This coming Saturday, 20 September, will be the 33rd year since our eldest son, Tim, was brutally murdered in California. The excruciating grief work and, correspondingly, the difficult journey of forgiveness is long in the past now. Of course, I regularly think of Tim with both laughter and tears. But, in the past few weeks, leading to “The Date,” I am strangely stirred in my memories and my pain. It happens every year—whether I’m thinking about it or not. I realize I’m extra emotional—for seemingly no reason. Memories of Tim—both as a child and a 23-year-old man—pop regularly into my mind. And then, looking at the calendar, I’m suddenly aware that, “Oh, this is leading up to Tim’s death day,” I’ve learned to call if my “background noise.” I usually expect it—but it occurs with or without my conscious thought. As I begin journalling my feelings, God again speaks to me and renews His hope of seeing my child again. His life was not in vain. Besides all that he touched during his short years, he is now in the “great crowd of witnesses” who surround us. In times of worship, I join with this crowd of saints who are worshipping around the throne of God. Losing a child is never easy, but our God of comfort and peace is always near us. Thank-you, Lord.
Background Noise of Grief