Thank You for the Daffodil

Our daffodils, like myself, are perpetually, historically, notoriously late.  My husband and I planted the bulbs late many years ago, and just figured they'd kind of catch up eventually, but they never really have, so every spring, I admire my neighbor's daffodils and anxiously await the arrival of my own.  This year, only one has bloomed so far.  It bloomed while we were out of town, so at 11:15 pm, after a tiring 6 hour drive home after a funeral in Baton Rouge, I was completely thrilled to see this little ray of sunshine waiting for me, and I squealed "ooo, just for me" as we pulled into the driveway.  It felt like my own sweet little present from the Lord, specially handcrafted and perfectly timed.

It's been a tough week, which is why I've been so silent on the blogfront.  Last Thursday night, I was repeatedly hanging my head over the toilet getting sick with the miserable stomach virus that's going around.  Friday morning, still recovering from last night's date with the toilet, I received a terrible phone call that my husband's 29-year-old cousin had died, and it was likely suicide.  In a family who gets together every Sunday and Wednesday for meals, where the adults help raise each other's children, cousin doesn't really accurately describe the closeness of my husband and his cousin, Nathan, so this news was devastating.  Nathan was the fun guy, everybody's friend, and anyone who knew him loved him.  No family function will be the same again.  Part of me still can't believe this is real, that he won't be greeting us with giant hugs the next time we arrive at maw-maw's house.   

After many, many tears, we began making arrangements to leave town.  At one point, my husband wondered if we really should go, if we might just be in the way, but we also just knew we needed to be with everyone, even if it was just to give hugs and be physically present during what has been the toughest thing his family has been through.  And once we were there, we struggled with what to say, how to act, and even what to pray.  What do you say to the wife who would give anything to take back that last arguement?  What do you say to the parents who wonder if they could have possibly stopped it? 

You say little, give hugs, and pray a lot.  Sometimes outloud, but more often, pray silently.  That's about all we could do.  That and cry with them, and share in their grief.  That's what we learned anyway, that, and we learned that our child is an icebreaker, a mood lifter, and a most excellent distraction from tears.  She's at this great stage between babyhood and toddlerhood that makes her a bright spot in a dim circumstance.  If you're ever in a similar situation (and I hope you won't be), consider bringing your young kids with you.  It seems counter-productive when you think of all the time you'll spend chasing them around, but their fun personalities will do the grieving family a world of good.

None of us could've prevented what happened.  It was a horrible combination of factors that all came together at the most terrible of times, and all any of us can do is pray for comfort, for peace, and for God to be glorified.  We're still praying.         

Nathan and Damian, sweet little boys.