival. This has brought my mind to the point which I discuss below.

I think in many ways people underestimate the resiliency of the human condition. While it is true that life is a fragile thing that can easily be taken away by damaging the physical body, each of us possess a will to survive that actively propels us onward despite the challenges that could otherwise threaten our survival. I believe it is this instinctual drive toward survival that is ultimately responsible for assisting each of us in becoming accustomed to whatever challenges we encounter. Perhaps a simple example will illustrate.

Many people have reported that the sudden loss of a limb is tragic and devastating. The effects on a person’s life are so far-reaching that these individuals literally have to re-teach themselves how to do almost everything. What once happened easily and without any effort suddenly becomes a constant struggle to accomplish. And yet it is also true that after a period of time (the length of which is usually different for each person), these people reach a certain level of competence in surviving in their new condition…they become accustomed to their new situation. They have learned alternative ways to utilize their reduced capacities to accomplish the same tasks as before.

The best way I can describe my current condition (as well as the condition of our family generally) is to say that we’ve reached some version of this phenomenon. Your death was a sudden blow that took us off-guard and threatened our very survival (both individually and collectively as a familial unit). In the time that ensued thereafter, even the most menial daily tasks took great effort to accomplish. In much the same way that handicapped people have to relearn how to dress themselves without the use of their now-absent arm or leg, we’ve had to relearn how to go about our lives (and all of the daily activities involved therewith) without you by our side. It has been grueling and tiresome. And yet here we are.

Despite this, many people who’ve lost limbs still have quiet moments of reflection that tax them to their core. During these times, the gravity of what has happened to them and the reality of their new conditions press fully upon them and they are seemingly overcome. We have been no different. Even though we have reached some level of competence in surviving since your death, there are still moments when we quietly reflect on the poor state of our condition. While we’ve learned some ways to help us cope that are aiding our survival, our condition can only be described as such: surviving. We are getting by, but certainly not thriving in any meaningful sense of the word.

We still struggle to understand the wisdom of God’s plan. Why is it that some people in such poor health (and seemingly well prepared for death) are allowed to remain on the earth and languish while you (who had a bright future and was just beginning his journey) were taken so soon and quickly from us?

We have faith in our Father’s decisions that has allowed us to press forward with faith, but during our quiet moments of reflection the questions still persist.

So there it is. In many ways we have become accustomed to our new situation. And yet there are times when the full gravity of what has happened sinks in and we are overcome. Thru it all we strive to keep your memory alive and bright in our minds and hearts. We seek to live lives that would make you proud of us and to live worthily of the person we know you are. We have faith in our eventual reunion with you and we have hope that we can live so as to qualify for that blessing.

And every day we love and miss you.

With Love,

Your Father