Through the Motions, Into the Silence

May 17. 2026
Through the Motions, Into the Silence
Samantha’s funeral was Wednesday. We woke up in a fog, methodically dressed in funeral attire, and dragged our feet to the car. I’m not sure how we made it to the church, but somehow the car found the way.
The service was beautiful, poignant, filled with memories of Sam, and focused on honoring her authentic faith in God. They tell me the place was filled with mourners. Bryon and I went through the motions and barely recall the details.
I couldn’t get out of the car when we got home. Bryon backed into the garage, parked, turned the engine off, and we just sat there, not saying a single word. Silence. A tear rolled down my cheek. Then another. I simply could not make myself move. Grief overwhelmed me in a way I had not let myself feel while I had to hold it all together these past few days. My shoulders shook with quiet sobs. My stomach clenched.
We were supposed to be at a Phil Wickham concert with Natalie and Samantha this evening. The short trip to Minneapolis and overnight stay had been planned for months. Those 4 concert seats sat empty that night. Samantha loved Phil’s music. Just a couple of weeks ago, she, Bryon, and I had been swapping songs on Spotify, our excitement for the event building. Instead, Phil’s songs played memorial to Sam at her funeral service. Tragic. More hot tears soundlessly stained my cheeks.
An image from the graveside service assaulted my memory. William, our 9 year old grandson, had drawn on the vault a picture of a smiling face, a waving hand, with the message “bye. William”. His somber expression, saying goodbye in the way he knows best made my heart twist.
Finally, I moved from the car only when I remembered that the flowers needed to be taken into the house. Movement was good. Emptying the car provided a respite, momentary feeling of purpose.
We went for a walk. Yes, movement is good, helps us feel not so stuck.
Then we stayed up too late…what are we supposed to do with tomorrow???
The next morning, we woke with eyes swollen from crying and gritty from dehydration. And somehow we made it through the day after the funeral.
Today marks two weeks since our lives were changed forever when our daughter died. This afternoon, we remember.
We love you, Sam.
Lamentations 3:22-23: "Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness."









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