There is typically one day out of my week that I am home by myself. When all the kids go to school and I have the day off work. Today is that day. As I was doing my weekly decluttering and cleaning of my kids’ rooms, I couldn’t stop the tears that have been flowing since yesterday.
Yesterday, at about this time, a friend of mine received the call that no mother ever wants to hear.
Your son has been in an accident and airlifted to the hospital.
At that moment, the world stops. Nothing else matters.
He was on his way to school. And I can’t stop thinking about what the morning before the accident was like. Did he eat his breakfast with his brother and sister like my kids do? Did he leave a mess in his room like mine son does? Did he kiss his mother good-bye or was everyone in a hurry, like my family?
As I cleaned up my boys’ room, I couldn’t help but stop, weep, and pray. I prayed for my boys, thanking God that he has given them life and that I get to keep them here on earth with me. I prayed that they would be safe. I prayed that I would be able to hold onto as many memories as my heart could keep.
I prayed for my friend who has already gone through horrific loss in her family. I prayed that she would take comfort in knowing that her young son, who was taken far too soon from her, is now with his dad, who was taken just 6 years ago. I prayed that she would remember how he smelled, how his voice sounded, and how he held his pencil when he did his homework.
I don’t understand such a horrific loss. I don’t understand how one person can endure such pain. I don’t understand why, out of tragedy, we realize how short our time with our kids is.
I will spend most of my day praying for all 4 of my kids and mourning the time that my friend lost with hers.
I will hold them tight when they get home. I will cherish my time with them and try not to let life get in the way. Time matters. I just wish it wasn’t out of tragedy that I realize it.