7:: cussing the calendar

by Matt MooneyOctober 22, 2013

This Sunday the calendar will tell me it has been seven years since I held him.  I will call it a bold-faced liar…a son of a motherless goat…a deceitful devil- cause there is no way that so much life has passed since I gazed in his almond eyes.  And then I’ll feel foolish for cussing at a calendar and I will come to accept that it is not the calendar but me that needs adjustment.  But I am inflexible- always have been; the type that counts the sins of calendars though everyone knows better.  Growing up, it was said of me hundreds of times, “that boy would argue with a fence post” and of course I took exception to this and told them that I would not argue with a fence post.  A calendar, though, that is a different thing altogether.  I will argue with a calendar- come Sunday.

I don’t want it to be seven years.  I don’t want it to be six.  There’s no number that I want it to be that represents how long he has been gone.  Cause Ginny gets sadder as the number gets bigger.  She tells me it can’t be.  And I have nothing to say in reply.  Nothing I can do that makes it better for a mother.  I am honest and therefore I have nothing to say.

Let me tell you early grievers- those new to the club that everyone runs from admittance to:  they’re lying to you.  It does not get better with time.  Cuts get better.  Wounds heal.  But when you lose an arm, it’s sheer foolishness to await the day that it “gets better.”  You simply learn to live with one arm.  When it’s gone it’s not getting better.  You’ll figure out how to tie your shoes and get your coffee.  It will get easier to function as you learn to live with the loss.  Some days you might even forget you only have one arm, but others you’ll hole up in your house and wonder if life is worth living without it.  It’ll seem that everyone else has two and many will stop noticing your loss and that will hurt and you will feel foolish pointing out to them that you lost your arm so you’ll remain quiet because it seems foolish that they would forget.

If there’s an upside to the club- it’s that there’s a club.  You’ll find the others instinctively.  They may have lost legs or toes or something else but they’ll have a wild look in their eye that will mark them as your family.  And then there’s this, all the others will tell you that they could never go through what you did or do what you did or such and such about how your great.  And you’ll know better- most likely they do too.  You will know what they can only wonder.  He is just what He promised.  He is enough.

Come Sunday I will be stumbling to faith, muttering about how He is my portion and He is enough.  Jesus is all that I have and anyway, He is all I ever had.  I can’t tell you with what percentage I’ll be believing that on this sabbath.  I am aiming for sure of what I hope for– how close I get remains to be seen.  It’s a good thing His promises are not contingent on me.

 

Eliot

Eliot, I miss you.  I am so thankful that God gave you to us.  I would willingly take the pain that missing you has brought if that is what knowing you took.  In so many ways, it seems that I am farther from you, but I choose to see that I am also closer to whatever eternity looks like.  

4,251 Comments

  1. Sara F. on October 22, 2013 at 1:52 pm

    It’s been 5 years, 3 months for us (on Thursday)–since we last held our Ezra James. I’ve been following your blog since a month after his death, and am always amazed at how well you put my feelings into words. I pray for a semblance of comfort this weekend, as you face down another year without Eliot. God be with you all.



    • matt mooney on October 22, 2013 at 2:34 pm

      Thank you Sara. As you know, it’s always a battle to not allow the bad to eclipse the good. That’s the challenge, I remembering correctly.



  2. Elizabeth on October 22, 2013 at 6:53 pm

    …and those in “the club” echoed “Amen”.



    • matt mooney on October 28, 2013 at 9:22 am

      we’re always amen-ing or correcting aren’t we 🙂



  3. Kevin on October 23, 2013 at 7:55 am

    I lost my 45 year old wife to cancer in 2001. You have nailed the feelings involved. November 4 will be the 12th anniversary of her death. I have remarried, my kids are grown, God is faithful, but it still hurts and my arm is still missing. Thanks for your honesty.



    • matt mooney on October 28, 2013 at 9:22 am

      Kevin, I am so sorry to hear of your loss and the upcoming date. If my words encouraged you in any small way then I. myself, am greatly encouraged too.



  4. Martha on October 23, 2013 at 5:57 pm

    Eliot’s face is one of my favorite things ever to look at. Love him and y’all with a huge heart.



    • matt mooney on October 28, 2013 at 9:20 am

      sweet martha….us too



  5. Auntie Mip on October 25, 2013 at 2:01 am

    My brother died 44 years ago. I was just three then. He had leukemia. I am now a pediatric oncology nurse. Shortly after I started my career I lost a beautiful boy I had grown quite close to. I asked my mom if what I had been saying about time was true. She squeezed my hand and softly said, “I wondered how long until you asked me that.” She shared that it was not She said it wasn’t possible. She spoke of her faith and the grace that comes from knowing she will see him again. She beautifully described a heart so perfectly designed so as to allow anguish and joy to coexist, that it allowed her to move forward for her three girls. And then she said, “the pain never goes away. It just stops hurting so damn much.”

    I never told a broken parent or loved one that again. But I do tell then about a heart so perfectly made it can hold hurt and happiness. I do tell them this is not the end. And I always tell them how very sorry I am. What more can anyone say at such a life altering loss?

    I am so sorry about your beautiful Elliot. You are closer. And I pray in time it stops hurting so damn much.

    God bless you and your family.



    • matt mooney on October 28, 2013 at 9:21 am

      you have landed on a perfect reply…I love it. thank you for sharing of your loss and learning. I think this will be said from my lips many times…..the wisdom of your mother is evident.



