Today is 10 months since Sam died – a pretty unremarkable number by any measure. No one really pays attention to ’10 months’, and why would you? Except for us, I guess, as it’s just a further statistical reminder of his absence.

A couple of videos of him laughing and joking around on Cosi’s instagram this morning stabbed my heart afresh. Somehow video is more ‘real’ than images – you hear his voice and pick up his tone – that unmistakeable goofy silliness… that warm, kind heart… Seeing his face sends tears down my face. I miss him.

At 10 months I feel like some of the dust has settled and we are figuring out how to live again as a family of 3 rather than 4. We spent a lot of time with Cosi over the last 10 months, but this week she relocated to an off-grid camp project in Vic where she is working for the year. For her it’s a brave adventure and a step towards finding some fresh vision for the future. I admire her courage and her willingness to pull stumps and invest in a new direction, but obviously all of us miss her presence and her shared experience of the grief journey. I doubt anyone ‘gets it’ like the 4 of us, so to have ‘one of us’ away for an extended time feels a bit wrenching – even if it is for her good.

10 months is also long enough for many people to move on and either forget that this happened or simply feel like ‘enough now’ of the grieving and missing him – time to look ahead. I wonder if people assume we have somehow put this thing to bed and are getting on with our lives? Those who have had similar experiences would just smile and say ‘yeah… right…’ Maybe those who have never known a deep loss (and I probably would have been in that box 10 months ago) would no longer feel it appropriate to be looking back. Time to dust yourself off and re-build your life – right?

Well yes – but actually no.

Each of us carries this in a different way, but what is common is that raw, searing pain is never far from the surface. I don’t know if it ever will be. So if you are a friend, know that we are still very ready and willing to talk about Sam and about how we are going.

On that note, it’s been a week for beautiful conversations and in that Danelle and I have both experienced real love and care.

Early in the week Danelle caught up with old friends from Scarborough days, a couple whose daughter had died and who wanted to see how we were going. It was penned as a meeting of the women so I wasn’t there, but Danelle came home feeling loved and seen by people who ‘got it’.

Last week I received a text inviting Danelle and I to lunch – a person wanting to check in and see how we were going. It wasn’t someone I am close to so their number wasn’t in my phone. I had to text back and say ‘thanks – but who is this?’ I guess we don’t keep everyone’s phone no’s all the time, but when I realised it was Mike, I was very happy to accept.

So Mike is someone neither of us knows that well – but who thought of us, took the time to drive an hour up from Bayswater to our local beach, to buy us lunch and sat and listened to where we are at. Over lunch as he asked very simple questions – ‘how are you going?’ ‘What has kept you going?’ ‘How can I pray for you?’ I found myself very teary as I reflected once again on the presence of God in the midst of this tragedy and of the love we have experienced from his people – from the ‘Church’ in it’s many shapes and forms. We retold Sam’s story, and as hard as that was we were reminded again that we have not been alone. One of my wrestles has been with the question ‘where is he now exactly?’ I get ‘to be absent from the body is present with the Lord’, but I’d like a GPS bearing to work from – or something more clear than we have in scripture. Mike is a respected and experience theologian, but even he wasn’t able to shed much more light on this mystery that perplexes us – where do we go when we die?

I know the simple answer is ‘heaven’, but it’s also a non-descript answer, or it conjures up unhelpful images from evangelical heritage. I have some ponderings as to what shape heaven may take, but my ideas are more rooted in trying to make sense of an alternate reality than anything I find in scripture. Mike prayed for us and we went home after a couple of hours saying ‘wow – how cool was that? Someone we don’t know that well drove right up here to spend time with us and to care for us…’ It was a reminder that there are people out there who are sharing this road with us in various forms – some who relate to our experience because of their own loss – some who just love us and care.

Then yesterday Sue came to visit, another friend from Scarborough days (isn’t it good when friendships go back 30-40 years?) and she is a woman who has known the very personal wrench of loss herself. She has had many years of walking the path of grief and part of what she has learnt is that the ‘dust settles’ for others – if not for us – so to have someone check in a bit later in the journey is valuable.

We chatted for 3 hours (which I don’t often do…) as she asked us similar questions of how we were going, where we were going, what life is like… It was another emotional conversation, but not in a heavy way. There was a lot of joy and hope in the room as well as a fair bit of mystery as we pondered some of the questions that leave us perplexed or confused. Like Mike, Sue drove a long way to come and sit in our lounge room and be with us, but her presence was a gift and as she left we looked at each other and said again, ‘wow… we are so blessed to have these good and beautiful people in our lives.’

And today I got a phone call from my old mate Scott, who is back from his year in the Kimberleys and was waiting for me at Gypsy Boy cafe at midday… It would have been a great conversation if I had been there, but we are actually scheduled for next Friday – thankfully his diary glitch and not mine! So next week I look forward to that lunch with another old friend.

So how are we 10 months on?

We are loved – very loved – and very cared for. We are still broken and beaten up – still wrenched here and there by raw emotion and at times ‘lost’ in the mess that is grief. But we are loved and carried by people who see us and who are brave enough to ask us the questions that they know will evoke pain – but will also bring healing.

So if you are wondering if we would welcome your visit or your concern or your care, chances are the answer is ‘absolutely!’ To have people willing to put aside their own concerns to come and listen to us has been a huge part of healing. Thank you to all of you – you know who you are.