No one tells you about your first day with life long grief, while everyone else’s life is still moving.
That first sunrise doesn’t feel the same, is it dimmer somehow? Your breath catches in your chest, it aches to even breathe.
No one tells you how heavy it will be.
No one tells you about day one.
How your soul is crushed.
How your heart will actually ache and the phrase, “a broken heart,” actually makes perfect sense.
How you’ll see the one who is missing everywhere. You’ll see their seat at the table. You’ll see clothes in closet, in the laundry, in a drawer. You’ll see them in baby car seats and strollers. You’ll see where they’re missing everywhere.
The days you feel hollow.
The days when you question the goodness of God. The days when you wonder how much broken is enough.
No one tells you about day one.
But no one tells you about one day either.
One day, when you’re reunited.
One day, when the baby you’re missing runs to you, because they may not know your face, but they’re know your voice.
One day, when the loved one, gone too soon, brings you to the throne and you worship together.
One day, when the babies that you never got to hold, teach you how to worship, they way they have been for all the years they’ve been gone.
One day, when all tears are wiped away.
One day, when the ache is gone.
One day, when all is peace and rest.
One day, when the parting comes no more.
One day, when all is healed.
One day, when the grief is gone.
One day, when your faith is made sight.
One day, when you look upon the face of the one who carried your griefs and sorrows, who was wounded for you, who died for you, who rose again for you.
All so you could have a one day.
And so the ones you love could be safe in his arms until you reach that shore.
No one tells you about day one.
But there’s also a one day.
And what a day that will be.
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