Preparation

I chose a gravesite for my son today.  It is on a hill overlooking miles and miles of open fields as far as the eye can see. In its midst, a large American Flag calls out the patriotic sacrifice of the soldiers there, while Mount Hood in the distance serves as a symbol of both beauty and strength.  In this small community cemetery, there are no sounds of cars to break the stillness, no buildings to distort the view, no endless rows of others' memories to get lost in--only silence to bridge the divide between what is and what might have been.  Love makes this silence deafening and brings me to my knees under the surprising weight of grief as I walk to the place where Jordan will lie.

I sit for a while and try to listen--to see if I can hear Jordan's approval of this place.  I know Jordan has moved on and this ground is for me--to sit with, and talk with, and pray with my son.  I feel him pulling me forward and bearing me up and I know that while time will mix these moments with joys yet to come, nothing will fully dissipate the sadness of this loss.  That is the price of love, and it is a price I am grateful to pay.

Hand in hand, Heidi and I discuss the gratitude we feel for our journey together and our hope for many tomorrows.  We feel the full reality of what had been only a future shadow, and decide that when our time comes, we want to rest near our only child who will not have a family of his own.  Today, however, there is little time to rest, so we push forward.