It's abrupt and people often aren't quite sure how to respond. But I haven't found a more subtle way to share what is true about this precious little boy we were blessed with for such a short time.
It's four years ago today that our youngest grandchild went to see Jesus face to face. His name was Tyler and he still lives very close to our hearts. Since that awful day when God suddenly took him up to his new heavenly home, I'm confident that the little guy's been happy and whole, finally able to freely shout with joy, powerful little legs finally allowing him to run and jump and play in the celestial city with his great-grandpa who died just two months before him.
If you didn't know Tyler, his short story is here. If he was still with us, he would have boarded a yellow school bus last week to start kindergarten. I bet he would have loved being with all the kids, relished the activity, been the leader of the pack.
My tears brim yet again.
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I'd like to think that five short weeks ago, an angel or some celestial being corralled Tyler and his great-grandpa and directed them to head over to heaven's gate right before his mama's cousin Jessica suddenly came to join them. She adored them both and I'm positive that all three of them were overjoyed at their family reunion.
Jessica sketched this picture of Tyler after his death. I'm thinking of them together with my Dad who prayed faithfully for them when he was on earth. Maybe they're soaking up the sun around the crystal sea ... or found a good spot together before the throne. Dad always did love to get the best seats in the house for those he loved.
I've recently been wondering if Dad was surprised that a great-grandson and a granddaughter came to join him so soon ... or if somehow he knew they'd arrive before their time and had been lending a hand in preparing a place for them.
Or was he too caught up in the unspeakable magnificence of singing praises with the heavenly host, his vibrant tenor voice worshiping Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.
I guess we'll never know for sure 'til we get there. I can't help but think that by then, we won't care much about the details. For we'll be so taken up in joining in the indescribably holy, joyful chorus of adoration to the Lamb who was slain.
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I find incredible comfort and solace in that reality.
It gives me that peace that passes understanding.
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I don't believe that we were designed to lose those in the generations that follow us while we're still alive. It goes against the rhythm of life as we know it. It's a horribly surreal and hugely out of kilter experience to bury someone far before their time. It's a unique grief that's excruciating to experience, mind-blowing to sift through, impossible to put into words.
But I know for sure that Jesus weeps with us. That the Spirit holds us tight when the tears come, when things absolutely don't make sense, when the bottom seems to fall out of our world.
When we all get to heaven,
what a day of rejoicing that will be!
When we all see Jesus
we'll sing and shout the victory.
Eliza Hewitt
we'll sing and shout the victory.
Eliza Hewitt
1889
Linda
P.S.
I've found incredible comfort in sharing my grief stories in recent years. I want the people I love to be remembered and valued. Knowing that you're not alone in grief is a huge gift we give each other as we do community together.
