It’s been 12 weeks and 5 days since I tragically lost my 17 year old son. Throughout each day, I find myself acting as if, or pretending as though, it didn’t happen. I find myself carrying on at home as if I am waiting for Cole to come home from work or the farm and walk through the front door. Some days I think that I will come home from work to see him lying on the couch and torn toilet paper everywhere because he fell asleep with the puppy out. I find myself talking about him and telling stories about him as if he’s still here. I think this is my mind’s way of helping to mask the pain. I think my mind is trying to help me get up each day and actually breathe….but when reality sets in, I die all over again. When I look at his picture, and say to myself “he’s not coming home Gina. He’s not working, he’s not hunting, he’s never going to walk through that door again.” I become consumed with the heaviest, most painful sense of pressure. Actually, those words don’t even describe it, there are no words to describe it. It’s an overwhelming sadness, but it’s much deeper than just being “sad”. It’s gut wrenching. It’s sickening. It’s threatening. It’s scary. And I don’t want it. I don’t want to know that he’s not coming home again. I don’t want to know that he’s not hunting. I want to scream “Don’t tell me that!”
This is when I turn to God. This is when I have to lay this in His hands. I have to let Him carry me. It’s not that God doesn’t give you more than you can handle, it’s that He is with you to help you handle it. He is with me. He is carrying me on those days that I cannot carry myself. I believe that, I trust in that, and I have HOPE because of that. I have HOPE that although Cole will not walk through this door again, he will be the first one to greet me when I walk through heaven’s doors. Until then, I will continue on, with the help of God, in honor of my son.
Cole’s mom forever