When Katie was receiving her proton radiation therapy in Cincinnati, she and Daniel and I spent Monday through Thursday each week at a hotel suite. Chad drove out on Thursdays so Daniel and I could return home. Having just turned four years old, it was a practical decision to take Daniel with us because of childcare logistics, but I am so thankful that we made that choice. After her hour of radiation each day, the three of us would go shopping or visit the zoo or buy ice cream or swim at the pool or play Mario Kart or throw coins in the fountain. She called it, The Suite Life of Daniel and Katie. Sometimes we cooked dinner in the little hotel room kitchen while she did her school work, and sometimes we went out to a restaurant. Each night, after we watched Katie's favorite show (America's Got Talent), the three of us would snuggle into the king size bed together. As I watched him snuggle up next to her, I would pray, "God, please give him an amazing memory. I know he is so young, but somehow let him remember all of this." Nowadays, every once in a while, for no apparent reason, Daniel will say, "Remember when . . . " And God brings back the memories for him. I am so grateful for that.
Memories are incredible. I love memories of past moments and people and events. I love pictures and videos and stories told by others. I love all my memories - especially those of Katie. But I hate that Katie is only a memory now. In this world, she exists only in pictures, in videos, and in the minds of those who remember her. Sometimes, it even feels like she was never here. Like, maybe, she wasn't real. Because I cannot touch her face. Or smell her hair. Or listen to her laugh. She is only a memory. I hate that feeling. So I go up to her closet and open the chest where I have placed her things. Her glasses. Her papers from school. Her awards. Her blanket. The shirt she bought in Hawaii. The lounge pants she wore every day. The hat I placed on her head after I bathed her one last time. It is a chest of memories. And it makes her feel real again. And I want so badly for her to feel real again. Then one day I thought . . . What if . . . what if none of this is real? What if nothing in this world is what we would call "real?" What if one day we realize that this life was just one big, fat memory and that Heaven is what is real? Like really real. I am not trying to be all philosophical or existential here. I am not trying to say that this life isn't important. But, lately, I think a lot more about the next life, and I have come to believe that it will be so much different, so much better, so much like hi definition and surround sound on steroids that we will chuckle at ourselves, saying, "I can't believe I thought that life was good. I can't believe I thought that life was real. All of that is just a memory. Now this. This is real." I know Katie was real, and I love remembering that. And I know Katie is real, and I love thinking about that. I think a lot about what she is doing, how much she loves being with Jesus, and the excitement I feel about being with her. It might seem kind of weird to focus on something we can't touch or see or smell. It might be a completely different perspective. Maybe I am crazy. Or . . . maybe, just maybe, none of this is real. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal. (2 Corinthians 4:18)
8 Comments
Ranee
1/27/2019 03:35:12 pm
💜
Reply
Melody Pourfarhadi
1/27/2019 07:59:51 pm
There nothing as heart breaking as losing a child.. when I lost my son I wanted to die .... I couldn’t imagine life without him... I wasn’t a Christian when I lost my son... but I did believe in a God.. I remember one night crying praying and begging God to please take me I just couldn’t go on any more it hurt to bad.. . and there was this voice I heard or at least I think I heard it.. or maybe I was delirious ... but as plain as day I heard it say I spared you.. you didn’t go through what Mary did.. it shook me to the core.. I knew what I went through was nothing compared to watching your son not only die but die a brutal death...I was spared.. not sure why I shared that but I felt lead too.. I am still anxious to go home and be with Bobby but I realize it not my time .. Jeremiah 29:11 For I know the plans I have for you declares the Lord “ plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. “ The day Bobby was born: Bobby came into this world screaming and fighting.. the doctor looked at me and Moe said this child needs to be named Jeremiah “ Maybe that was my sign for this time in my life.
Reply
Shannon Louk
1/28/2019 09:30:13 am
Thank you for continuing to share your heart.
Reply
Robin Gatens
1/28/2019 10:46:34 am
Bless all your hearts hugs prayers an love
Reply
Kristina Isaacs
2/1/2019 03:26:27 pm
She is only a memory. This hits me hard. I've never lost a child. I'm not even a mom, yet. But I lost my mom 3 weeks after my 14th birthday. February 6th will be 20 years. She got sick when I was 10. It's getting harder and harder to hold onto the memories. I don't have many. It angers me that what is real for me is a life without a mom. Your vulnerability is so inspiring.
Reply
JN
2/3/2019 08:24:44 am
Memories are very powerful. I went to River Ridge for a couple of years and helped in the nursery some. With such a large church she probably didn’t even know my name but I remember Katie clearly because of a simple memory. I remember the enormous smile Daniel had on his face when she would come and get him. He clearly adored her and she clearly adored him. Memories are important to hang on to and even by a stranger...Katie’s heart for her brother is remembered well.
Reply
Sarah Cobb
2/13/2019 12:22:35 pm
Unfortunately, I do not think that is possible with the current blog site/plan we are using. If I find out differently or as I transition to another site/plan, I will be sure to let everyone know. Thank you.
Reply
Leave a Reply. |
Archives
March 2020
Categories |