Sinking?

It's six months today since Kol died.  It seems like yesterday.  It seems like a lifetime.

It's been a long time since we've written anything on the blog.  I know there are still some who check here daily for updates, and I'm sorry it's been so long.  It's been hard to know what to write.  It's hard to know how open to be.  I don't want to risk being judged.  I want to be honest.  I don't want to be negative.  I can't be honest without being negative.  While there are so many things that I feel I need to share, I haven't even really felt capable of writing lately.  The thought of writing made me feel tired, overwhelmed, and confused.

At Bible Study this week, we talked about Peter walking on the water.  When he was focusing on Christ, outside of himself, he was able to do something amazing - he walked on the water.  As soon as he looked away and saw the wind and the choppy water around him, he started to fall.  Fear took over.  His trust disappeared, and he started sinking.  He couldn't get back to the surface, and didn't know what to do to get back up.

During most of the last 6 months, I've felt like I imagine Peter did when he was sinking.  I think our whole family has been feeling like that.  We've been lost, sinking under the grief from Kol's death.  I don't mean that we've lost faith, although Kol's death has certainly inspired us to re-examine what we believe, and why.  I do mean that we've been surrounded by the reminders that what we believed to be a safe, secure existence has no guarantees; that the future we expect to have can be taken in an instant, and we can fall from that safe place, to chaos without notice.  We don't know how to get back up to that safe place without calling to God for help, and yet we also know that He never promised us a pain-free life.  We feel Kolbjorn's absence so strongly.  It doesn't seem fair.  We miss him.  He should still be here, telling me all about the book he's reading, or explaining the purpose of all the little parts on the latest Lego creation he was building.  He should be here.

I wonder how Kol would have changed in the last 6 months.  Would he still do the blender dance, or would he have a new dance? What new songs would he have made up on his iPod?  What games would he like to play now?  What books would he be interested in now?  What new ways would he have devised to get out of distasteful things?  What else would he be interested in? Would he have grown taller? What kind of medical or neurological problems would we be facing?  There are no answers to these questions, and that fact leaves me with a longing for the empty, Kolbjorn sized hole in my heart to be filled.  The knowledge that it can never be filled again causes my heart to break just a little bit more.

The emotions come in waves - some days are easier than others.  Even on the good days, though, I often just want to hide.  There are days when I'm just angry, days when I'm numb, and days when it seems I can't stop crying.  I do believe that someday, the ache will just be a part of me - that I'll be able to look at that hole, and accept that it's part of who I am.  I can't do that yet.

Thank-you for continuing to check on the blog, for continuing to pray, for continuing to stand by us.   Thank-you for the unexpected flowers.  It's good to know we're not alone.