Hidden Treasure

December 15, 2019 — Laura House

I lost my mom fifteen months before Nathan. Unbeknownst to anyone, she had pancreatic cancer that had silently been ravaging her body. From her diagnosis to entering Heaven took less than two weeks. I could write an entire book on how important mothers are, what a dear friend she was to me, all that I learned from her, and how much I miss her.

A few months after mom was gone, my sister, dad and I went through her many filing cabinet drawers and boxes of papers and were amazed to see the sheer volume of cards, letters, school papers and other things she had saved. Not only were they saved, but she had dated them and often had included a notation explaining the circumstances. We were digging for gold with every new box. Remember all those “lovely” pictures and art projects your children made that you said you’d “send to Grandma” so you could still have room to live in your house?! She had saved those too. I didn’t know then how grateful I would soon be for those items.

After Nathan was gone I panicked, wondering if I had saved anything from his childhood. Gary and I dug memorabilia boxes from the attic and rifled through every single paper in all five filing cabinets, looking for treasure. Weeping with relief, we found notes Nathan had written to us, filled with his witty humor. There were Mother’s and Father’s Day cards, school papers, drawings, art projects, and pictures that had long been forgotten. And there was another treasure.

Gary had logged every family event and the activities of each child on a yearly calendar and had filed them in our fireproof box, thinking he might like to look back at them someday. I always thought that wasn’t really necessary, but “to each his own.” But now?! He was my hero. I reconstructed twenty-five years of Nathan’s life and all of our family activities on a Google document.

My husband was also the one who took too many pictures on our vacations — or so I thought. Now, my gratitude is boundless for the hundreds of pictures, posed and candid, that he captured as we did life together. “Ok everyone, just one more picture.” We’d groan and go along with the request, and oh how glad I am.

At the beginning of my loss, every piece of memorabilia was viewed with a lump in my throat and a weight in my chest. Many tears were shed, questions renewed, and prayers spoken to Jesus, once again asking Him to help me trust Him. But now? These items are all around my house. On my refrigerator hangs the stick figure drawing he made as a child labeled “Nathan, Mommy, and Daddy.” My office bookshelves hold his engineering textbooks, pilot’s flying log, high school graduation diploma, Lord of the Rings figures, two mechanical pencils, a circuit board, and other memorabilia under a shelf filled with pictures of the kids from childhood to adulthood —always best friends. The living room is filled with family pictures and Nathan’s college diploma, honor cords, and honor society pins are displayed. Clothing items, motorcycle boots, and work gloves have a place in the closet and my wallet holds a Foxytronics business card. All of these things bring comfort to me, helping me remember the moments we shared.

I’m thankful that the objects that once brought so much pain have become treasured friends. If these things still bring you crushing pain, know that someday they will become cherished items that will bring a smile to your heart. Be patient with yourself. Give yourself time. There is no rule or time-table for grief.

And above all, trust Him.

Psalm 91:1-2 — “Whoever dwells in the shelter of the Most High will rest in the shadow of the Almighty. I will say of the Lord, ‘He is my refuge and my fortress, my God, in whom I trust.’”