"Replacing the Nightmares"

I slowly move positions, doing my best to stay quiet. I don’t want to disturb the sleeping. I grip the hand I am holding a little tighter, not wanting to let go for a second as I stretch my legs out from under me. Once the circulation begins and my toes start tingling, I curl them back underneath me. The straight back chair that I am sitting in isn’t comfortable, but I don’t care. I let my thumb gently slide across the top of his hand, as I rest my head on the folded down sheet. From my position, I can see the rise and fall of his chest. The thin blanket covering him, moving ever so slightly to the rhythm of his heart beat. I am tired. My eye lids fight to close. I fight back. Willing them to stay open. I don’t want to leave. I don’t want him to leave. I fix my gaze on his face. So familiar. So handsome. So distant. So different. I look at the clock. It’s midnight. A new day. His favorite day. Sunday. His hand seems to be getting colder. I take it in my own and cover it ever so gently. Attempting to warm it. From the inside out, I too feel numb, ice cold. Though I know my attempt won’t do any good, I continue to hold on. My heart breaks open; shattering into a million pieces as his breathing gets more and more labored. I fight the urge to shake him. I want him to wake up! I want to wake up. I bite my lip hard; inflicting pain, trying my best to escape this nightmare...

and it works.

Shaking, sweating, feeling nauseous. I sit up in bed. It takes a minute for my jumbled mind to clear and for my eyes to adjust to the darkness around me, and then reality hits like a blow. The nightmare is real. December 12, 2010 really did happen. He’s gone. 

I lay back against the pillows; weary. Weary, yet so very thankful. Thankful that as time passes, these nightmares come less and less. Thankful, that through the years, God has been faithful. He has proven Himself to us, over and over again. His Presence has brought peace and His Spirit has brought comfort. Even in the unexpected moments. In the toddler  tantrums. In the questions. In the conversations that catch me completely off guard. In the tears. In the grieving. He has been there.

He is there.

One night a couple of weeks ago, after I laid Titus down for bed, he started crying. Weeping uncontrollably. He rolled over and faced the wall, and the tears continued. They wouldn’t stop. Thinking that he was just upset about having to go to bed, I almost just turned and walked out of the room. However, something in his cry stopped me. It seemed different somehow.  I sat on the edge of his bed for a minute, and then quietly said “Titus, I’m sorry you are so sad.” He rolled over, and through the tears said, “I am sad because I miss my daddy! I want him to come home!” Speechless, I just sat there. My heart aching in my chest. Never did I anticipate this. My three year old, grieving. Longing for a dad he has never known. I laid down beside him. Holding back my own tears as I watched his roll down his cheeks. After a minute or so, he stopped crying and his little voice grew strong as he gently said “God is holding us in His hands. All of us. He holds the whole world in His hands.” Speechless again, I just laid there. A treasured promise, filling my heart: "God is a father to the fatherless."  Soon, my little boy rolled over to face me and gently whispered, “You are special to God, mommy." I smiled, cupped his face, and whispered back "You are special to God, too, Titus." 

Oh, my heart!

Moments like these. They weaken me and strengthen me all at the same time.

How great is our God. 

He comforts. He fathers. He heals. 

And He, in His infinite grace, replaces the nightmares...

with the sweetest of dreams. 

So thankful!