It is the third anniversary of Mack’s death. He died in a helicopter as they were trying to save his life from the fast moving blood infection while getting him to another hospital a two hour drive away. I have never been able to thank the crew in person, but I know they did everything they could and that our loss was their loss and that it shook them as well.
But today is just like every other day.
In the last two weeks my colleague’s husband finally lost his battle with illness, my friend’s father was overcome by cancer, and a good friend and colleague was struck down unexpectedly. Statistics tell us that the holiday season sees no more deaths than any other time of the year, we just feel them more acutely. But I don’t think so. July feels like December to me.
Today is just like every other day.
I won’t cry more today than I do any other day. I mean I might, just because we will be talking more and sharing more about Mack and I will be missing his big toothy grin, his mischevious nature, and general silliness. But I miss that every day. E and I talk a 2.2 mile walk every night. For the first 16 months or so we cried for a large portion of every walk. Now we talk about a broader range of topics, but we still take that time alone together to talk about Mack, feel our loss, and hold hands as we cry, just a little bit. Or sometimes a lot.
But we have great joy too. We have been so very blessed in the love for Mack that so many have shared, the outward and visible sign being the fund in his honor, but it is around us all the time in prayers and love. We are doubly blessed in our daughter, who thrives and flourishes in a way that is almost breathtaking (but not taking so much of my breath that I will not talk for ages to you about her beauty and talent). And we are blessed with one another and a community that continues to hold us up and strengthen us.
And this is why today is just like every other day. Mack is not with us in body, but we celebrate the resurrection and the knowledge that we will be with him again. We rejoice in our daughter and one another, even as we hold hands and tear up, just a little bit. Today is different in that so many of you have taken the time to send us a note, come to visit, or say prayers for us and for Mack. But it is different only in that it is visible, since I know that you continue to do that for us, every day.
Each day is different in that each day a new loved one, someone’s loved one, has arrived and left. We must always remember them in the sorrow and their joy. Today we remember and celebrate Mack, but please join me in also remembering Alan, John, and David as well as their families and loved ones.
May light perpetual shine upon them all.