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Springtime. I’ve always loved the spring. And today’s going to be perfect. Time to get myself up and out of bed.
Ow.
That sun sure is bright in my eyes. I love that Sandy has let me take over her guest room all these months. I just wish she had slightly better blinds. What this room needs are some heavy-duty blackout curtains.
A knock from the hallway. “Mia.” Sandy’s voice is cheerful. Melodic. Sometimes I miss Mom’s rat-a-tat-tat on my door so much it hurts.
“I’m awake,” I tell her.
The door slowly opens, and Sandy’s standing there in her flowered skirt, her hair hanging in one long French braid. Wispy strands of gray stick out around her temples. I hope I’m as beautiful as she is when I reach her age.
She gives me a smile. “You still want to do this?” she asks. “The weather’s holding out nicely. I think it’s going to be a beautiful day.”
I nod my head.
I’m ready.
Strange to think it’s taken this long for me to get to this point. The grief counselor I’ve been seeing says that I probably needed to get through all the pre-trial hearings first. Once I sorted out some of my fear and other emotions wrapped around my dad, I could walk through all the other steps of grief.
And there have been many.
It’s strange losing two people at once. Some weeks I cry myself to sleep every night because I’ll never walk down the aisle and marry Chris. Other times, something will remind me of Mom, and I’ll wonder how I could ever think that my fiancé’s death could cause half the same level of despair that comes from losing a parent.
My counselor’s right. There’s been a lot of fear. Once I started talking to Drisklay and everyone else involved in the case, I realized there were even more things about my dad, secrets of his I’d been hiding for years. My testimony alone would be enough to land him with a dozen life sentences. Thankfully, my brother’s agreed to testify as well, even though Marco’s still in jail for crimes of his own.
Today marks the one-year anniversary of the day that changed all our lives. The day that was wiped out of my memory for so long. After breakfast, Sandy and I are going over to Chris’s grave. A few of my old friends from high school will be there. Kelsie’s coming back from New York to meet us at the cemetery. A few others will be there too.
I feel a little guilty that it’s taken me this long before I’ve felt ready to watch the recording of Chris’s funeral. Like maybe that means I loved him less than I thought I did. Sandy tells me to be patient with myself, that everyone heals at different rates.
I’m glad I’m finally ready today.
At breakfast, the devotion we read is from Charles Spurgeon, one of Carl’s favorite preachers.
Our spirit, attracted by the tempting glare, darts into the halls of pleasure, but soon is frightened and alarmed by the rough voice of conscience and the demands of insatiable passions.
It’s taken me a while to understand the style of language Spurgeon writes in, but Carl reads him often enough I’m getting into the flow of it.
Man, without God, is like the mariner in the story, condemned to sail on forever, and never to find a haven.
I think back to my lost months, forever gone from my memory. If God hadn’t intervened, would my imprisonment have endured indefinitely?
Long have you tugged the oar of ambition, or of the lust of pleasure, or of avarice, or of care. But rest a moment, I pray you, and listen to the witness of those who declare to you that escape from bondage is possible, and that rest is to be found even now.
I glance over at Sandy, who’s beaming lovingly at her husband. Sometimes it hurts to watch how close Carl and Sandy are, to realize that I’ll never share that kind of relationship with Chris. Other times it’s comforting to know that happiness still exists in this world.
What if your chains should be broken today, and your labors should be ended, and you should enter into perfect peace! If so, it will be the gladdest Sabbath that your soul ever knew.
Carl pauses to explain that Spurgeon is speaking of heaven here. Early on, in those first few weeks of meetings and hearings and mourning, people would tell me I should be glad because my mom and Chris are both in a better place. I hated hearing that then. If heaven’s so great, why couldn’t God have let me die and join them there as well?
But I’m starting to understand a little more. I even have a letter I’m going to leave at Chris’s gravesite today. I did the same thing for Mom several months ago, but I didn’t feel ready for Chris’s until now.
And others shall share in the gladness, for we who may be privileged to help you shall participate in your joy, and even spirits before the throne of God shall rejoice when they hear that another weary one has found rest in Christ Jesus.
I definitely know the weariness that Spurgeon’s talking about. I know what it is to be so depressed you don’t have the energy to leave your bed. I know what it’s like to have mental fog so heavy it’s exhausting just to get out a string of two or three sentences.
But I know that peace he’s talking about too. Not the peace I’ll experience in heaven. That day’s probably still decades off in my case. But I’ve felt the hint of it, the echo of heavenly music. The promise of divine healing.
I think about the verse Carl and Sandy’s son read just a few minutes earlier at family devotions where Paul’s talking to the Philippian church. I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation.
In spite of everything that’s happened, I know God is with me, and I know he’s used the things I’ve gone through in this past year to shape me into the woman I am. In just a few more months I’ll be enrolling at NYU with a major in biology and minor in Spanish. I still want to become a doctor. I still want to open free healthcare clinics along the border. I feel like God’s given me a second chance at life, and I definitely don’t want to waste it.
After breakfast, I help Sandy clear the table. While she’s cleaning up the dishes, I retreat to the quiet of her guest room. I pull out my phone and find the YouTube video where Chris’s funeral’s been recorded. Strange to think that a year ago today, I was eating breakfast with my mom and boyfriend. I wonder if Chris was thinking about that dream of his, the one where he was standing in front of a church preaching about Jesus.
I read the description on the YouTube video. Celebration of life service for Chris Gomez, who went to be with the Lord on May 24, three weeks before he turned 19.
There’s no mention of his murder. That’s all. Celebration of life service.
I could stay in Sandy’s guest room all morning staring at the thumbnail, reading the description, trying to guess what life would have been like if Chris hadn’t been killed.
Or I could sit down, press play, and finally say goodbye to the man I loved.
I know exactly what choice I’m going to make.