I can’t say why it is that we place extra emphasis on anniversaries that are multiples of five. Why does five years seem more significant than six or 20 than 21? It’s a strange custom, yet one we all acknowledge and accept. And on that note, today marks the fifth anniversary of the day my son died. It has been five years since Nick very suddenly and unexpectedly went to be with Jesus.
This anniversary has been weighing heavily on my heart for the past few weeks, and has forced me to consider questions like these: When does an event change in such a way that it no longer feels like it happened recently, but instead happened long ago? When do we stop marveling at how little time has passed and begin to marvel instead at how much? When does the recent past become the distant past, and when does a wound become a scar?
I think a component of this five-year grief is the distance I am beginning to feel from Nick. Sometimes his death still doesn’t feel real, but like it happened to someone else’s child rather than mine, and like
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