28 years, now.

A long time. Wasn’t sure I’d survive 28 weeks, then.

After all this time, tears still come. A smell, a song, a memory. Not as often, usually not as hard; but they come.

When your world implodes, it echoes in your soul for eternity. And for many long years the echoes were pain, the pain of loss and longing. The sadness is still there, but the pain that wreaked havoc has long since quieted to a whisper, now hidden behind the echoing memories of love and laughter; only an occasional splash to remind you of the storm it was.

But the empty spot is never quite filled, the sense of something missing. I’ve loved, and lost. Hurts like death, but it heals. Yet always the hole remains. I go months at time not conscious of it, then I’ll reach and find only space. “Dad?!?…”

You pray you’ll always be there for your kids, that they are old and wise when they have to face that hole. That some softer, less jagged pain will steer them towards God. That their hole isn’t black as death one dark night…