I finally finished Heaven by Randy Alcorn today.  It was a really good book.  Matter of fact, I cried all during the last chapter.

This book has taken me perhaps the longest any single book has taken me to read.  I actually consider it quite a feat for myself to have finished a 475-page non-fiction anthology on what the Bible says about heaven.

I did cry because it was beautiful.  But I also cried because, in finishing it, so many emotions came rushing back to me that I didn't know how else to handle it.  Cassie brought me this book home from the library a mere two weeks after Jamie's death.  I've persisted with this book through the struggles of Christmas, my job change, the season that carried the brunt of my agony, a whirlwind of raging emotions and hormones.... and James finally getting his official grave marker.

You see, I believe I must have thought at the time that reading this book would somehow bring me closer to James -- maybe would answer some of my questions and help me understand where he is and where I someday will be as well.  And it did clear up alot of things for me.  But after closing it for the last time, besides taking note of the slight wear that has now been issued to a book that was originally in "like new" condition, I realized something that for some reason seemed to surprise me:  James is still dead.

Reading this book didn't bring him back.  Of course I knew it wouldn't.... didn't I? 

I mean I know I can't be making much sense, but for some reason since finishing this book today there's this gaping hole that I don't understand. 

Did I really think it would make that much difference?