I posted on Facebook that I absolutely could put into words my feelings, in regards to the funeral of the father of my four beautiful, brilliant, capable children, but that I wouldn't. I meant that. Some things don't need to be said or written. Some things just need to be felt.
We returned home from Ohio, after what seemed like the quickest, yet somehow slowest, trip of a lifetime.On the way home my sweet George looked up at me and said: "Mommy, I'm still sad."
I responded with the obvious: "Of course you are."
I went on to explain to him how he will always be sad. How some pain just never goes away and during that explanation all I could think was... Some pain wasn't meant to be carried for so long. We lose our parents when we are older, because the pain is so great and the loss is so significant, that it is not intended to be carried by such a tiny heart for such a length of time.
I received many thanks during the funeral, for bringing my children. It was a sweet gesture on the part of the guests, to thank me, but all I could think was... 15 years.
And that's where the words stop.
There are moments where I try to ease the blow. Where I know that God's intentions of placing so many miles between us might reduce the pain for my littles. Where they won't miss waking up to him each and every morning, but then reality hits.
The pain of losing him is about losing him. It's about his absence, not in this house, not in this city, not even in this state. The loss is about the loss of him in it's entirety. The loss of what could've been far more than what was.
Nothing points that out in clearer detail than that of a folder given to you from the United States Army that reads: Essential papers for families
of Fallen Service Members, and school paperwork that requests the name and address of the parents of the child.... and having to write the word: Deceased. (4 times)
It's not about what we took for granted or missed out on. We could have (and often times did during our 15 years) take advantage of every moment together. We could have traveled the world. Never spent one moment apart. It wouldn't matter. The pain felt is not about what was. It is about what will never be.
My children had to return home from their father's funeral on Sunday... and start their first day of school on Monday. It's now Tuesday... and I must return to work.
I will tell you that Ken was buried with honor and that he would be proud of his Army. My children witnessed a beautiful funeral service for the man that gave them life. And I will tell you that I can see the emptiness in them... and it's beyond painful.
All I know to tell them is this:
"Those who die, go no further from us than God...And God is very near."
|Pictures by Julanne Kowalski)|