I don't remember the exact calendar date, and if I cared enough I suppose I could look it up, but for the purpose of this blog, the exactness of the date simply doesn't matter. It is Mother's Day and that is all that really matters.
I do know it's a Sunday and I do know that my heart is vaguely hollow-feeling on this, the first of many Mother's Days to take place without my Danny. The thing that sticks out the most in my mind is the message that morning. I remember vividly the crudely carved cross, made out of cactus wood, and just as vividly I remember the bright, dark purple silk draping from it. This is the time of remembering who Jesus is and what He did for us. I sit silently, listening to the message that the pastor is sharing. "Who are we to think that we will not be subject to pain and hurt? Didn't Jesus go through all of these things and experience them in His humanity as well?"
"Jesus paid for our sins, all at one time, for every single human being on this earth. He did it because He loved us and loves us still. He did it so we could have a relationship and walk with His Father. When you feel alone, don't you think Jesus knew how that felt? When you lose a person you love, remember that God loved His Son so you could know Him."
After the pastor shared those words, the tears fell like a torrential downpouring that I couldn't stop, and wouldn't have even if I could have. I felt the salt in the tears burning my eyes, but still I couldn't stop thinking about my precious Jesus hanging on a tree. In my heart I realized, right then, that my heart must be feeling just a fraction of what God had felt when He sent Jesus to die. And I couldn't get past that. My brain could not begin to understand how much worse, even, that must have felt to my dear Heavenly Father. I mean, He knew with certainty that His Son would die. He knew that without that sacrifice, I would never be able to know Him. And yet, I couldn't quit crying.
When the pastor asked if there was anyone who felt lost and alone, and invited them to come to the foot of the cross and lay their burdens down, I didn't hesitate. My feet felt like lead, tears continued to stream down my cheeks, my eyes burned and my heart felt as though it had been taken out of my chest and was now being stomped on, but I couldn't just sit there pretending that I wasn't feeling this ... pain, tortuous yet releasing pain. I went, quite noisily I'm afraid, and sat on the concrete floor in front of the cross. I couldn't quit sobbing and it didn't even matter to me who was around. It could have been no one or it could have been the entire city of La Paz, it would have registered the same with me at that time.
A dear woman at our church came and sat with me. I rested my head on her shoulder and she let me cry ... and cry ... and .... well, suffice it to say I didn't really stop crying, but sort of eased into a non-crying state. We then went and sat down and I sat with my head on her shoulder while the pastor concluded the service.
Honestly, I don't remember a lot else about that day. If memory serves, we probably had a potluck (our church community did that a LOT in La Paz!) and then sang songs, swam, who knows what. I only remember feeling that maybe, just maybe, I was on the road to healing. Maybe, some day, I would really arrive. That day I had a reprieve from the emotions that were warring for a spot in my heart and head, and we had a day to glorify God and worship Him.
When we got home that evening, I remember turning to Dave and saying "I am done for now. I am going to lay down and if you need me, feel free to come get me." Almost immediately, when my head hit the pillow, the tears started flowing once again and I thought to myself "will I never get over this?? will I never have a good night's rest again now that Danny is gone?" I do know that I frequently fell asleep with this record playing in my mind, and I remember it was playing rather loudly on this night.
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