Thirteen months have passed, yet it still seems like yesterday.
Unsuspectingly, I drive by the sight and feel a boulder emerge in my throat. I bite my lip in an effort to hold back the tears. Unsummoned, I feel the tears coming. I look up in my rear-view mirror to catch a glimpse of a tear crawling from under my sunglasses. The tear makes its way down my cheek and rolls onto my jacket.
Another one follows.
I think of that cold, rainy Saturday and what it must have been like for those standing nearby watching and waiting and whimpering. I think of the man who was without a doubt sent by God. To be there in those last moments.
In the midst of grief and sorrow, there was grace and mercy.
I was home on that dreadful day. Going about my business as if nothing had changed. As if it were an ordinary day.
It was anything but ordinary.
The lives of many were changed in an instant. An instant that is still so difficult to consider – even today.
Even today it is difficult for me to grasp the fact that death snuck in. On an ordinary day.
It continues to rear its ugly head daily to those who remember.
In the midst of an ordinary day – the wind blows, a song plays, a memory is recollected – and for a second I stop. I must stop to catch my breath because I am reminded of that day. That ordinary day that I will never forget.
During an ordinary day, it sneaks in.
It happened just yesterday as I walked across a snowy, slushy parking lot.
It snuck in and I remembered.
That memory sparked another memory. And then another.
With clarity, I remember the last conversation that we had. It was unplanned, and sweet, and without a doubt, I know it was God’s provision for one last opportunity to share and remember and laugh and smile. The conversation has played in my head time and time again and I think about all the words I should have said.
Words that can never be said because they are lost forever in death’s grip.
Thirteen months later.
It is still so tough.
Even on ordinary days.