Faithful Paradox

We took our younger two sons for an overnight stay in Denver last week. We tried to find some fun with them, saying “yes” as often as we could. We rode scooters through the city streets, swam, ate delicious food, shopped, and spent some time at a driving range. It was sweet to be together. As far as my boys understood, it was a day of delight.

For both my husband and me, however, it was a day of pushing down the grief that kept bubbling up; trying to engage the joy of the moment despite the memories that kept screaming for attention. Keeping our minds focused on the present rather than remembering the past felt like a discipline of the will. There was a battle for joy in the moment.

When Ezra was sick, in many ways Denver became a city of refuge; an oasis in the desert of cancer. Ezra was in-patient at Children’s Hospital (90 minutes from our home) for 10 of the 14 months he battled for his life. There were times we needed an escape from the sterile walls of treatments and policies and ignored the hospital rule which required Ezra to remain on campus. We would sneak away to a coffee or bagel shop, pretending for a moment that life was normal. We spent countless hours walking and driving the city streets, trying to see beyond the moment and escape the shadow of sickness that constantly pursued him.

Before we lost Ezra, an overnight with my boys was sheer delight. Joy felt effortless in those days. While there were certainly the brotherly squabbles and personality clashes that arise within any family system, experiencing the joy of the moment did not require intention or discipline. The experiences were not clouded with memories or loss; with longing and sorrow. Happiness felt uncomplicated. There was a time when delight was not tethered to sadness.

I am realizing something I took for granted before losing Ezra is the reality that joyful moments could exist without grief. It was not a discipline to enjoy the good gifts God had given. I did not have to shove down the sadness or battle with memories that kept bubbling up. I could simply enjoy each moment for what it was. Now, I find with most joyful moments, grief comes alongside. Delight is often coupled with sadness. It’s rare when there is a moment of pure happiness in which grief does not also remind me of what has been lost; what will never be.

There are many things we all take for granted; some we know and some we do not realize. One thing I never considered, something I took for granted, were joyful moments that did not co-exist with grief. There were times of happiness which did not require the discipline of engaging the moment. Pockets of delight and pleasure that were not chained to grief and loss. I never considered the gift it was to laugh without also having to stave off sorrow.

I suppose that’s the reality of both maturity and hindsight; we can see clearly the things we once took for granted. We begin to recognize more and more the extravagance of the gifts God has given; things we did not understand at the moment. The older I get, the more I recognize “every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights” (James 1:17).

I came home from our time away in Denver feeling emotionally spent. Not because it was hard being with our boys. Not because I was disappointed in any way about the time we had. I was spent because the time demanded so much emotional energy. It felt like every corner we turned held a memory; a reminder of what was lost. I had to remind both my mind and heart over and over that I needed to remain present and actively engaged with the kids I still get to mother. This is a piece of loss I didn’t understand. There was a time I took joy for granted; it was not a discipline. We are close to four years past losing Ezra and this is still the reality. I did not realize the emotional energy it takes to engage joyful moments after you’ve tasted loss.

It was a gift to have years where joy did not have sorrow living by its side; where happy moments were simple. It’s also a gift to still have so many good gifts, despite the grief that often accompanies those times. I don’t know what I would do differently had I known I was taking these things for granted. I hope it would have caused me to thank God all the more for the good gifts he gives so generously; gratitude for the gift of joy without sorrow. I know now, despite the sorrow that walks with me, gratitude also comes more quickly as I recognize the brevity and passing nature of these precious times. In this, I can be thankful for the sorrow; it serves as a reminder of God’s good gifts.