A year ago today, we sat beneath a green tent with family in
padded, covered chairs and me in a wheelchair. The tent gave us shade but not a
lot of relief from the July heat in South Georgia. And in front of us was a
casket, beautifully draped with yellow roses, holding the Earthly shell of my
beloved 18-year old daughter.
Since the accident on June 30 that altered the
trajectory of my world, memories, bad dreams, and tormenting thoughts have caused
the tears to flow on a daily basis.
I do not remember birds chirping or the noise of cars
passing by on the nearby highway as I do today sitting at the cemetery. The ground on top of the casket is now covered
with live and dead flowers where grass is beginning to crawl through the dirt
and weeds stretch up around her nameplate. Truthfully, I was probably too
medicated from surgery and my own injuries to absorb all the details of that
day.
I have learned since that time of others’ lives during that
horrid week last year. Many cut vacations short after hearing of the accident,
some left later than planned, some returned early, and some postponed it all
together. Tears were shed by many family
and friends who mourned the loss of Sophia.
Now after wiping away tears each day for a year, maybe I’ll
make it a day without puffy eyes, smeared mascara, and a pounding heart. Maybe
I’ll be able to put in contacts again without fear of them swimming away. Maybe
I can wear something other than tennis shoes with dresses. Maybe I’ll lie down
to sleep without dread. Maybe my nightmares will turn into sweet dreams. Maybe
I’ll wake up and not be in physical pain and can take a step without my ankle hurting.
During the course of this year, however, I have found myself
laughing again. I’ll catch myself singing around the house and in the car once
more. I have improved physically to the point I can work more hours, pull weeds
in the flowerbed and start more projects in the shop.
There is much relief that this year of “firsts” is over.
Yet, it is hard to imagine I will have to do the rest of this Earthly life
without her. Sophia is not going to make a cameo appearance at Christmas or
send me a sweet card at Mother’s Day. Life has changed, and I do not like it. I
want her back, which unfortunately is not an option.
So, I’ll trudge through, trying to take it one day at a
time. And maybe, just maybe, one of these days will be free of tears.
“And God will wipe away every tear from their eyes…”
Revelation 21:4
