A couple of days ago I had my birthday. I’m grateful for the cards, phone calls, e-mails, comments on my blog, and messages on Facebook. Carey made me a wonderful dinner and we had a great time talking before she went to work. Timbo then came over, took me out for ice cream, and we watched The Boxer (I’m on a bit of a Daniel Day-Lewis kick since There Will Be Blood). While I felt loved, I couldn’t shake the cloud of sadness that hung over me all day and continues to stay. This was my first birthday since my father’s death. When my mom called me in the morning, I missed hearing his voice. Their tradition was to call us early in the morning, usually getting us out of bed, and singing “Happy Birthday” before we knew what hit us. When I read the card Mom sent with a beautiful and humbling note, it hurt to not see his signature. I wish I could express how deeply I miss the man who gave me life. Lately I have felt numb, furious, or an ache that draws my attention elsewhere. The thing I want the most is for Dad to be alive and this wish tears me apart for two reasons. The simple reality of his death can incapacitate me at times. But the fact that what I want most is an impossibility, a baseless wish in this life, hurts as well. I can’t make myself stop wishing he was here and honestly, I don’t want that ability, no matter how much pain I feel.

Currently the Church celebrates the season of Easter, the period of the year that we most intently focuses on Jesus’ victory over sin and death. If I am honest, it is really hard to see that victory and hard to believe right now that God’s kingdom has won, is winning, and will win. My eyes aren’t attuned to see the Resurrection; death is far easier to notice. Death’s disgusting stench creeps into nearly any room I sit. In the past couple of weeks I thought that every Christian at their baptism should be given a piece of the empty tomb as a tangible reminder of Jesus’ victory. Instead, I’m left with the fact that Mom doesn’t have of a chunk of the stone that was rolled away—she has Dad’s ashes sitting on the nightstand next to her bed.

Please pray for me, friends. Pray that Christ would make his resurrection known to me, that I would have the faith to believe that death doesn’t have the final word. Pray that the beatitude that those who mourn are blessed because they will be comforted would be true. It’s hard for me to pray lately.