Memories and Letting Go

It's been one month. One month since he's been gone. One month since every single thing in life was changed. 

Thanks to social media apps like TimeHop, it's easy to remember what happened on this day one year ago, two years ago, etc. A couple of days ago, this picture showed up in my memories... 

There was no caption, but I remembered exactly when this picture was taken. It was on our way to South Dakota. To drop Austin off at an inpatient treatment facility. I remember wanting to get a picture of Austin and Jacob playing so that Jacob would have something to look at while his dad was away. 

And then yesterday, another memory, an old blog post. Again, from one year ago. The Struggles of Addiction in the Family. You see, it was just one year ago that there seemed to be this shift of change in our lives. Although, we had no idea what was coming. 

When I shared this post on Facebook last year, I said it was a raw and rambling post. And as I re-read it, I could feel those raw emotions open inside of me again. Only this time, they were tainted. Tainted with grief, with unimaginable sorrow, with the knowledge that our story did not have a happy ending. 

Re-reading that post was painful. Painful to think about everything that happened next over the course of 12 months. Painful to think about things that were said or done out of anger. Painful to think about how much could change in just one year. Painful to think about how it all ended. Just one month ago. 

I so wish that Austin could have gotten his happy ending. I wanted that for him so much. I couldn't tell you what I thought the future looked like for the two of us, but I wanted him happy, healthy, sober and to be the best dad he could be for Jacob. 

Instead, those of us who loved Austin are left here to deal with this abrupt change; this abrupt end. There will most likely be so many unanswered questions. So much that we will never know. That is probably one of the hardest things. But at the end of that blog post from a year ago, I wrote this: 

"...let go and let God."

In fact, I even have that reminder tattooed on my wrist now. The only thing I can do is to let go of those questions and unknown answers. Let go of what I don't understand. And let God take control. Let God comfort me. Let God bring peace to me. Let God. 

And so that is what I must do. I must ask God to comfort me. To bring me peace. Because I do know that Austin is finally at peace. I know that he is in a better place. I know that he is in the presence of the Lord.