This morning it hit me like a ton of bricks. It does that sometimes.
I crawled into Miguel's arms sobbing until the wave passed. The rest of the day has gone well, but sitting here writing right now is really taking a lot. Writing has always been more personal for me than talking, and while I can have a conversation about it with people and be ok, a whole year and 2 months later, I still can't write about my youngest brother's death without a waterfall running down my face.
Today, February 11, 2018, would be Anthony's 16th birthday here on earth.
Since the bonds of time don't exist in heaven, they probably don't celebrate birthdays; but I know they do celebrate. They celebrate living in the presence of God for all eternity, no suffering, no pain, all joy - unfathomable, incomprehensible, complete joy. And I rejoice in that - knowing my goofy little brother is having the best, sweetest birthday right now. But while I find comfort in knowing the greatest gift has been given to me, the hope and confidence of eternity after death, on days like today, my humanity kicks in full gear and those moments of weeping need to happen for the healing of a broken heart to continue.
Memories are powerful. I love remembering the goofy, corky person who is my youngest brother. I love listening to songs like "This Town Still Talks About You" that sooth the soul. But I want to also see the future.
A comment one of the bros said once echos around in my head on days like today, "We'll never know Anthony as an adult, a father, a career man. He'll always be almost 15 years old in our minds." and my human self grieves for not getting the chance to know the man Anthony. He would have been such a good dad.
A few months ago, right around the year anniversary of his death, I begged God to let me see a glimpse of Anthony as an adult - maybe even as he is right now. And Father God, in His abundant love and grace gave me a picture that I've been holding close to my chest until now.
In a large living room with a crackling fireplace, he was seated at a beautiful grand piano playing music he composed himself - something complicated and upbeat that carried you along with it. He seemed to be around 22 years old. Our family was all there, including members who would be around by the time Anthony would turn 22. The main focus of everyone wasn't just the music coming from the piano made by the lively fingers dancing over the keys but also the laughter of quite a few children playing around the piano stool. He turned around with his signiture goofy grin as he threw one of the smallest children in the air while laughing off the compliments and general applause we gave him. It wasn't a quiet setting. Everyone was talking, the fire was crackling, the room was filled with laughter. And Anthony - I'd never seen a smile so big on his face. In that instant I knew God was showing me that right now, in this moment, he's the happiest, joyfulest he's ever been.
"And now, dear brothers and sisters, we want you to know what will happen to the believers who have died so you will not grieve like people who have no hope."
1 Thess. 4:13
"The righteous perish, and no one takes it to heart; the devout are taken away, and no one understands that the righteous are taken away to be spared from evil."
Isa. 57:1
I crawled into Miguel's arms sobbing until the wave passed. The rest of the day has gone well, but sitting here writing right now is really taking a lot. Writing has always been more personal for me than talking, and while I can have a conversation about it with people and be ok, a whole year and 2 months later, I still can't write about my youngest brother's death without a waterfall running down my face.
Today, February 11, 2018, would be Anthony's 16th birthday here on earth.
Since the bonds of time don't exist in heaven, they probably don't celebrate birthdays; but I know they do celebrate. They celebrate living in the presence of God for all eternity, no suffering, no pain, all joy - unfathomable, incomprehensible, complete joy. And I rejoice in that - knowing my goofy little brother is having the best, sweetest birthday right now. But while I find comfort in knowing the greatest gift has been given to me, the hope and confidence of eternity after death, on days like today, my humanity kicks in full gear and those moments of weeping need to happen for the healing of a broken heart to continue.
Memories are powerful. I love remembering the goofy, corky person who is my youngest brother. I love listening to songs like "This Town Still Talks About You" that sooth the soul. But I want to also see the future.
A comment one of the bros said once echos around in my head on days like today, "We'll never know Anthony as an adult, a father, a career man. He'll always be almost 15 years old in our minds." and my human self grieves for not getting the chance to know the man Anthony. He would have been such a good dad.
A few months ago, right around the year anniversary of his death, I begged God to let me see a glimpse of Anthony as an adult - maybe even as he is right now. And Father God, in His abundant love and grace gave me a picture that I've been holding close to my chest until now.
In a large living room with a crackling fireplace, he was seated at a beautiful grand piano playing music he composed himself - something complicated and upbeat that carried you along with it. He seemed to be around 22 years old. Our family was all there, including members who would be around by the time Anthony would turn 22. The main focus of everyone wasn't just the music coming from the piano made by the lively fingers dancing over the keys but also the laughter of quite a few children playing around the piano stool. He turned around with his signiture goofy grin as he threw one of the smallest children in the air while laughing off the compliments and general applause we gave him. It wasn't a quiet setting. Everyone was talking, the fire was crackling, the room was filled with laughter. And Anthony - I'd never seen a smile so big on his face. In that instant I knew God was showing me that right now, in this moment, he's the happiest, joyfulest he's ever been.
"And now, dear brothers and sisters, we want you to know what will happen to the believers who have died so you will not grieve like people who have no hope."
1 Thess. 4:13
"The righteous perish, and no one takes it to heart; the devout are taken away, and no one understands that the righteous are taken away to be spared from evil."
Isa. 57:1
