Till We Are Home

June arrived a few days ago. Do you have times during the year, maybe a month that rolls around on the calendar bringing with it a myriad of emotions? June is that month for us. 

My bride and I celebrate in June the day we married. During this month, we also celebrate the day we became parents for our son was born in June. It’s even the first month of summer that brings summer to-do lists, vacations, pool or lake days, and some small things like Sonic drinks, ice cream, and catching fireflies. All of this, and more, are wonderful blessings to rejoice in and celebrate. June used to be a month where we only experienced these joys. 

Then, about ten years into our marriage, it became a month of cancer diagnoses. My wife’s first cancer diagnosis came at a time when our children were little; her second diagnosis came just a couple of years ago…all in the month of June. Then, of course, the worst happened in the middle of June when we lost our precious youngest daughter. 

I think we could move past the tie between June and cancer under normal circumstances. Sure, we’d remember it, but then we’d be thankful that the Lord healed my bride of it both times. We’d think of the sadness of the start of those fights, but then we’d turn and move past it. And, we do even still to a degree. 

However, the experience of losing our child during this month three years ago is not a thing to be moved past.

We are one step closer, yes, and I’m thankful for that. June today, though, is like taking those steps in a deep valley where we experience enveloping darkness, the unsettling shadows of yesterday, and the biting reality of loss. It’s sad, scary, and painful mixed in with some moments of sunshine peering over incredibly tall cliffs. 

I feel like a crazy person.

How could I not, though? There are wild swings of emotions all packed into a 30-day month. And, it’s hard not to let the painful shadow of losing Izzy overwhelm the rest of the days. My mind goes there nearly all the days of this month, with a few breaks for our anniversary and my son’s birthday…but most of the time, I’m lost in my head thinking about that day. 

I think of her last days on this earth. Again, it’s the first month of summer…she was gearing up for all those wonderful things – big and small – that I mentioned above. She loved the break, she loved to play, she loved more time with family and friends, she loved the enjoyment and intentionality her sweet mama put into these days with activities because they worked so hard during the homeschooling year. 

That summer, she was also excited about starting high school the following school year. What dreams awaited her as she thought about those big years of high school, getting her driver’s license and a first job, then one day graduating and finding a school that nurtured her artistic talents…oh what dreams she had!

Then, in a moment…

In a flash…

When no one was expecting it…

All of that was ripped away. On that day, we lost a bright light in our home. My youngest daughter died. (This truth is so strange to me, still.)

I miss her terribly. And, so, the pain of that day, the pain of that loss, sits with me heavier in June. More of my thoughts tend toward those memories. Sadness presses in greater than normal.

Again, I ask, how could it not? 

Maybe, though…

Maybe that’s why God made our Junes this way? Maybe, in His kind providence, He knew we’d need some deep anchors to hold us fast in the middle of terrible darkness we’d later experience. The joys of marriage and parenting, the birth of our firstborn son may be meant to hold us while we remember the great sting of cancer and our worst day ever.

It doesn’t take away the reality of our painful loss. Yet…maybe the Lord kindly drove in these anchors as reminders of His light and warmth. Maybe His help in these ways were meant to give us days to turn our faces upward to smile, even for a moment, when walking through that deep valley. 

I wouldn’t put it past Him to do just that.

Yet, it’s June. Pray for us if you think of the Bishops during these 30 days. We’re in a storm of emotions, both highs and lows. Pray the Lord holds us fast and we remember His nearness is our good. Pray His anchors help and His light brings comfort. Pray that we’ll remember during our walk in this valley that we’re one step closer…

Till we are home…