After Scott passed away, my house was filled with friends and family for months. I literally had someone visit me, eat with me, drop off food, spend the night, cry with me, or just sit in silence with me every single day for three and a half months. The love, help and support were incredible during that time. For which I am so thankful and will never be able to repay. One of the most common visitors was obviously, my mom. If I didn’t see her, I talked to her on the phone, if not once, twice. One thing I remember telling her repeatedly in agony: “nobody understands! NOBODY gets it! Nobody has this pain.” She would sit and listen while quiet tears rolled down her face.

My house was filled with people who love me and mainly LOVE Scott. They all hurt for me and missed Scott in their own special way. They would cry with me but they still didn’t “Get it!” Even Scott’s mom was broken and torn. She didn’t miss him in the same ways that I was missing him. She was hurting for her son. I was hurting for my husband. It’s different.

During this time, I got several Facebook messages from people I didn’t know. Some didn’t even know Scott. Just random people who heard about my loss and wanted to tell me they were praying for me. After work one day, I got one from a girl I didn’t know who heard about Scott’s accident and wanted to pass on a website to me. She said she had grown in her faith since reading it and could only imagine it would help me as well. It was partofthemiracle.com.

Reading Gabe’s words from the very raw state he was in brought me comfort and strength along with anxiety and worry because it was SO REAL to me. I thought, “OK! Here is someone who ‘get’s it!’” I was afraid and I was alone and I was scared out of my mind. I asked this girl, if Gabe was on Facebook, so we could talk about our pain and have someone else in our pit of hell.

I’m not sure what you picture hell to be like but as for me, it is not the fiery hot coals and flames with a man in the corner, who has spikey horns and a tail. To me, hell is completely dark. I went into a cave in Colorado that was to show you “complete darkness.” It’s true, even after a several minutes of letting your eyes adjust- there was no light. You couldn’t even see your hand right in front of your face. This is what I picture it like. There is no light. There are no people. The room is huge but it feels small and tight because you can’t see. You’re scared to move or to walk around because you have been here for years and there is ONLY SADNESS, HURT and PAIN all around. You hear others wail in pain and despair, but they are not tangible or touchable. Well, that’s exactly where I was. When I heard about Gabe, it was like bumping into someone who was in the dark, deep hole with me.

We started messaging back and forth about our current condition and existence. It was not pretty. Our stories and comments were filled with so much pain and so much truth. They were dark. I remember multiple times, sobbing on the bathroom floor until 5:00am while we would text back and forth about the battle it was to just breath without our soul mates.

After a few days, in those texts there would be little sweet messages that would send my heart into flight. It felt nice to have that pitter-pat in my chest again because it meant I wasn’t dead. I was alive. Those “heart” moments initially made me very nervous. It was so soon after Scott passed away. I wasn’t quite sure I could handle it. It felt like I was betraying Scott.

One message he sent was about his prayer on a rock. He prayed for “more.” He didn’t really know what to say to Christ at this point in his grief but what he could get out was “I need more!”

Then he sent, “I think you are my ‘more!’”

I chuckled to myself and text “Well, get ready because I am A LOT!!!”

In His grip,

Lindsey