Tim Butler

Counselor, Life Coach & Speaker

A View From The Bridge

Time creates a bridge that spans the hole, created by the death of a loved one. One has to decide whether to cross over the bridge, or choose to walk down into the depths of the crevasse. This choice has to be made often. Clearly the walk over the depressive opening is harder and takes intentionality.

The week between March 25th and the 30th always presents that same opportunity for me to stop on the bridge and look down. Looking contemplatively, into the vast expanse of emptiness resulting from the death of our daughter.

Emotionally it seems so attractive to dive into the depths below. Over the years, however, and after a few trips down, I come back to the surface realizing I am not able to accomplish what I thought I might, namely, feeling better for having drowned in my sorrows.

Instead, I have learned the beauty of stopping—intentionally—on my otherwise activity-filled life to remember what the hole really means to me: The joys and sorrows that accompany the life and death of our sweet little Linette. Born on the 2nd of January, 1990, and advanced to Heavenly bliss on the 25th of March, 2002.

As I look over the bridge this year I find myself healthier than I was in 2002.

I find myself a much stronger person as a result of clamoring up the banks of the deep divide to find footing on the bridge.

I find myself cherishing all the memories of her life, and being less traumatized by the events preceding her death.

I am able to clearly see the beauty of my life, and yet still embrace the tears when thoughts of missing her come to mind.

I do not push the thoughts away, but I am able to breathe deeply the bittersweet fragrance of her short life and still maintain my footing, as I journey life without her. For those who knew her, feel free to look over the bridge for your own contemplative remembrances. Share them with me if you like.

For others who only have heard the stories, take time to pray that her impact will penetrate the beauty of life for those of us who have learned to walk with a limp.