Eight

Eight years.

So much has happened in eight years.
So much life lived.

I look at my children and see what eight years looks like.
I look at myself in the mirror and there they are etched in winkles and grey hair.

Eight years ago our family lost Jimmy.

For most of those eight years it was my open wound whose pain I could not hide despite my best intentions to do so. It revealed itself in my appearance, demeanor.

Whoever said time heals all wounds is full of shit.
It doesn't.

God's grace does--in the people who love you and see you through, no matter what, even when you don't want to be loved. I'm blessed to have a few of those people in my life. I've not thanked them for who they are to me like I should. They're not seeking it.

We've all had to deal with the impact of Jimmy's life and death in our own way. My sister and my parents have had their own pains to wrestle with and through. Jimmy's wife and son are eight years in living life and seeking to do it well.

And so have any of you who knew him.

Make no mistake about it, the kid left an impression.
Eight years on I'm realizing he still does.


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad