Van Gogh

 If you had asked me before, what surviving the sudden death of my son would be like, I would have described it in the most desolate and obliterating terms. Surely, my will to live would sink into the earth to rest beside him. How could it be otherwise? 

Would it surprise you to hear that it has been strangely, terribly beautiful? 

The days immediately after Jonah’s death were unlike any I have ever experienced. Truly, I was in shock. He was 25. Perfectly healthy. Strong. Bursting with life. And then…gone? An unexplainable burst of electricity, igniting his neurons as he slept, and then…gone? I had fallen asleep and woken up on a completely different planet altogether. Otherworldly. 

I found myself detaching and kind of sitting outside myself in curiosity and disbelief. The very worst thing had happened. It HAPPENED. And I was there, in the room, but somehow listening to peacefully to music from another room. More than that, actually. 

I felt the Holy Spirit actually talking to me.

Answering questions I wasn’t even asking, wise and revelatory at once. 

I felt deep and literal physical comforting occurring.

From an unexpected shot of spiritual “morphine” that would leave my body relaxed and peaceful, even at a moment of almost unbearable pain, to the sensation of being held by ephemeral arms. 

I had visions. 

Unexpected and unlooked for, paradigm altering scenes would unspool before me and gradually recede, leaving gratitude and longing for all that I cannot see yet in their wake.

I was communing with the Father, Son and Holy Spirit in a way I couldn’t even believe. Just floating and listening and held. My tiny mind started to stretch and think about time and the universal dimension of life and death in completely new terms. I was able to catch the merest glimpse behind the curtain of a wonderful, shimmering, tinkling celebration I could have scarcely imagined. It is all SO MUCH BIGGER than we think. 

I have always had the gift of faith, but during this time, when I needed it most, God instilled a sense of deep knowing.

I know Jonah was not afraid. 

I know he is alive. 

I know he is with the Living One. 

I know he is still with me. 

I know he will be the first one to meet me when my time comes.

I know death is nothing to fear. 

And, most gratifying - that in the end, death will be utterly swallowed up.

Now, I am not saying losing my child is not piercingly painful. I am not saying there aren’t days where all I can do is cry. I am not saying there aren’t days I cannot get out of bed. I am not saying the stress hasn’t taking huge toll on my body. But, instead of being thrown into utter, inky black despair, I found it to be more like Van Gogh’s Starry Night. A sky comprised of the darkest indigo, but also swirling variations of blue and unexpected, brilliant bursts of light. 

It is a dark garden. As my eyes adjust to the fragrant dusk, I begin to see the luminescence within the living things around me that daylight usually obscures.

Unimaginably,

the comfort and beauty have been in proportion to the magnitude of the loss.

6 On this mountain the Lord Almighty will prepare a feast of rich food for all peoples, a banquet of aged wine -   the best of meats and the finest of wines.

7 On this mountain He will destroy the shroud that enfolds all peoples, the sheet that covers all nations; He will swallow up death forever.

8 The Sovereign Lord will wipe away the tears from all faces; He will remove His People's disgrace from the earth. The Lord has spoken.

   

9 In that day they will say, "Surely this is our God; we trusted in Him, and he saved us. 

This is the Lord, we trusted in Him; let us rejoice and be glad in His salvation."

Isaiah 25: 6-9