Looking for Robb

I never expected this odd consequence of losing my son: I look for Robb everywhere. I’ve traveled across the United States and to several countries overseas since he died nearly four years ago, and everywhere I go–whether it’s around the world or down the street to run errands–I search for him. Constantly.

It’s not rational. Of course it’s not. But what driving, covert force compels me to search for men with red hair, examine similar builds as Robb’s from behind, or hurry towards someone whose walk resembles my sweet son’s? I risk an accident as I turn to look at the driver behind me…or pass someone going the opposite direction. And suddenly, irrationally, I’m crying.

It’s not intentional. Like breathing, like blinking my eyes, like putting one foot in front of the other to walk…I search for Robb. Out of habit now, it seems, I instinctively and constantly watch, like a sentry. It’s like I subconsciously believe he’s out there, somewhere. I just need to find him. I have to be diligent, scanning all builds in front of me, faces that pass me, profiles on each side. You would think I’d grow weary of the hunt, but I don’t. Because just as I naturally breathe, I watch. With hungry eyes. Starving eyes…for just one glimpse of him.

It’s not normal–is it? I was shopping at a grocery store, hurrying through the produce section when I saw him. The young man was about Robb’s age, red-headed, built much like my son. He was close enough in appearance that tears filled my eyes, and I decided to just stand there for a while, drinking him in. Pretending. He was picking through the apples, sifting the pile to find just the right one when they got away from him. Apples started rolling every direction, and when one hit the floor…then two…he quickly glanced around to see if anyone noticed. And then he looked right into my eyes–me, this strange woman, standing quite still, clearly following his every move. I shyly grinned, not wanting to break the magical moment. So what if he thought me odd? He would be right. It wasn’t normal for me to stare at him, a stranger, like that–and especially with such an aching, desperate-to-see-Robb love.

The young man was clearly embarrassed to be caught; he quickly returned the apples to the table and moved on. Still, I watched his every move until he was out of sight. Did it help–to watch a stranger like that, pretending? Maybe a little? Maybe it’s like eating only one M&M…for just a hint of chocolate. It’s not satisfying, not enough, not nearly enough when you want so much more. But it was a taste.

Some day…either when Christ comes again or when I leave this world, my eyes will be filled with the glorious sight of my Lord. And then…then I’ll drink in my son, for real. My heart will stop aching. My endless search will end.

Instinctively again, I close my eyes, imagining. “Hey, Mama,” he says, grinning, pulling me into one of his wonderful bear hugs.

Eagerly, I look forward to that precious day. But until then…until then I look for my Robb.