Irreplaceable

LCI will soon fill the vacated position Woody left behind.

The church will find another man or woman to assist in ushering church guests to their seats.

The Miscues will find another pool player to take Woody’s place in the neighborhood pool league.

Friends will find another confidante.

Society will find another citizen.

Every role Woody played can easily be recast except for one—the role he played in the lives of his family members. His parents cannot recast the role of their son. His brother cannot play the part with another man. I will never do another love scene with my leading man. The kids can never yell out, “Dad!” and know that their hero will arrive on site to save the day. Here, in our hearts and in our lives, he is irreplaceable.

Of all the vocations and roles Woody played, husband and father are the ones he performed best. Everything else came in behind family. He knew which job he needed to devote his time and attention to. His priorities were in line; and because he executed his duties so well, the role he played at home complimented every other role he played in his life. That is why we feel his loss so deeply, why the wounds are so severe, and why the grief is so grave.

Sometimes as I watch the world continue to spin and the lives of people around me continue unaltered, I want to scream. I am incensed that in all the parts Woody played he was expendable—replaceable. Yet, in the one occupation that mattered most in life, he will always be irreplaceable. We cannot advertise of his vacancy and take applications to fill the position. Where this tragedy was a speed bump in the lives of others, it was a head on, life-altering collision for us. We have lost something that will never be found again this side of heaven.

I see people around me who do not take the roles they play in their family as seriously as they should. I see families falling apart because husbands and wives do not give their best to the position they play in the family. Their characters are weak and are soon recast through adultery or vices. I want to scream, “Do you not know what you are throwing away? Why can’t you see?” They are blinded by greed and lust. They treat family as if it is expendable. We have truly become a “throw-away” society.

I am thankful for a man who understood the responsibilities God had given him. I am a better person because I was valued above a career, volunteering, friends, and society. I was loved completely and for that, I will continually praise God.  My prayer for you is that you will live life in such a way that when you are gone your family can say, “He/She is irreplaceable.” 

Independence Day

America celebrates her 239^th birthday, the signing of the document that would declare our independence. Fireworks mix with thunder. The sky is illuminated by pinwheels of light and flashes of lightning. I should be celebrating as all American citizens appear to be doing within a 10 mile radius. Instead, I find myself on my hands and knees on my shower floor, my tears intermingled with streams of warm water. Memories of that day haunt my thoughts. I see Woody sliding down the mountain. I remember thinking—crying out to God, really—“No! This cannot be happening! Please, Lord, make it stop! Turn back time! Let’s start over!” Why? Why did it have to end this way? I just knew Woody would live. I just knew God would perform a miracle and he would survive. I promised our children he would not die. I took Hunter’s face in my hands, looked him in the eyes, and promised. I broke my promise. I had never done so before that day. But I just knew God would hear my prayers and do what only He could do. We would recall the glory of God and how he had saved my husband from certain death. We would acclaim the power of prayer when uttered by the faithful. I was confident that Woody would live through this horrible tragedy. Of all the scenarios that played through my head during the hours the EMTs worked to stabilize him, death was never one of them.

But God said, “No.” It was the most heartrending no I have ever received. My chest aches with inconceivable pain. I cannot escape the memories. The look in Woody’s eyes as he slid down that granite slab and over the edge will be with me for the rest of my life. I want to hold him in my arms and feel his warmth radiating through his shirt. I saved one of Woody’s shirts from the dirty laundry. His scent was overwhelming that first night. I held it close to my face, feeling his presence through his scent. Tonight after leaving the shower, I went to my closet where it hangs and held it to my face trying so hard to smell even a trace of the smell I remember as Woody’s. It is almost gone. What will I do when his scent is no longer there? Will I forget? I’m afraid I will. The thought terrifies me. How can I forget the aroma of the man who lay next to me for over 20 years?

I want to celebrate. God has given me much to be thankful for, but the loss of the man whom I loved most in the world is overshadowing any celebratory feelings I might have. Someday, I will smile when fireworks explode over my head with bursts of yellow and red. But today they remind me of the man I prayed for and lost. Happy birthday, America. Maybe next year the sobs will not eclipse the explosives.