Nunc Coepi!

Sometimes as I awaken in the dawn of day, he is in my thoughts...our son who's gone before us.

Most of the time, my brain is able to sufficiently push away the pain...to bury it down deep inside somewhere where I can't consciously feel it.

But sometimes it sets in like dark skies over the Northeast in winter.

Reality smacks.  He's gone.

My body tenses; my palms sweat. The brain wants to reopen the wound; my heart tries to forget.

My mind races as I take a mental trip back to the hospital that May day. His surgery was a supposed success. I want to start over right from there. Please Lord, give me back that day.

Then my brain flashes over to my own trial that day. I begin to anger as I recall the events. Why Lord did I have to experience, for the first time in my life, the painful rupturing of endometrial cysts in my abdomen on that very morning?  Why Lord, when Daniel needed me more than ever, did my own body have to fail on that particular day, forcing me to focus more on my own exhaustion instead of my son's? If I were only there--right by his side--for every single second of that night, would I have been awakened to the signs of his struggle? Could I have saved his life?

Why, Lord, why?

I feel the wetness of tears on my face as I internalize these questions and ponder over life without him.

I want a do-over.

But I can't have one.

And then my random thoughts jump for safety to the sacred Latin words I learned at a recollection Mass a couple of months back. I cling to them tightly.

Nunc Coepi!

"Now I Begin."

The meaning, as described by Saint Jose Maria Escriva (the founder of Opus Dei), is "the cry of a soul in love which, at every moment, whether it has been faithful or lacking in generosity, renews its desire to serve — to love — our God with a wholehearted loyalty."

I am forced to pray. That is all I can do. Pray that Daniel is still with us in spirit. Pray that God continues to bless our lives.  Pray that the Holy Spirit fills us each day so we can glorify Him.

And the pain begins to slowly seep from my body, depart from my brain. The sadness subsides, and my holes are, once again, filled with hope, and filled with faith in Him who gave His life for us.

I close my eyes and picture Daniel's precious face and his sweet smile. My heart overflows with joy, for he was loved, and he still is.

Today is a new day. A new day to place my trust in God's plan all over again. And I am thankful for it.