Dearest Rachel –
I dare say that Saturdays will be the most difficult day of the week for a very long time to come, and it will be a long time before I will be able to appreciate weekends. Not only was Saturday morning our time together – which can never be enjoyed again on this side of the veil – but I do not have the escape of work, where I can focus my mind on something other than your absence.
Instead, as Daniel and I sit quietly in this house as the snow quietly falls around us (for the third weekend in a row – would you believe I’ve gotten tennis elbow from shoveling a clear space on our driveway for Chompers? – I find all the reminders of you in this house to be almost more than I can bear without distraction.
Thank heavens, in a way, for the likes of YouTube and the news outlets I’ve subscribed to, to serve as that distraction. But even then, these were things that we shared not so long ago… and so, there isn’t a complete respite to be found in them.
I mentioned to you yesterday about avoiding the tale of the worst day of my life. I’ve put it together, now. I don’t know if you’re ready to see my perspective on it. After all, to the best of my understanding, you slid down that hill, and were helped out of your snow tube by Jesus himself. That, after a fairly pleasant day at winter camp, might very well have been a perfect ending to such a day, and such a life.
But for those of us who lost you, and will be missing you until we’re allowed to join you many years hence, well…
It’s a hard tale to tell, and a hard tale to read.
But it had to be said.