Sorry for the cussing. Offensive language isn't my typical go-to.
Today is the one year anniversary marking my youngest brother's death. He was 34. Cancer ravaged his body and brought everyone who loved him to their knees. And frankly, today I woke up pissed off.
I know. I know. I can hear my mother's voice in my ear as she admonishes, "Amanda Lynne, we don't talk like that. Where's the soap?"
Sorry mama. It's in the cabinet. I'll grab it later.
Alas. Matthew would have wanted filter-free honesty. Frankly, he always enjoyed when I let a cuss word slip. So here goes.
Not because I'm unaware of my abundant blessings. I AM. Moms and dads and brothers and sisters and nieces and nephews and friends and bonus kids and bonus parents and the list just goes on and on and on. My family is SHOWERED in blessings. Y'all. I know. I stand under the abundant stream of grace and let those tears fall freely. I feel the prayers. I feel the love. I do.
But today still sucks.
I broke down for a moment in front of the gurgling coffee-maker this morning. My husband pulled me into his arms and asked me how I was feeling. Here's what came out. "Damn it." Sniffle and a foot stomp. "I'm tired of writing memorials." He held me tighter, rubbed my back and chuckled with a hint of sadness in his voice. "Yeah, I know. But you're pretty good at it." I huffed and smiled. ( He's good at making me do that. )
He's right, though. I am good at it. Why? Practice. Decades of practice. Not obituaries or formal bits of anythings. Just tributes on social media. Happy Birthday in heaven. Happy Mother's Day/Father's Day/Whatever Day—in heaven.
Am I thankful for heaven? Yes. Of course I am. If you know me, you know my heart. I love Jesus and am profoundly grateful for His sacrifice. Engage me in conversation or allow me to engage you, and I'll share my heart and the miraculous healing Jesus has performed in my life.
But today, I'm giving you the gut-honest top layer of emotion.
I would have rather my parents attended my graduation.
I would have rather my parents met my future husband.
I would have rather gone wedding dress shopping with my mother.
I would have rather my father walked me down the aisle.
I would have rather my parents held our children when they were still wrinkly and red, new to this world.
I would have rather my parents commented on social media about their adorable grandchildren.
I would have rather my parents and my brother come to watch Zachary play football and Mackenzie play volleyball.
I would have rather--
Any and all of it, here with me. With Marshall. With all of us.
Whew! It felt good to just type it.
Today will pass, never to come again, just like that horrible day a year ago passed with the sunrise and sunset of another day. And I will continue to honor my parents, my brother, my grandparents, Diana, and whomever else passes on from this life to the next with words and pictures and heartfelt sentiments.
I will celebrate.
I will hope.
I will never forget.
Today, though, I cling to John 11:35. Jesus wept.
God in the flesh wept angry, troubled, moving tears over this broken world. And so will I.
Amanda Williams is a forty-year old wife and mother of two who can still swing her pony tail and display just a tad of sass. She is also a Jesus loving girl who realizes she is nothing without the One who saved her. Amanda has two degrees specializing in serving students with special needs and is currently working in the field of Leadership Development. She is a Christian author, speaker, blogger, and publisher who loves serving beside her husband at her local place of worship, First Baptist Church of Ocala.