I looked through those pictures each day. Studied them. Closed my eyes and tried to remember all the details of each moment. I zoomed up on Drew. His hands--to remind me what they looked like. Searched his neck for the scar I knew was there from the catheter they used to collect his stem cells. I looked at his fluffy hair just starting to really come back, the shape of his eyebrows and ears. Trying to bring him back to life, if only in my mind's eye...
I sat here last week, wishing I could have him back, even just for a day. Wishing I could jump back there to that week in Disney, that somehow I could just live in that week together with my family of four until its all over...
The trip came to an end, two years ago. And little did we know how soon Drew's life would come to its end too. When we boarded the plane to Minnesota, he only had 10 days left. Ten days. Within 6 days he'd have one lung filled with cancer and fluid, and in the other, a chest tube placed to buy us a few more days.
Reflecting now this week on those last few days with him, as we watched him labor in the process of being born into eternity, it's a different hurt. I don't long to live in that week. It was a week so awful in so many ways, that we were all ready for him to go, so it would end.
Thank God Drew's not in that week anymore. Thanks be to Jesus, that he probably hasn't even thought about it again as he's overwhelmed by the joy and peace in Heaven.
Last year at this time I wrote kind of a recap of the first year, took stock of where I was at. Where am I this year? How have I, has the grief, changed?
I don't look in the backseat for him--and haven't for a while. Never do I wake up and think I hear him crying in the night like I did during the early months of that first year. No longer do I fold laundry and notice how much less there is without him. I used to walk by a little boy clothes section, or see listings on Facebook for boy clothes, and know just what size he "would have" been in, but not anymore. It's hard to admit, but I don't watch videos to hear his voice as often as I once did.
I'm not missing him in the same ways I did a year ago, but he is missed this second year in different ways. As time has gone by, it breaks my heart to say his physical presence is missed less and less, but what is increasingly noticed is his absence. Does that make sense?
This Christmas I helped Molly set out her milk and cookies for Santa. The next morning I watched her run down the stairs to see the gifts he left her, alone. I could hardly hold back the tears...
When I make a meal, and somehow I seem to always have 4 servings, one left over, I wince a little bit. When I'm oblivious to boy things now, because I only have a girl, I grieve. My heart longs to know what the heck the deal is with Fortnight and whatever else young boys are into that I'll never know...
When I catch myself getting too obsessed with Molly, because I have no one else to distract my attention, I am reminded how much easier I felt it got after I had two.
I miss watching him grow, seeing what he'd be doing. I just wish I had gotten the chance to continue to get to know him, as I've continue to know Molly. Molly is so much like her Dad--some days its scary! Would Drew have continued to be more like me? How would Molly and Drew's relationship have grown? Would they be best friends now?
I don't seem to remember what it was like to have a two year old at my feet, changing diapers or putting on his shoes for him as vividly--my heart isn't hurting for those things as much these days. But what it IS hurting for right now, what I find myself grieving this year more, is what could have been. What we lost on January 19th, besides our precious Drew. Am I making sense?
I've been thinking a lot this week about our lives as a story, written by the hand of God. Each chapter with a purpose, a contribution to the story as a whole. He authors the plot of our lives to culminate in the happy ending He paid so dearly for us to have, which is the reason for our Hope, for our joy, in the difficult chapters. This story will end with, "And they lived happily ever after...", we are promised that. Praise God.
The Becker book certainly has many highs and lows that many of you have already witnessed. But for us to get to that happily-ever-after part, I've realized we have to keep turning the page! It may seem too obvious, too simple. But this week I think that's what God is trying to tell me, the "Aha! Moment" I had. You have to keep turning the page.
We have to consciously decide to advance the story, choose to begin new chapters. We can't just live in one chapter (like I thought I wanted to last week as I relived the Disney World chapter) and wait for the end. We have to keep starting new chapters so that one day, we will get to the ending. And we just might be surprised--there are some good chapters in between.
Last year, our first without Drew, I'd say we figured out how to manage our grief and still enjoy life. This year, I'd say we built from that and not only enjoyed our life while managing our grief, but turned another page, literally.
In 2018 we left the home we shared with Drew, the city where I'd spent my whole adult life, and started a new adventure, a new chapter of our lives.
Warrior Wagons' story is unfolding too. Drew's little red wagons will now be rolling through a new city, a new hospital in addition to Mayo. In a place Drew never was, with nurses and doctors that never met him. Yet, they will gain from his life too. It is such a triumph to make this jump--to move this little project of ours forward into new places. I am eagerly anticipating the first Warrior Wagon to be given out in Minneapolis, and I'm sure will write more about how much that means to us. How exciting this new chapter will be for Warrior Wagons!
Just like a book, these new chapters bring with them things from the ones that proceeded them. They are built on them. They couldn't stand alone, and wouldn't make sense by themselves. The past is as important to the story as the present, and is never forgotten or unimportant. The chapters with Drew, the ones that take place in my Minnesota town of Austin, are not insignificant now. They are important to the Becker story, and all worked together as we keep advancing towards that happy ending we long for. What a comfort that is on days I fear we've moved on, forgotten.
We remember you, Drew.
This Saturday, January 19th, and on every other day of the year. How that looks will continue to change, but we know you will always be a part of who we are, of our story. You are with us each day as you smile at us from so many walls. Each hour we spend working on Warrior Wagons, I feel you with us. When Molly brings home a drawing of our family with you still in it, or better yet, I note just for you, saying, "you are the best brother in the world", I know you see it and smile.
And each night when we end our prayer by asking God to, "say Hi to Drew for us"--I believe He does, and you hear our hello.
We are beginning new chapters. Not forgetting the previous ones, but taking them with us, building from them. We will keep turning the pages, Drewy. So that we get to the glorious ending of our story that we look forward to with all our hearts--when we get to be together again. Row by row, page by page, we are getting closer to you ❤
