Life

School is starting, and Samson’s birthday is right around the corner. By now, I would have already started planning his birthday party in August. He would be starting hockey with his brother. We would be going through all the gear, checking if everything still fit. Gabe is switching to Samson’s helmet this year, and that made my mama heart happy. He needed new skates, and I know Samson would have too. Samson needed new gloves, and there were several other things we would’ve had to get—but this year, we don’t get to do that.

Instead, I am reminded, tenfold, of the gaping hole he left behind. Grief is... relentless. It never really ends. It hits when you least expect it, blindsiding you with a wave of sorrow. It’s been nine months, but it still feels like yesterday. The wind still gets knocked out of me daily. There are moments that bring me to my knees, where fear and panic rise as I realize just how helpless I am.

Samson should have been a junior this year. He was only two months into school when his accident happened. I missed his 10th-grade year, and I won’t get to see him finish any other grades. I won’t get to watch him graduate. On Sunday, I found myself staring at the last text we sent each other. I stared at his "Love you" for hours, weeping and wishing I could hear him say it in person just one more time.

I love seeing all of Samson’s friends entering their senior year. I love watching them grow older, but it’s a bittersweet kind of love. They all have their licenses now, and I can’t help but think—he should be here. Summer wasn’t summer this year without him; it was boring, uneventful. Now, so much of life feels empty. I think that’s what I wrestle with every time I write for the blog. I don’t want to be a resounding gong, repeating the same painful notes over and over, but the truth is, life is a battle now. It just is. Cut and dry—it sucks. I hate it. I’m in pain 24/7. I’m longing for a home I don’t yet know, but one I believe Samson is in.

I panic inside, knowing I’ll never hold him again. I fear the future now—my future, Gabriel’s future—and how different everything will be. I hate having to carry on without him. I hate not talking to him. I hate saying, “Yeah, the four of us…” only to realize, no, it’s just three now.

And I’m not ready for his birthday. I’ve celebrated it since I was 17, and now it’s his 17th birthday, on October 6. The one who made me a mom—the one I did everything in life for, my purpose, my drive—stripped from me.

One upside in life is homeschooling Gabe. I’m so grateful to have this opportunity, and I’m thankful that Tom has remained the rock and anchor for our family. I wouldn’t have the chance to do this if it weren’t for him. I wanted extra time with Gabe because I now know more than ever how short life is. Time is fleeting. If you don’t grab life and do what you want with it, it will leave you in the dust, full of "what ifs." I don’t want to have any more regrets or “what ifs.” I want to be like Samson. I want to live fully and abundantly, as God intended.

Even with his years cut short, I feel like Samson encompassed that verse: “I have given you life, that you may live it abundantly.” He lived without inhibition. He didn’t have time for regret—he kept moving and grooving, literally. It’s so quiet without him. Life is changed. It’s different. And I know nothing will ever be what it was, but I’m grateful I know where he is and who has him.

Have I had my moments of doubt? Absolutely. Have I questioned everything I believe in? Yes. There have been times where I wondered, “What if everything you believe is fake? What if you’ve been brainwashed?” But then, as I prayed through my doubt, I thought about how Samson was made. The way one sperm and one egg can create an entire human being inside my womb. Then my body produces the food to sustain the life I’ve grown. It’s a miracle.

When I break down the complexity of pregnancy and childbirth, I see it as a miracle. If two things so minuscule, things I can’t even see with my eyes, can create life, then what else is happening out there that we can’t see? What else is being done for us? So, has time begun to heal? No. Have I learned how to compose myself and fake it really well? Yes.

I continue to wrestle with, yet rely on God. I don’t know any other way to do it. I fight to stay afloat, I fight to keep my mind busy. I push, because I know that is what Samson would have wanted.

#LiveLikeSamson