Is it possible to grieve from Shawn’s perspective?  I suppose anything is possible.  I look at Jordan and Maddi and find such innocent joy in their day to day living.  My immediate response focuses on the idea that Shawn would love to be a part of what they are doing.  I must have this thought at least 25 times a day.  Not that he would just want to see them, but be part of the experience in mind, body, flesh, and heart.  I have been told that Shawn is watching over us and will always be with us.  I am comforted by the generosity of this message.  Yet, it is not the same as a tangible person with whom to share and interact.

I want to hear Shawn say, “Get your coat on, Jordan” when we are getting ready to leave the house.  I want to hear Shawn’s voice instruct his son to put on his shoes.  I want to know that Shawn is around the corner getting Maddi’s socks.  I want to go with my family on whatever outing it is we are all getting ready for.  I want to be a part of that complete picture not the fragmented one that I have been left to handle.   

I am grieving the beauty that Shawn is missing.  He loved me.  He loved our children.  And I am hurting with the concept that he doesn’t get to finish these chapters in our book together.  He would love to see Jordan speaking in full sentences and would enjoy the slobbery kisses that Madelynn is learning to give.  He would be impressed with Jordan’s interest in the piano and he would be amused by Maddi’s aggressiveness to win a toy back after her big brother has taken it away. 

I know that Shawn is complete in heaven.  I understand that he is fulfilled and experiencing joy beyond comprehension.  But, why can’t I seem to comprehend that his new and “better place” is an improvement from what he had with us?  I know this sounds incredibly prideful to believe our earthly home compares to heaven not to mention how risky it seems to place this idea before an all powerful God.  But, I am trusting that God will allow me to ask all of my questions until I have grown tired of questioning.

At the end of the day, regardless of whose perspective I look from and despite how many questions I ask, there are two constants.  I miss Shawn.  And God knows that. 

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