Rest with The Father, Bryson Drago Ross

Bryson, the son of Shellie Ross aka Military_Mom on Twitter, died today after a tragic accident. He was only two years old. Please take a moment to offer a prayer for the Ross family and if you have time, go post your condolences on her Twitpic tribute to Bryson or leave her a comment on her Blog 4 Mom page.

Hold on 'till Tomorrow

There are no words to ease the pain.
Nor enough tears to wash the sorrow.
There is only the knowledge that you are loved,
so hang on 'til tomorrow.
For in the morning all things are made new
and though your babe is gone,
the love you shared will carry you through.
So hold on till the dawn.
The night time comes to steal your peace
with the deafening quiet it brings.
But close your ears and open your heart
because that's where His voice sings
So rest your weary mind tonight;
Know that your son rests well
With the Father of all who knows the pain;
Whose teardrops also fell.
No, there are no words that can ease the pain.

Nor tears to wash the sorrow.

There is only the knowledge that you are loved.
And you WILL see him tomorrow.

~Tish Raiford (c)2007

The Sound of An Empty Nest

A friend of mine with two sons barreling into adolescence, full speed (and sound) ahead, asked me, “What is the sound of an empty nest?” My first response was “Bliss.” Then I listened more closely.

The sound of an empty nest is chicken cordon bleu instead of chicken nuggets; McAlister’s Deli instead of McDonald’s playground.

It is the completion of a movie without the click of the channel surfer and the quiet evening spent enjoying a good book by the fire instead of a loud and rowdy game of Uno at the table. It is the soothing sounds of cool jazz on a peaceful drive to the shopping center instead of the giggly, energized chatter over boom-boom-booming rock.

It’s the tick, tick, ticking of the clock waiting for a call from 1000 miles away instead of footsteps running to catch the phone before the latest crush hangs up.

It is the silence of tears falling as a long forgotten lovey is stored away in a now empty room. It is the soft whisper of arms aching for the warmth of a hug, of trembling lips longing for just one more goodnight kiss.

It’s the echo of regret mingled with the soft voice of hope that one day, in the not so distant future, the clatter of little feet and the clamor of little giggles will drown out the noise of the empty nest.