Sunshine in My Soul

He was dead…

Her son was dead, and there was nothing she could do to change it.

Maybe if they’d caught the cancer sooner…

But they hadn’t, and now he was gone.

The moment the doctor had come out of his hospital room and told her the news, she had broken. Right there in the hallway, beside her husband, she had collapsed into a storm of wails that she was sure the oncologist was all too familiar with.

That was the day her life changed.

Forever.

___________________

Life would never be the same without him…

If not Mommy, who was she supposed to be?

What was she supposed to do?

Without his rambunctious personality, the house seemed cold and empty. No longer would his smile and endless questions fill her days. No longer could she wrap him in her arms and give big, wet kisses on his cheek.

No longer would she hear him say, “I love you.”

How was she supposed to live like this? She couldn’t even begin to function and she was just supposed to go on like nothing happened? She was just supposed to carry on with the weight of such a loss in her heart? It burned her from the inside out each and every day!

People told her they were sorry for her loss, as if it would ease her pain. They hugged her and held her and sent food and flowers, as if that would stop her soul tearing itself apart…

The only one who could begin to understand was her husband, who cried himself to sleep at night beside her.

When the life insurance check came, she wanted to rip it apart—wanted to rip herself apart. How could she have put a price on his life? What kind of monster was she to get paid for her son’s death? But, of course, it was to cover sudden expenses in the event that something would happen to him.

In this event, because something had happened to him…

What she hadn’t expected was for another of her family members to take care of the funeral costs for her and leave her stuck with $20,000.

There were days where she would just stare at her bank account and wish she could trade it all to bring him back.

There were days she considered using it to buy a house far, far away in an effort to leave the memories behind. Nothing ever came of those thoughts because it wouldn’t work, and she knew it.

And there were days that she simply sat, dismayed that all she had left of her son were memories and a number in her bank account.

Only…that wasn’t entirely true.

One day, as she was packing up his clothes, posters, toys, and books to put into storage, she came across a small, black, leather-bound book. She had bought it for him herself, intending it to be a journal for him to practice his writing in. He had only been six, after all, and his penmanship had needed a little work. However, she knew her son, and knew that the little black book would have held anything but writing practice. Gingerly, she opened it, tears welling in her eyes and a chuckle bubbling from her chest when she saw the actual contents: Artwork.

And, oh, if it hadn’t lifted her soul for a moment, seeing his drawings again. To remember to sound of his voice saying, “Mommy, look!” She would feel so rich to hear his little voice again. Richer than any life insurance policy could ever make her.

She would find a way to live again, she knew, but for now she had his memory and the artwork he’d left behind…