It took three weeks.
But on this three-week anniversary we finally figured out why Tanner had to die: God took Tanner’s life to punish his little brother.
You see, Travis hasn’t always been the perfect kid he is today. He’s had his ups and downs. Often he would yell to me from down the hall: “Tanner punched me!” To which I would yell back: “Did you deserve it?”
Pause.
“Yes.”
Oh, and once in a while Travis lies.
So this must be his punishment. God decided he was a bad kid and to teach him a lesson took away his big brother and very best friend. This is what he believes.
I can tell him it’s not true. This is not his fault. He’s not being punished. Tanner did not die for Travis’ sins.
But I get it.
It’s nearly impossible to not seek the “why.” There has to be a reason. For the love of God and Tanner, there HAS to be a reason my baby was taken from us.
I’ve spent hours, sobbing, scared to death God took my son because I didn’t love him enough, because I wasn’t worthy to be his mom.
I would think about the Biblical parable of the man who was given one talent and squandered it so God took it back. Did I squander this perfect gift God gave me? I have, quite literally, shed ridiculous amounts of tears for not setting up his own webpage years ago: maybe Tanner was a gift I was supposed to share with the world, and I squandered him and kept him to myself, so God took him home.
A webpage. Tears. Zero logic.
There are so many moments I realize I could have hugged him longer, kissed him more, giggled with him louder, read with him another book, baked a better pie, encouraged him stronger… maybe I didn’t deserve something as pure and beautiful and joyful and perfect as him so he was taken back.
And as the tears begin to slow, I realize: maybe it’s not that I didn’t love him enough, maybe I loved him too much. Had I made an idol out of my son? Instead of seeking joy in the Lord, was I content to just find joy in this precious child He had given me? God took him because I loved him too much.
Yes, in any waking moment I can convince myself I both didn’t love him enough and that I loved him too much.
My rational mind knows there is as much truth to these ideas as the notion that God took him home to punish Travis for lying about his lunch money.
But grief doesn’t seek truth, this I’ve learned.
It’s also insanely irrational.
And horribly unkind.
For some reason, someone has to be to blame. In our humanness, there has to be fault to point to. The “it was his time” or “God needed an angel” doesn’t make a child feel better about losing a best friend and brother. It doesn’t make a mom feel better about losing her baby.
Even if it’s totally true, sometimes it makes us want to punch you in the face.
I’m throwing a temper tantrum tonight. A full-blown, I-want-my-baby-back temper tantrum. Cursing. Lots of crying. I don’t want his brother to hurt. I don’t want to have to find the strength to walk a child through this pain when some days (many days) I can’t see my own way through.
Tonight I feel lost.
I don’t have any great God wisdom in this tantrum of mine either. Except to say, that tantrums aside, I know He can handle it and will still love me tomorrow.
And tomorrow can’t come soon enough.
