235 hours.

It's been 10 days.
235 hours.

It doesn't seem like such a long time, but I feel the weight of each of those moments. They have rested on me like an unfamiliar coat.
In those 10 days of being without him, I have known the profound and sustaining love of so many of you.
That love and kindness has wrapped around me and my sons like a cocoon, sheltering us just a little from the sharp edge of loss.

Loss.
Such a simple word to look at. 4 letters.
Such a hard word to live.

I feel it- the loss of his earthly presence.
The familiar and ingrained habit of looking for him in a room, or calling his name when something won't work.
He was just always there.
Even in those days and hours that were amongst his last- he was there. Striving to calm his parents breaking hearts. Wanting to hug his beloved brother.
Turning his weary head towards me and whispering "I love you.". His last words. I got them.

Yes.
I have felt the loss of his earthly presence.

We have escaped for a while.
To a place with sunshine and good coffee.
To an unfamiliar apartment that doesn't remind us of him with every step.
Yesterday afternoon we walked over to the supermarket. Me and my three boys.
We wanted to stock the fridge with nutella and strawberry milk.
The cashier smiled and chatted her way through the beeping and the bagging. And then it came to the paying.
I froze.
I had a purse full of cards.
I had no idea what the pin numbers were.
Total and absolute brain blank.
I couldn't think of any numbers that I could string together..
I just stared at her smiling face.
Her smile faltered as she realised that the woman standing statue still with a trolley full of groceries might be a little unhinged.
I managed to recover and asked her to break the bill into amounts that I could paypass.

Don't worry- the story isn't about how I'm losing my mind and forgetting simple things. I always forget pin numbers. It happens with uncomfortable regularity.
No. The story is about how I would forget and look to him. And he would sigh and whisper, again, the numbers to me.

Yes.
I have felt the loss of his earthly presence.
And I guess I have to remember pin numbers.

I know that it's a process- this grief that we have to walk out.
And we are on that process.
We are walking the path where questions like, "Why did it have to be my Dad?" are scattered every few steps.
It's a rocky path.
Grief always is.
Watching these three boys... I'm astounded.
And heartbroken.
And proud.
They tackle grief head on- grabbing it and wrestling out the tough parts.
And the thing is- they always come to a good place.
They talk and they wonder.. round and round, until they come to a good place.
A place where the enormous unfairness of the burden of his going is paired with the peace that he is actually ok. The faith that he is not far away- just beyond the veil that rests between here and there.
I see it on their faces.
I hear it in their voices.
This grand wrestle that plays out- it ministers to my own wrestle.
These little hearts- mending my own as they consistently come back to the conclusion that their Dad is more alive now than he ever was in the cancer ridden body that we loved.
How precious these three are to me.

I want to leave you with a section from the legacy eulogy that I delivered in honour of him last Thursday:

 

The very best moments of my life are easy to recall.

There are three of them.

They are the moments just after our three handsome and very brave sons were born.

In the moments after you were each born, something truly profound happened. Your Daddy fell instantly, head over heels in love with each of you. If you've never seen anyone fall in love before, it’s very beautiful.

He saw you.

And he loved you.

He held you and he was changed forever.

He was braver, and smarter and stronger and better the moment he held each one of you.

That’s what happened when he fell madly in love with you- his sons.

The best, greatest and most important earthly word that can describe Sheldon is Dad.

 

You three. My sons.

Listen closely.

You are the reflection of your father.

You are his legacy and his imprint on this earth.

Today you each wear a set of dogtags that have Daddy’s thumb print on it. This is to remind you that YOU three, his greatest loves, his masterpieces, are his imprint on this world.

You will reflect his humour and his crazy obsession with B grade Sy- fy movies.

You reflect his generous love and loyalty.

You reflect his compassion.

You boys. You are the one reason he wanted to stay.

He was ready to go.

He was tired.

His body was failing him.

I never heard him complain.

But… he would have stayed a million years for you.

The love he had for you three little men is such a beautiful testimony of his life. I’m proud to have witnessed such a love. I’m proud to be your mum.

We will be the strength and the joy that he wanted us to be for each other.

 

The final word that I can give you today that describes Sheldon and the legacy that he has etched across this place is “Home”.

He’s home.

Sheldon knew the grace of Jesus.

He knew the unreligious, real love of a real, unreligious God.

He held onto one promise. “God didn’t promise to heal me of cancer..” he’d say.. “He promised to be with me. To never leave me and to walk me into eternity. That’s my promise… Home with Him”

That. Is the kindness of God.

Is it unfair that he is gone? Yes.

Does my heart feel about ready to shatter and disappear in the weight of this grief? Yes.

But even then. But even then.

The Kindness of a God who gave us Jesus. The Kindness of a Jesus who took the curse of being alone in death so that we would never have to be.

Yes, Kindness wins.

 

It wins because of Eternity.

Heaven.

Home.

He’s there. He’s gone home.

I’ll see him again.

And until that day my sweet darling heart.. Oh the grief of it! Oh the heart ache of it! I love you. Thank you for being so amazing.

Thankyou for being so strong and so very brave.

Thank you for the gift and the enduring legacy of these three beautiful brave sons who will surround me and protect me.

I love you.