Broken Hearts and Butterflies

Just when you think you have a grip on your grief, it jumps out of nowhere and knocks you flat.

I am still in the process of cleaning out our house room by room. 

I haven't stopped since we repainted our son's room four years ago, updating it into a theater room complete with all his favorite movie posters. 

I am pretty sure he would give me a great big smile and the work would be worth it.

I think he would even like the carpet - nice, fluffy, shag, black and white. 

Needless to say, it was a very difficult job.

Somehow, it was the thing I had to do - Just to be able to put one foot in front of the other. 

A reason to continue, even when I saw no good reason to try.
 

As I prepared for the remodeling, I lovingly, heartbreakingly, slowly, 

went through his things deciding where it will go. 

He had many drawings, notes, and songs written down, which I made into scrapbooks. 

Some day I plan on making a quilt out of his favorite shirts.
His blue jeans are being made into knapsacks for the homeless, 

and some we made into patterns, sent overseas for women to sew shoes, which helps them earn money, and to prevent jiggers in their feet. 
 

These charities are the kind that my son Nathanael would have wanted to help. 

His heart was always looking for the needy and he had several plans to work with the homeless.

He was a beautiful soul who loved helping the brokenhearted, because he too, 

knew what it was like to be the outcast. 

Life was always a struggle, never quite fitting in the crowd. 

Many of his disabilities were from birth, some may have been inherited, 

but he was a fighter through and through. 

If he couldn't do things the way they were supposed to be, he would find a better way.
Time and time again, he was finding ways to make it work. 

I remember teaching him how to count and recite the alphabet by bouncing on a jumping ball. 

He learned best by doing. 

If it had wheels or magnets, he would take it apart to see how it goes. 

He could tell you anything you could possibly want to know about reptiles and amphibians. 

As he grew older, he studied car repairs, computer skills, and sound systems. 

He was a very intelligent, ambitious, loving, contagious-ly happy person. 

He was the guy who was quiet until you got to know him.
If you knew him, you loved him, and he would always make you smile. 

You couldn't help but smile, he was forever the one who lit up the room.

So as I am on my path of cleaning closets and reminiscing, 

I have come across yet another box of memories that have been quite forgotten.
It is a box that I have moved several times, for months, 

knowing that something in there will be hard to sort through. 

What? I am not even sure. But I just know.

Well, the other day I got the urge to remove the box, throwing out old catalogs as I go.
There it was.

Songs I had written in much happier days. 

Workbooks from mission trips and youth groups.
Then the next folder threw me off guard. 

It was a play I had written, the plans for paper mache puppets, 

and all the teens' characters and skits with their names written on them, 

including Nathanael and friends.

The one we never got to finish when life became more complicated.

I totally lost it. 

Here was another time we thought we had life all figured out 

and the rug got pulled out from under our feet again. 

Another bittersweet memory. 

Another, I wish it turned out differently.

And I had to leave the room.
 

I can't go down this path... I can't finish this thought... I am not going to let the darkness win another round...I must only choose to remember the good in this... We had many great moments... We enjoyed our time together... Even after the fact,  the kids still are great friends and they have awesome memories from way back.

I am not a failure...

The way things went are not my fault...

I did the best I could with what I had...
These are all the thoughts flooding my mind all at once. 

I cried. I ached. I took a walk, then wiped my tears.

But then, I look up and see a pretty little Monarch butterfly dancing merrily above the tree. 

Round and round it goes, as if it was trying to get my attention and lift my heart to the sky.
I knew that was a gift from heaven just for me. 

It was just enough to hold me close and remind me where I must keep my eyes.
 

Today I can smile with my broken heart, 

 the love of my family 

and the fragile wings of a brand new butterfly.

This is what love looks like on this journey.
Join me as we travel the hard and barren road,
one step at a time.
Waiting for the day we are finally forever reunited
with our loved ones.

Written by: Sue Leerhoff
Brick by Brick