Seven Heaven

Seven. 

S e v e n 

S E V E N 

I am at a loss of words and in a slightly numbed emotional state. 

I have been trying to figure out how I will rest in what august seventh means as it becomes the seventh time I have had to rest on this date. 

and resting in itself, on this day, seems like a contradiction because at no point will my mind rest.

Every year it seems so much further away. and daunting. as the emotions start to build and blend together.

I feel like I so desperately need to grasp onto anything that will make me feel as if I am in control, again; I can mourn in the ways I want to. 

But the seventh was a stark reminder that I am never in control, still is. What I am trying to grasp in the grief is temporary and it adds an ice pack to the pain I have felt many years, and I will continue to feel. I am lucky to feel the pain of loss. it means that what I had was worth something, even the pain. 

and maybe that's the issue with my lack of rest on the seventh. 

I fill and I check things off, to try to keep busy--when in fact all I need to really do is rest. 

Rest. 

but what does rest even look like when emotions are at an all time high and I'm trying to be more together than I feel. 

and what happens when the rest never comes, and the thoughts swallow me whole. the what-if's drown me and I sit wondering how it was that I made it past 19. How I got to graduate college. 

I still sometimes wonder, especially when I am dating a new guy, what Catilin would think about him and would she even approve of him. 

or my job, would she be proud of the work I do. 

I sometimes wonder in 20 years, are my kids going to celebrate life on August 7th. Am I still going to be making the 7th a big deal? when do people stop making big deals about loss? 

I struggle most sevenths-its hard when a number represents so much. when you have it tattooed on your wrist and its a daily reminder that even when it's completely dark, things end and complete and move on. Just like the days of the week--all seven of them come and go and that every morning we are allowed another sunrise is a gift.

this side of heaven hurts. there's pain and hurt and sin everywhere. but if you look closer- in the eyes of a kid staring out at the ocean, in the stillness before the sun wakes up, in the laughter of your friends-there is so much joy, and grace, and beauty--only given from the Father.

I am lucky to be here, mourning once again. I am lucky to feel what is real and hard. I am lucky for a Father who cares deeply for my heart and Caitlin's. Who promises that this side of heaven is not the final. Who promises that Caitlin's last day was not her last. How she lives on in each of us, how memories never change.

I look forward to this every year, a day to celebrate the life she was given and the life we are promised. Thank you Jesus, for my best friend. But thank you more that I get to see her again.

The cross was not final, and each seventh leads me closer to heaven. Amen to that.