How are you doing? It’s a common question, but for my husband and I it means more. We lost a son. He was shot. Shot by the police, like a criminal. He wasn’t a criminal; he had a disease, schizophrenia. If untreated a disease that sucks the life out of you. A disease that destroys your ability to see reality a disease that fills a person with fear, fear of everything, fear of the people they should be able to trust. Fear of everything real and imagined. That was our Matt. A six foot three, tall strong young man, terrified of everything and everyone, unable to understand that medication and support could bring him back from insanity to life.

So how are you doing means are you okay, how do you get by from day to day, it must be horrible to lose a son. It is a sincere expression of concern and it is appreciated. There are some people that avoid us all together, that is okay, they do not know what to say. I get it. Sometimes I get a bit paranoid myself and think, they won’t talk to us because they are judging us as parents, what kind of parents raise a son like that!? That is okay too. I feel the same way sometimes. I feel like I set Matt up for what happened that morning.

I think that is what causes the most pain, the guilt and shame. We should have done more, home schooled him when he was having trouble in school, been more accepting, taken more time, told him we loved him more, been more patient, less angry, more trusting in the Lord, less frustrated, been kinder, more encouraging, given more praise, stuck up for him more, made a real place for him in our home, fought harder to get him help. Left the door open that final morning so he could come in. The “should haves” and the” what ifs” are endless. I know them well. It isn’t nice to hear and often people will argue that we did our best as parents, but honestly we could have done much better.

So how am I doing? I miss Matt. Sometimes I stop in the hall and pick up his picture, I look into his face trying to get a sense of his being and when I take a breath, it hurts. When I see a car or truck similar to one he used to drive, I imagine him in it. For a second I feel better. A drive through Gananoque where Matt used to live, a tree service truck, a broken limb, the tree in our neighbor’s yard that Matt would prune, the tree in our front yard- a Mother’s Day gift from Matt, the smell of a cigarette, the sound of a chain saw, people fishing, the place where he died, a song on the radio and so many more things and places bring a constant stream of memories that remind me of Matt, but he is not here anymore. I try to remember his voice, the smell of his clothes, picture his walk, his smile, and remember the feel of his hug.

Now we go to the cemetery. I know he is not there but it was where we said our final goodbye. There is a plaque with his name on it, odd really, our name, the name we gave our first born son, Matthew Henry Roke. Matthew means God’s gift. We leave flowers, it feels like in some way we are still caring for him. We leave Gerbera Daisies, usually orange ones; they are bright and can be seen across the lawns at the cemetery. They are the color of one of the sweat shirts Matt wore often. We leave them, then, walk away.

So how am I doing? Does it hurt? Oh yes, it always will, but there are some things that I know in my heart to be true and because of them I can get up in the morning, starting each new day with hope. I know that because of Jesus there is a resurrection from the dead. I know that my God is a living God, involved in the smallest details of my life; that not a hair can fall from my head without His will. That he sent his only Son to die for my sins (even sins of sinful parents). That He is a God of justice, but also of mercy.

That He is a God that hears the smallest whispered prayer. A God that knows me so well, that He knows what I am going to say before I know it myself. A God that knows the reason for all things, that won’t give us more than we can bear. This living God of mine is in control of all things, He even keeps a leash on Satan himself. Because of Jesus, His obedience, death and resurrection, God is reachable, close, a God whose love is so deep and wide and constant, that it is impossible to begin to understand it all, and all I can do is rest in it. A God who puts us in community; we have a basketful of cards, people who are still praying for our family, people who ask “how are you doing?”

We have a son still, and a daughter, a son in law and four grandchildren, all priceless treasures. This God is a God who will never leave me or forsake me, the God of all comfort. This is my God, He knows why, and until it is time for me to see Jesus face to face I hope He will show me a way to use this difficult time in my life to benefit others, so they too will know the love of this living God.