“Can I see him?”
I was discouraged from doing so. The head nurse said as a mom herself, she would not want to see her child like that. Our good friend Bryan, a pastor recently assigned to a church near the trauma center, who came rushing to the hospital to be with us, gently and soberly advised waiting until later (after the funeral home had tidied him up a bit) or not seeing him at all. I listened, I understood, but I knew I had to see my son, my Marky Spark.
I woke up on October 8th around 7am and made my usual pilgrimage to my basement sanctuary, coffee in hand, while my husband, Steve, slept. I browsed Facebook, checked email and thought about what it meant to draw close to God, to spend time with The Almighty. I wondered if checking email and Facebook was something I should do AFTER my reading and journaling (which is pretty much how I pray). And then I argued with myself about how I’d always been one to clear the deck, to clean my room or my desk off before getting to work.
BLUE SKIES REMIND ME 