the one who stood as best man at our wedding,
this same friend? he has a wife who is beautiful and fabulous
and who i love like a sister
and over the years...
over the miles of separation...
our families have grown.
and we move to a city where we have no roots,
and they come to visit and make this house feel a bit more like home.
and months pass
and they have another sweet baby
bringing our grand combined total to 7,
when she posts a picture of our two who were born third
and he says it again, like he has before...
how each boy looks so much like their daddies dads.
and it's true.
it's written all over their sweet little faces,
the imprints of genes from the men who have come before.
the last time elias was held by his papa,
he was 6 months old.
i have the picture,
but i don't need it...
the image is emblazoned on my heart.
and my son,
the one who looks like his papa,
and carries his papa's name,
buries his face in my neck tonight.
and i feel it,
the grief bubbling up.
the fighting against the coming of the next few days...
it's in the hardest moments, though,
when i look back at that picture,
see his dad's smile captured in the smile of our son
that He gives such comfort.
this season is difficult because suicide is difficult.
because i still can't understand why he hung himself on that tree...
why three of his sons had to find him that way.
and the legacy that he lived to leave could so easily become wrapped up
in a blanket of death.
i look at the smile of my son.
one decision made in a moment clouded and dark
can't extinguish the man that he was.
and that picture that captured the faces of two sweet souls that i love
remind me that there is hope,
even in the moments of grief...
and that someday,
i'll see the fullness of His promise...
You turned my wailing into dancing;
You removed my sackcloth and clothe me with joy.