Brace for the impact

Some days are harder than others. I tap out at any given time, knowing the rest of the day will not bring anything productive. I wish I could see that time coming, like bracing for impact. If I could, I would rush through everything right away in the morning, knowing that if those tasks wait, they will be incomplete. I'm not too fond of unfinished tasks, they make my anxiety feel like I'm on a rollercoaster, and I don't particularly enjoy rollercoasters. If only my eyes could always be open looking at the future, anticipating the flaws but still enjoying myself.

I've been brought back to the night before Archer's passing multiple times. I have a video of him that shatters my heart and terrorizes my mental state. At 2156 on January 6th, he was lying in his hospital bed, lights off, while I was reading my kindle. Waving his arm in the air back and forth, saying "Yes me are." Archer always said me instead of I, and I never corrected him. I loved his vocabulary just the way it was. It's a short video, and I don't know why I was compelled to record him doing this. Perhaps I was pushed to do it, knowing this was the last thing I would ever hear come out of his sweet little face. I watched in amusement as he did this, not knowing I was recording him. I was giggling to myself. He always had conversations with himself, including conversations made into a song while sitting on the toilet. I watch the video and cry; then, I attempt to change my thought process to a moment of serenity. I believe Archer was talking to God, telling him that he was ready.

If you knew Archer, he didn't have fear for much. He could be talked into anything by his sisters, and his curiosity got him in trouble more than once. Archer was like a telescope, always searching for something to magnify to enhance his understanding. There was nothing that got past him. Was this small but monumental moment in time his way of telling me too not to be afraid? Was he showing me the strength that would be necessary to endure? I think so.

Another note about this cherished clip was that pure darkness surrounded us. All you can see in the video is a glimpse of light shining through the curtain from the hallway and the illuminated lights from his bed controls, which he thoroughly enjoyed pushing. He often pushed the nurse call button just for a nurse to come and say "Archer, do you need help?" He'd respond with a grin, look at me, and then shrug his shoulders. I'm responsible for that. Anytime I'd shower in our hospital room, I told him to push the button if I didn't hear him. Therefore, he did, again and again, thoroughly enjoying the cause and effect it brought him. When I watch his video, I'm searching for something in the darkness. A sign that we weren't alone, a figure that was only keen to his eyes, or a hand reaching out for him. I don't find anything, but I don't think searching in the darkness will ever bring what we are seeking.

Instead, I'm searching in the light, daylight in particular, for signs of him, looking down on us, letting us know he is as happy as he'll ever be in eternity. Darkness is such a lonely place to be. Funny how at Archer's celebration of life, I prayed for help in the darkness. During the planning process, I asked Pastor Clay to give the close family and friends a moment alone in the sanctuary to pray over Archer's ashes, to lift us all up in prayer as we move through the darkness immaturely and unprepared. I asked for this because, selfishly, I didn't want to go through the motions of joining everyone to eat, demanding a handshake or hug as people walked by to get their funeral food. No, thank you, not today, buddy. Please do not put me in there. Respectfully, Pastor Clay and Brandt liked this idea of moments of solitude together before our final goodbyes to our five-year-old son. Once everyone who felt compelled to dismiss themselves, Brandt, myself, and our children remained seated, and our beloved family and friends gathered around us. Emily started the prayer chain; thank you friend for speaking up when no one else could find the words through their clenched throats and deep sad tears. I recall her praying, my aunt Diane, my dad, and then silence. Sorry if I forgot your prayer; I was preoccupied. I knew before the celebration that I wanted to pray out loud, throwing myself out of my comfort zone. I had the opportunity. I knew I had to jump in fast because Pastor Clay has an impeccable sense of timing.

I prayed for light in the darkness to lift my family up and out of the deep, dark, dreadful hole we were quickly tossed in. I told our Lord, in our sanctuary, how mad I was at him for taking my sweet Archer. Thankfully the curse words didn't make it past my lips. I didn't need to say them out loud; God already knew how I felt. He knew how I'd feel long before Archer was in my womb. I told God how mad (pissed) I was but knew Archer was happier than ever. I don't remember what else I said at that moment, but later that evening, I got a text from Pastor Clay, thanking me for my honest prayer. My aunt did the same. Honesty is not always appreciated; I appreciated it at that time. My feelings were raw and genuine.

Raelynn and I often talk about heaven; to say she's obsessed with heaven is an understatement. She always has been. Always asking questions and consistently trying to interpret what so many people will never understand. Her picture of heaven is always beautiful. God asked us to be like children because we are his children. We aren't meant to walk this life alone and were never meant to bear the weight of sorrow on our shoulders by ourselves. I have no choice but to look to him for comfort through a child's eyes. His comfort brings calmness when my anxiety is building and washing up on the shores like tsunami waves, unpredictable and volatile. That is how I try to brace for the impact of life or the effect of my anxious waves. I look for the light in the darkness because he is capable of bringing light into the darkness. Archer's death came into our lives and crashed the beautiful party we had, creating a never-ending tunnel of darkness. Still, his light will always quickly come back if I lean in the promising direction of eternity. That is how I will brace for the unknown shattering impacts of life.