Leaving Yesterday by Kathryn Cushman Read Free Book Online Page B

experience, and some stories from those I’d counseled.
    “I had to learn to accept that He loved me. Period. And let it go. It’s exhausting carrying around the weight of grief all the time.” Knowing nods all around. “You’ll find the burden much lighter if you will allow Him to carry you, rather than trying to do it all yourself.” I thought of my son’s addiction, my own crumbling marriage, and once again I prayed to God that He would help me through this.
    I showed a few more slides at the end, as always, and finished with some from Nick’s teenage goofy years to help lighten the mood. Then I opened the floor to questions.
    A woman with a flowing skirt and trembling hands stood. “How long did it take you to get to the point where you no longer miss your son?”
    Putting on a brave front was one thing, an out-and-out lie was another. I shook my head. “I hope I never reach that time, to be honest. For me, remembering Nick means missing him. And I’ll never forget my son. But more and more, the memories come to me with joy rather than just pain. I can laugh when I think about him rather than just fall apart. And the feeling that grows stronger each day is that I can’t wait until I get to heaven and see him again. You know, I’m thinking he’ll even have his room clean there, which is more than I could say on Earth.” Again, a few laughs, but my mind flashed to that bag of pictures still sitting on his bed, just waiting for me to have the courage to open it and look at them. I doubted anything but pain waited for me.
    “How did your son’s death affect your family?” A voice from the back broke my reverie.
    This question always came up, and I hated it. Remembering Beth’s earlier comments of the same opinion goaded me into answering. These women needed to know what they were up against. “Nick’s brother, just a couple of years younger than him, fell into despair after Nick’s death. Drug abuse followed soon thereafter.” This admission always caused a soul-deep groan in the room, which shook the place to its core. Today, however, I could add one more layer of hope to my talk. “But I am happy to report that my prodigal has begun rehab and is back on his way to the life he had before.” I didn’t admit to my separation from Rick. It was temporary. We really would work it out, especially now that Kurt was on the mend.
    I saw a raised hand in the back. “Yes, in the back.”
    “Whatever happened to the boys who killed your son?”
    This question usually came, although I always tried to avoid it. The shift of focus from overcoming grief to seeking justice could undo everything I’d just said. “They were convicted and are in jail serving life sentences.” I looked through the auditorium. “Anyone else?”
    “Do you think it eases your grief, even in a small measure, that the guilty parties are in jail? Would you wish the same thing for other parents of victims of violent crime?” It was the same voice as the previous question, and I recognized it now. Detective Thompson.
    I looked into the back row but could not clearly see his face from where I stood. “Nothing done by human hands can ease my grief over the loss of my son. Only God can do that. Does it make me feel better that those men are locked up so that they cannot do the same to someone else’s son? Of course it does.” If he’d done any homework at all, and I was quite certain he had, then he already knew that the boys who killed my son all had a long record of violent crimes. In fact, the case had become something of a poster child for groups pushing for stiffer penalties, but this was not a conversation I wanted to have at this time.
    “Would you say, then, it is the basic right of all parents who’ve had children die by violence to have the guilty party brought to justice?”
    “I don’t know about basic rights of all parents. All I know is that my son lived a life that he could be proud of, and in his death, I will honor