It’s been several days since you told me. A beautiful moment mixed with unbelievably deep brokenness. Vulnerable. Real. Brave. Raw. My mind can’t stop thinking about it. My mind can’t stop thinking about you. Your deep wounds. The horrible things.
I am honored. Knowing your story is heavy to carry. How have you done it all these years? But I feel privileged to be the one who now carries it with you. You are not alone. You no longer have to pretend this never happened. You no longer need to keep these secrets. You are safe. We are family.
We sit next to each other at dinner. I pull out tonight’s dinnertime question from the can. Why did it have to ask about why our family is so special? My heart beats faster. Wondering what you each will say. There are some silly answers. Some deep ones. Some everyone agrees on. One that strikes deep into my heart. That is yours. Your answer my son.
I will always remember your words. You grab my hand before you speak. You look right at me. Then you open your mouth.
Because we can tell you our past.
Because. We. Can. Tell. You. Our. Past.
I am speechless. I see the truth of those words deep in your eyes. I see freedom there. I see love. I see vulnerability. I see longing. I see need. I see trust. I see your deep wounds. I see the horrible things. I see my precious son.
(I wrote this in May of 2016)
Since we have been on this journey of both beauty and brokenness, it has been so helpful for my heart to just sit and write. To sit and cry and write. To sit and feel the pain and write. To sit and feel the joy and write. To just feel. Allow myself to feel the pain of my children. Allow myself to feel my own pain. Allow myself to rejoice in the redemption that God is bringing.