Learning to Jump Again
A Memoir of Grief and Hope

When my kids were young, they jumped off things — couches, beds, tree limbs, deck railings, bunk beds — and just expected me to catch them. Their jumps embodied the trust in their heart, because I. Would. Be. Ready.They slept soundly that night, because Daddy caught them until they were done jumping.

One time, at a hotel pool, Vincent jumped into the deep end over and over, because I was there to catch him before he went under. He even tried to run away from me and jump, thinking it was clever, but he scared me. One day he will jump when I am not there, not realizing that the water has the power to rob him of at least his trust, and perhaps his life.

Six years ago, I jumped - no, even worse, I was pushed - into the deep end of life.  And while I know that God was there — I know this, in my head — I did not feel his arms catch me.  And the deep end was much deeper than I anticipated.

God, you know all things, so you know this already.

I am not sure when I will jump again.