Austin's Blog

One thing that has so often comforted and consoled us these past seven months is when people share memories or stories about Gabriel with us. It is such a blessing to have people think about him, talk about him, and even send pictures to us. What this does is remind us that he hasn’t been forgotten. His little life mattered and still matters. I walked in church a few weeks back and a sister caught me at the door and hugged my neck and said softly, “I want you to know you’re not the only one grieving, brother!” What a gift!

Tristan Borland writes, “I’m not quite sure why it is so important to those of us who have lost loved ones that other people remember our beloved dead, but it is important. Those who have died matter. They are loved. The world is not quite the same without them. To remember is to acknowledge their existence, their life, their death, and the giant chasm their loss has left in the hearts of those who continue to live.” Just to know he isn’t forgotten somehow brings a quiet and sweet consolation in our grief.

Why does this remembering matter so much?  What happens when we remember those who have gone on before us? Presbyterian novelist and writer Frederick Buechner remarks, “When you remember me, it means that you have carried something of who I am with you, that I have left some mark of who I am on who you are. It means that you can summon me back to your mind even though countless years and miles may stand between us. It means that if we meet again, you will know me. It means that even after I die, you can still see my face and hear my voice and speak to me in your heart. For as long as you remember me, I am never entirely lost. When I’m feeling most ghost-like, it is your remembering me that helps remind me that I actually exist. When I’m feeling sad, it’s my consolation. When I’m feeling happy, it’s part of why I feel that way. If you forget me, one of the ways I remember who I am will be gone. If you forget, part of who I am will be gone.” He obviously lives in the presence of God but Gabriel also lives in the hearts and minds of those of us left behind, those who dearly loved him.

I wince occasionally as I look at the pictures and watch the videos of our sweet boy but I keep looking at them. I keep watching them. I know as I get older, my memory will begin to fade and facades of his immeasurable beauty and profundity will slip slowly out of my purview and mind. I hate this. It has sadly already begun. Yet, as my faculties begin to fade along with other aspects of my being, I know there lies a glorious reunion that will beam with resurrection loveliness. I will know him, see him, and enjoy him in ways that I cannot even fathom today. Nevertheless, it still tremendously hurts. The following poem is on the back of my father’s gravestone in North Alabama and applies to both him and our sweet Gabe now.

In a very quiet place where gentle breezes blow,

Lies the one we love so dearly, who we lost some time ago.

Your resting place we tend and place flowers there with care,

But no one knows the heartache when we turn and leave you there.

It’s lonely here without you,

There’s such an empty place.

For we never hear your footsteps or see your smiling face.

If we could have a lifetime wish, a dream that would come true,

We would pray to God with all our hearts for yesterday and you.

You left behind our broken hearts and happy memories too,

But we never wanted memories.

We only wanted you.