Please let this wind blow me home.

I prayed two days ago that he would find comfort. I prayed that he would find peace and rest. I prayed that God would give him joy, that we might see him smile again. I prayed that he would feel loved and protected. I prayed that God would take away his fear, his frustration, and his pain. I prayed that he would once again know hope.

He didn’t seem to have very much rest the past few days. Comfort seemed impossible to find. Joy, only in the moments when his eyes caught those of his daughter or son or wife. I want him to still be here. I want him to ask me what I thought of the latest Eagles game. I want him to playfully roll his eyes as he realizes my “political rebellion,” has rubbed off in subtle, small ways onto his daughter. I want to hear about the latest book he’s been reading. I want to listen as he and Sarah debate who has the best basketball program in the ACC. I want him to be here and I’m angry. I want him to be here and it’s just not fair that he’s gone. I want him here. And I am sad.

He went home to be with Jesus late last night. He left his body and the rest of us behind and he went home. We cried and cried and cried. Last night was by far the hardest thing I have ever had to do. To watch this man that I love die, to look into his eyes and to know that I will never be able to see them again, to watch as his family grieves their loss. The most heartbreaking thing I have ever known.

I am sad for Sarah and I am sad for Wes and I am sad for Lisa, but I am also just sad, because I love him. He made me laugh and he made me feel like I was a part of a family that I wasn’t really a part of. He welcomed me into his life, into his home, into his family day after day, week after week, year after year. He gave me advice and he asked me about my life. Sometimes he was frustrated when he tried to watch the news while Sarah, Lisa and I talked too loudly in the kitchen. He didn’t always love when I showed up at midnight unannounced, but I never doubted whether or not I belonged. Not one second of doubt. Mr. Sutton has always made me feel welcome. The Suttons have always made me feel like I was one of them. The W always made me feel like I belonged. I can’t over emphasize how redemptive his treatment of me has been over the past eight years.

I am thankful for him, for his life and the legacy that he leaves behind in his beautiful children, who are honestly two of the most incredible individuals I know. I am thankful for his words of wisdom and his sense of humor. I am thankful for the ways that he challenged me. I am thankful for the ways that he encouraged me. I am thankful for how much love and support he poured into me year after year. I am thankful for the children that he raised and the pieces of him that I see in each of them. I am thankful for the wife that he has loved for twenty-nine years. I am thankful for how hard he worked to take care of them. I am thankful for his family. I am thankful. And I am sad.

He left us last night and after the initial tears, the shock set in. Is this really happening? Can we all wake up from this nightmare now?

I will never understand. I know that. I don’t know why children have to watch their parents die while they are still children. I don’t know why death comes and steals our loved ones away like it does. I don’t know why he seems to take the good dads and leave the other ones behind. I don’t know why some people get to live and some people have to die. I don’t understand. And I know I never will. The mystery of our Lord is not always beautiful from where I stand. Today, it is hard. Today, not understanding makes me angry and sad.

Today, not understanding doesn’t leave me in awe, it leaves me in tears. And I don’t know how to correct that. I don’t know how to pretend as if this feeling isn’t there. I don’t know how to move from anger and sadness and pain to wonder.

And I think maybe that’s ok.

“A broken and contrite heart, Oh God, you will not despise.”

So today we will be sad that he is gone, because there is certainly much to be sad about; there is certainly much to mourn.

Last night Sarah, Anthony and I sat together on the tiniest sofa in the tiniest, “Serenity Room,” at Wesley Long Hospital. Sarah looked around for a minute and finally she said, “he’s so happy now.” 

We are sad, but praise the God of comfort for we can take hold of the knowledge that he is no longer sad, he is no longer in pain, he is no longer afraid. We are sad, because we miss him, but he is not. He is not sad. You are right Suttontown, he is so very happy.

I know only a portion of the peace I will one day know in full. I know only a small amount of the rest I will one day find. I know only a hint of true comfort and joy and love. I know bits and pieces of those things. I have caught glimpses of the beauty we were meant for, but I feel it at the core of my heart, this fact: he now has all of those things in full. He has joy and rest and peace and love and beauty and God. He is free from his cancer. And he is home.

He found comfort. He found peace and rest. God gave him joy, and we will see him smile again. He has found love. He has found protection. He knows no fear. He knows no frustration. He feels absolutely no pain. And he is at the right hand of the God of hope.

He’s with Nana.

He’s with Anthony’s dad.

He’s with Ashley’s dad.

He’s with Anna’s dad.

And they are all with Jesus.