Month: September 2017

Be Strong & Courageous

LindaLeave a comment

When you see someone you love hurting themselves, what is your natural instinct? It should be to stop them and to show them another way, right? But what do you do when that person won’t stop, when that person won’t change?

Many times John told me that he did not want to do the things he was doing or be the way he was as far as his addiction. He would be broken hearted over the hurt he had brought to his dad and me. He would be broken hearted over the life he was living. Yet time after time he would go to rehab and get clean, only to relapse again.

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On Christ the Solid Rock I Stand

Linda2 Comments

Anyone could understand why my heart would be broken. To have lost my only child? Of course my heart is broken. And I want it to heal, but will it ever be the same?

I have a porcelain bluebird figurine that belonged to my mother. At some point in that figurine’s life it got broken. She’s no longer here to ask about it, but it looks like Momma tried to glue it back together as best she could. But just like with our hearts, once porcelain is broken it’s never put back together exactly the same. Every Spring I pull out that little bluebird to display somewhere on a table in our home, and I am reminded of my mother and how, I am sure, she tried her very best to make that figurine look as though it had never been broken.

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Those Left Behind

Linda2 Comments

I added another name to my calendar yesterday. The calendar I keep to remind myself of the anniversaries of the deaths of people I want to be sure to remember. That makes three additions to that calendar since I added John’s name in January of this year.

Now another family begins the long road of grieving the loss of their precious loved one.

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The Only Recording that Matters

Linda8 Comments

I put John’s death certificate in our safe deposit box last week. As I type this, I once again think—I still can’t believe this has happened. John’s death certificate.

It took several months for us to receive it in the mail. And once we knew it was on its way, every day as the mail would come, it would be the same thing—heart beating a little faster until I saw that it didn’t come that day.

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