  6. Losing An Arm | Brooklyn's Bridge on October 29, 2013 at 3:05 pm

    […] Matt’s full blog post I referenced: http://theatypicallife.com/blog/uncategorized/7-cussing-the-calendar/ […]



This Sunday the calendar will tell me it has been seven years since I held him.  I will call it a bold-faced liar…a son of a motherless goat…a deceitful devil- cause there is no way that so much life has passed since I gazed in his almond eyes.  And then I’ll feel foolish for cussing at a calendar and I will come to accept that it is not the calendar but me that needs adjustment.  But I am inflexible- always have been; the type that counts the sins of calendars though everyone knows better.  Growing up, it was said of me hundreds of times, “that boy would argue with a fence post” and of course I took exception to this and told them that I would not argue with a fence post.  A calendar, though, that is a different thing altogether.  I will argue with a calendar- come Sunday.

I don’t want it to be seven years.  I don’t want it to be six.  There’s no number that I want it to be that represents how long he has been gone.  Cause Ginny gets sadder as the number gets bigger.  She tells me it can’t be.  And I have nothing to say in reply.  Nothing I can do that makes it better for a mother.  I am honest and therefore I have nothing to say.

Let me tell you early grievers- those new to the club that everyone runs from admittance to:  they’re lying to you.  It does not get better with time.  Cuts get better.  Wounds heal.  But when you lose an arm, it’s sheer foolishness to await the day that it “gets better.”  You simply learn to live with one arm.  When it’s gone it’s not getting better.  You’ll figure out how to tie your shoes and get your coffee.  It will get easier to function as you learn to live with the loss.  Some days you might even forget you only have one arm, but others you’ll hole up in your house and wonder if life is worth living without it.  It’ll seem that everyone else has two and many will stop noticing your loss and that will hurt and you will feel foolish pointing out to them that you lost your arm so you’ll remain quiet because it seems foolish that they would forget.

If there’s an upside to the club- it’s that there’s a club.  You’ll find the others instinctively.  They may have lost legs or toes or something else but they’ll have a wild look in their eye that will mark them as your family.  And then there’s this, all the others will tell you that they could never go through what you did or do what you did or such and such about how your great.  And you’ll know better- most likely they do too.  You will know what they can only wonder.  He is just what He promised.  He is enough.

Come Sunday I will be stumbling to faith, muttering about how He is my portion and He is enough.  Jesus is all that I have and anyway, He is all I ever had.  I can’t tell you with what percentage I’ll be believing that on this sabbath.  I am aiming for sure of what I hope for– how close I get remains to be seen.  It’s a good thing His promises are not contingent on me.

 

Eliot

Eliot, I miss you.  I am so thankful that God gave you to us.  I would willingly take the pain that missing you has brought if that is what knowing you took.  In so many ways, it seems that I am farther from you, but I choose to see that I am also closer to whatever eternity looks like.  

4,251 Comments

  1. Sara F. on October 22, 2013 at 1:52 pm

    It’s been 5 years, 3 months for us (on Thursday)–since we last held our Ezra James. I’ve been following your blog since a month after his death, and am always amazed at how well you put my feelings into words. I pray for a semblance of comfort this weekend, as you face down another year without Eliot. God be with you all.



    • matt mooney on October 22, 2013 at 2:34 pm

      Thank you Sara. As you know, it’s always a battle to not allow the bad to eclipse the good. That’s the challenge, I remembering correctly.



  2. Elizabeth on October 22, 2013 at 6:53 pm

    …and those in “the club” echoed “Amen”.



    • matt mooney on October 28, 2013 at 9:22 am

      we’re always amen-ing or correcting aren’t we 🙂



  3. Kevin on October 23, 2013 at 7:55 am

    I lost my 45 year old wife to cancer in 2001. You have nailed the feelings involved. November 4 will be the 12th anniversary of her death. I have remarried, my kids are grown, God is faithful, but it still hurts and my arm is still missing. Thanks for your honesty.



    • matt mooney on October 28, 2013 at 9:22 am

      Kevin, I am so sorry to hear of your loss and the upcoming date. If my words encouraged you in any small way then I. myself, am greatly encouraged too.



  4. Martha on October 23, 2013 at 5:57 pm

    Eliot’s face is one of my favorite things ever to look at. Love him and y’all with a huge heart.



    • matt mooney on October 28, 2013 at 9:20 am

      sweet martha….us too



  5. Auntie Mip on October 25, 2013 at 2:01 am

    My brother died 44 years ago. I was just three then. He had leukemia. I am now a pediatric oncology nurse. Shortly after I started my career I lost a beautiful boy I had grown quite close to. I asked my mom if what I had been saying about time was true. She squeezed my hand and softly said, “I wondered how long until you asked me that.” She shared that it was not She said it wasn’t possible. She spoke of her faith and the grace that comes from knowing she will see him again. She beautifully described a heart so perfectly designed so as to allow anguish and joy to coexist, that it allowed her to move forward for her three girls. And then she said, “the pain never goes away. It just stops hurting so damn much.”

    I never told a broken parent or loved one that again. But I do tell then about a heart so perfectly made it can hold hurt and happiness. I do tell them this is not the end. And I always tell them how very sorry I am. What more can anyone say at such a life altering loss?

    I am so sorry about your beautiful Elliot. You are closer. And I pray in time it stops hurting so damn much.

    God bless you and your family.



    • matt mooney on October 28, 2013 at 9:21 am

      you have landed on a perfect reply…I love it. thank you for sharing of your loss and learning. I think this will be said from my lips many times…..the wisdom of your mother is evident.



  6. Losing An Arm | Brooklyn's Bridge on October 29, 2013 at 3:05 pm

    […] Matt’s full blog post I referenced: http://theatypicallife.com/blog/uncategorized/7-cussing-the-calendar/ […]