The rain hangs outside in grayish clouds, drooping and sagging in the sky, threatening to fall at any moment now. The dim colors seep inside and I drag myself through the sallow hues trying to place the odd feeling cloaked around each attempt at productivity. Little gets done.
I sift through my sluggish thoughts and realize today marks the seventeenth month since James left home. Perhaps that is why I meander in slow motion; I am yet handicapped by sorrow’s harness. Silly fool to think some days will not demand I cease routine and allow my mind to simply ponder, relive, remember. He is missed in everything; even the weather joins my grief.
Though I weep far less these days, I recall him still in a hundred different ways. I am surrendering to our new normal, saying aloud that we have four children, pouring my time into the girls, laughing more. I realize how selfish my desires are for him to be here with me. Often I picture James perfectly well and joyful, a sweet companion for my own mom and dad, a peaceful trio, about the Father’s business. And in surprising ways, when I least expect it, I experience true joy again.
I have missed her presence. Joy once was a close companion yet I have heard her footsteps rarely at my path these days. But when she flings the door wide, and saunters in with arms outstretched to mine, I run to her embrace, aware that she brings gifts for all who live with me.
