Dated: Feb 19
You should know that the family I am living with lost their oldest son just a few years ago. I have often heard that the grief of losing a child before a parent passes is the hardest kind. I can’t say I have ever known or seen that to be true, thankfully. However, last night I got a glimpse.
Marvin is his name. From what I gathered, he was the preferred son, the oldest, wearing the name of his father proudly. Every corner of the home serves as a shrine to his existence. His picture hangs over the singular computer in the house; his photo albums are spread all over the little, concrete walls. It took me a few weeks to gather enough details (in Spanish) as to what happened, but he died of cancer of the blood. In his last days, there are pictures of him in the hospital, bald and frail. The family invited me in to live, to eat, to walk, and to be a part of their home. I have a strange feeling that God has me here for a little bit more than that though. What emptiness they must feel after the loss of the eldest son. Marvin senior, the father, took me through 4 different CDs of photos of his son. As he did so, slow falling tears rolled down his rough face. Every single day, he faces the reality that his son, his Marvin, no longer lives here on earth with him. He cannot see, touch, or know him any longer. The only memories he has are the pictures, the digital moments of life and color. I cannot begin to imagine the pain he must feel, the intense longing he faces every single night he lays his head down on the pillow, or the questions he fears to ask God when he says his prayers.
To see a father cry twists something in your gut.
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