But as full of life as he always was on earth, I know he’s even more alive today. Our real life, full and eternal, awaits for those of us that are still here.

Am I dragging around an oversized suitcase full of earthly things that weigh me down and have no eternal value? Is my focus on things that truly matter? Am I storing up “treasures in heaven?

Only fifteen months before Nathan left us, my mom was diagnosed with terminal pancreatic cancer. When she called me with the grim diagnosis, I was heart-broken and desperate to tell someone. Nathan was the only one home at the time, and as I headed downstairs to find him, he met me with open arms. I’ll never forget him holding me tightly as I grieved the news I had just been given.

Illnesses and accidents happen, regardless of our diligence—regardless of our love. The “Mama Bear” in us strives to take care of things, always ensuring that our children are protected and thriving. And as hard as it may be for us to admit, there are things in this earthly life that are out of our control— many things.

I can’t help but think that our earthly lives have some similarities. We are part of a battle, striving in the midst of it to glorify the Lord with our lives, and in the end, we just want to make it home.

“All roads lead to Rome.” I’m sure you’ve heard that phrase. Early in my grief, all roads led to Nathan. All day long, normal life things led to heart-wrenching memories of him.

The only time I remember Nathan flying as a child was at the local airport when a former air force pilot took our kids up in his small plane as part of a field trip. But by the time he was a teenager, Nathan was determined to learn to fly.

I feel that since losing Nathan, I’ve been learning to drive all over again. Sometimes I am filled with confidence that I’ve mastered this new way of living as a bereaved parent, finding purpose and joy in my journey. But other times I feel that I’ve missed my turn and am backing up in the middle of the highway to try to figure out where I’m supposed to go.

I’ve always been thankful for the wisdom my husband sheds on situations in our lives. But this time, I didn’t ask or listen. I guess my desire to bring joy to my children skewed my perception of things.

During the thirty-seven years of our marriage, the beach has always been our “happy place” — and we passed that love on to our three children.

Inevitably, you’ve heard these words from your children while traveling, “Are we almost there yet?” When they are young, that question might be asked every few minutes!

We loved camping. I look back now and am surprised that I not only survived but actually thrived in those experiences. Back then, it seemed like nothing to pack up the kids and van, head to a state park and tent-camp in the rain, wind, and one time, unexpected snow.

Many children seem to have a natural aptitude for sports, and Nathan was no exception. If you are the mom of a child involved in sports, you’ve likely attended not only hundreds of games through the years, but also, dozens of award ceremonies, parent meetings, and end-of-the-year banquets.

When Nathan was ten, Gary and I won a trip to Cancun. Rarely traveling without the kids, this was a new adventure for us, and for them. As we pulled out of our driveway to head to my parent’s house, where the kids would be pampered by grandparents for the duration of our trip, Nathan spotted his beloved cat, Todd, clearly limping.

My sister came to visit recently and brought me an ornately carved wooden box. Explaining that she had one at home also, she shared about what she had heard on a radio program and proposed that we give it a try.

The moment I knew he was gone, I switched into “emergency” mode. Actually, I’ve always been decent in emergencies, only crashing emotionally when they were over.

For his whole life, he had dreamed of having a BB gun. I say his “whole life” but he was still a little guy. The requests for this item actually began around age five, after seeing his older cousins, and they resurfaced every Christmas.

Christmas was a special time for us. When the kids were young, the day was usually spent with extended family, where the cousins performed an annual Christmas pageant in Grandma and Grandpa’s living room.

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.