“When my 22-year-old son, Dwight, was killed in a car accident, it destroyed my world. I closed myself off from my friends, became distant from family and entered into a spiral of anger, blaming and lashing out at God. My son was the most precious gift the Lord could have ever given me. Why would He take him away? I felt betrayed and devastated by the very God that had been the one source of comfort and hope my whole life. ‘Why?’ I’d shout, the air around me as silent as a tomb. I continued to crumble as more questions and resentment filled my heart.
“During one of my many sleepless nights, I decided to go into the bedroom where Dwight stayed during his breaks from law school. It was the first time since his passing, and though I wasn’t sure I could endure it, I needed to feel close to my son in some way. Nothing had been touched: not his books, his high-school trophies or his cable-knit sweater draped over the desk chair. I glanced around the room and noticed a small notebook open on his nightstand. Upon closer inspection, I realized it was a prayer journal. Many entries were thanks for a great day or prayers to help him ace an exam. But the last entry caught my attention and I read until tears were streaming down my face.
“It read simply, I love you, Father. I am Yours. It was dated the morning Dwight had set out on that icy drive. I traced his handwriting with my fingertip and felt a balm of love soothing my hurting places. ‘He is Yours,’ I whispered to God, so present and loving around me. ‘Thank You for blessing me with him for all those years.’ With that came a flood of peace as I understood that time is ours to borrow…but the love we share is ours forever.” —Eunice Cusack, 51, Champaign, IL