I thought with my "days go by" title I would actually do some day math. 732 days ago, roughly, was when Heath died. I purposely avoid the old "since he was taken home, etc" because I personally believe he is in a state of rest until judgement day. I don't do the whole "he is looking down on us" or anything like that. I think he is at peace, which is much more than the rest of us with dealing with his passing. I have yet to publish any thoughts, feelings, etc. so here goes.
For the last two years when it got too unbearable to think about his death I would write. The original plan was to write a great christian book about dealing with loss, and be able to retire at 30. I doubt that is going to happen, so for the time being it will stay buried on my hard drive. I have avoided writing on his Facebook page, his memory page, and until this weekend going to his burial site. I took Avery to the batting cages on Friday, which by the way at the age of 5 he hit at least 8 balls at 45 mph. We passed the memorial park that Heath is buried at and I told him that's where we buried him at, and he wanted to go visit. For Avery it was a fun place to walk and put a flower on his uncle's grave; for me it was a nice tree and a bench. The normal grieving process has not worked really well with my dealing with his death.
Every time I hear the "time heals all wounds" I kind of laugh. Time helps for sure, but not heal. It dulls. For months after Heath's death I found my self mad or sad all the time. Now it's just when I see pictures, hear stories, or go certain places. The pictures make me smile for a bit then remember that I can't make any more, when I hear the pictures it reminds me that they are all from when were 20 years or younger and it makes me mad, and when I get up to go to the mall or a movie I think twice because it's depressing going to places and realizing he should be beside me. I get to the point when tears fill my eyes and I just can't cry anymore. I didn't cry a lot before he passed away, but for the next year I cried a lot. I think my mind knows that my heart is wearing my body out by the emotions I am feeling and I just can't break down anymore.
I never thought I would do the angry at God or questioning him, but I did. I wanted answers, I knew I had done nothing to deserve them, but I wanted them. I wanted to know that with all the junk I see on a regular basis, why he had to take my baby brother. I regularly meditate and prayed for my answer...and waited....and waited. I don't think God was being cruel or ignoring me. I think about the time of my ultimate frustration was a year ago. I had been an emotional wreck, as well as the rest of my family, when things just started getting better. Anita found out she was pregnant, then Jill, my mom started Heath's Haven and is helping so many people with her drive that is caused by wanting to make the world better in my brother's memory. I don't think God was ignoring my pain he was just telling me to wait.
Jay and Anita let us borrow a book of names after we had already established David Taylor was it. I very proudly read that taylor meant "fixer of garments"...ouch. Mine means "gift from God" and I am so proud of it. But for me Taylor means so much more than "maker of garments"...it means "wait on the Lord" it means "the Lord is and will always be good" it means "my God knows me" it means "love the family you have and remember the ones you lost"...for me Taylor means "God loves me"
--Be Excellent To Each Other
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