Time is elusive. Time is a thief. Time is slippery. One minute you think you have a handle on it, only to find it has vaporized in your grasp.
The passage of time is tick-tick-ticking away. Your brain gets tricked into thinking it’s been forever. No! Only moments No! Neither is right.
My heart pumps so fast I can feel it all over my body. My abdomen, my neck, my head, my wrist, my teeth, my chest — of course, my chest. It’s scary, and that makes it beat even faster.
Thumping. Thumping. Harder and faster with every breath and then the breaths get faster too. I’m hyperventilating. I know it. But I can’t stop it. It overtakes me.
Take three deep breaths. It’s what the professionals tell you to do. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Slow. Deep. Breaths.
It helps. A little. But along with my heart, my thoughts are racing. I can’t turn off my brain. It keeps me awake. It makes me dizzy thinking so much all the time. I will the thoughts to stop, but they gain traction in my mind. They come so swiftly. The synapses of my brain flashing this way and that. Electrifying. Colorful. Fast. So. Very. Fast.
I believe my body is doing its best to protect me from the horrifying, debilitating thoughts that hover there. Just below the surface. So it fills the space with things to do, words to write, broken things to fix, places to go. People to pray for… yes, that’s a good one. I’ll do that.
Time needs to stop. No! Time needs to rewind. Yes, go back — years, months, days, minutes, seconds.
I need a second chance. A do-over. Could I change the events of the past? I know I can’t, but it doesn’t keep me from wanting to.
If love could have saved my son, he would be alive today. He is so loved. He is so missed.
Five years is a lifetime to live without your child. Yet, the passage of time is nothing. Wasn’t it just yesterday I was holding him in my 17-year-old arms, a newborn — a beautiful and sweet-smelling newborn? Or was it yesterday he welcomed his sister, then a brother, and just yesterday another baby sister into his sacred space of childhood? Or was it yesterday he hit that baseball with the bat? Whack! Oops, broke the neighbor’s window! No, maybe it was yesterday when he was getting his driver’s license and soon after, hitting that car parked in front of our driveway (Don’t worry Stuart, it’s totally illegal for them to park there.) Wait, he was graduating high school yesterday and heading off to college. No, it was just yesterday he got married and headed off to law school. Maybe it was yesterday he became a dad for the first time. And then the second time? Such happy, proud days. Was it yesterday I saw him for the last time? Melted into that hug? Saw that handsome face? Touched that strong hand? Looked into those deep, ocean blue eyes? Smiled back as I took in that gleaming, soulful, beautiful smile? Heard that voice say, “I love you,” and he heard me say it back?
Wasn’t it yesterday?
No! The hands of time have continued to move forward. How can it be? How can the world keep turning; the sun keep providing warmth; The moon continues providing magnificent light; The stars twinkle and sparkle in the night sky— as if our world has not crumbled beneath us?
No. It’s been 5 years. 1,826 days. 43,824 minutes. 2,629,440 seconds. That’s how long it’s been since my son left this earth.
How many breaths have I taken
Time has been spent on my knees, in prayer, pleading for answers. Crying out to the One Who knows. Begging for this to be a nightmare I can wake up from . . . Or maybe never wake at all if this is my reality.
Time has been spent praising God for who He is and His perfect plan. Although, I don’t understand. I can’t comprehend the why’s. Time has been spent accepting my loss and then crying out in agony for the weight of it. So much time, leaning into my Savior. A man of great sorrows. One Who understands.
Five years is an incomprehensible amount of time to be without my son, for my husband to be without his son, for my children to be without their brother, for his nieces and nephews to miss their “Uncle Stuart.” Incomprehensible. Unbelievable. Numbing.
Love and time have a lot in common. They trick us into thinking we can hold them the palm of our hand, but like grains of sand, they blow away — such a fine mist — you don’t even see it happening — until it’s gone.
If love could have saved my son, he would be alive today. He is so loved. He is so missed.
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Five years has hit us hard. Not only us but all who love and miss him. Countless friends have contacted us in recent weeks — missing him, longing for more time, searching for answers that will never come. Longing to turn back the hands of time.
He has made everything beautiful in its time. Also, he has put eternity into man’s heart, yet so that he cannot find out what God has done from the beginning to the end. Ecclesiastes 3:11
I can’t believe it has been 5 years already. I miss him so much. Thank you for sharing.
Owen, so hard to process.
Thank you for this. Your words have helped me in ways that I cannot express. I miss my son, Andrew, more and more and more. It has been 7 1/2 months since he died by suicide. It seems impossible that I am living without him. You have my deepest condolences for your loss of your dear son.
Mary, I am so very sorry for the loss of your son. It is a lonely journey – yet, you are not alone. Feel free to reach out any time.