It just is

I joined an out-of-town friend in visiting last night, along with some of her other friends. In the course of the conversation, they were discussing their teens, the struggles they were having with them, and just the general parenting conversation that all involves. I sat there, unable to join in. My heart grew heavy listening, and all I wanted to do was get up and leave because I was reminded of my loss once again. But I know that's reality. It just is. I can't (and don't!) expect others to walk on egg shells and monitor their conversations about their teens just because mine died. It hurts, but it's the truth. It's just another part of the grief journey that I'm going to have to get used to. (And I do realize our 2nd born is a teen, now 14. But it's the discussion of older teens, teens that drive, work, are graduating, going off to college, etc. Those are the discussions I can no longer take part in. Not yet, anyway. And not about Matt, not about my oldest, ever again. It just made me sad.) But it is what it is. It just is.

The "firsts"

One would think that after the first year, we'd be over the "firsts." Unfortunately, not. One can't help but be inundated by all the "Back to School" stuff in the stores. Walking by it, all strategically placed by the entrance, brings a sharp pang to my heart as it remembers that Matt would be a Senior this year. Only he isn't going back to school. Ouch.

I immediately try to take captive those thoughts and not go there. Is it denial, I wonder? Am I trying to ignore the pain? Am I stuffing grief? Or am I facing the truth square on and refusing to indulge in the "if only's" and "what if's"?

I often question myself, wondering if it's healthy to squash those kinds of "that will never be" thoughts, because, at the same time, it means I deliberately have to not think about my son. I feel like such a horrible mother because of that. I feel horrible because I still can't look at pictures of him. It is just too painful. Yet I long to hear others talk about him, give me a glimpse of who he was around other people, show us a part of him that we didn't get to see. I don't think most people understand how incredibly comforting and healing it is to hear others talk about your deceased loved one. Memories are all we have left, and in sharing them, it's giving us a part of our loved one back. I wish so many more people would have written a memory of Matt at the "All Things Matt" event.

The reality is, there's going to be a lot more firsts. They maybe won't come crashing in as fast as a tsunami, or as frequently as the pounding of waves on a shore, but they will come, slowly and inevitably. As we continue through this season of sorrow, I just pray for the continued strength and comfort of the LORD, and an abiding focus on the truth of His Word.

Now the real work begins

I am beginning to get a glimpse of why "they"(the many people I've talked to who are 2+ years down the journey of grief) say the 2nd year of grief is harder. I look back to the past twelve months and honestly believe (at least for those whose loss was sudden and unexpected) that the first year is simply pure shock, pure survival, pure "touch and go" as to whether the bereaved will even survive.

Coming out of the first year of grief is like leaving the hospital for the rehab clinic. The first few months after a loss are spent in ICU with the next following months slowly recovering enough to move to the regular floor. Finally, it's time to move to rehab, to enter rehabilitation therapy. Now the real work begins. The first part is simply staying alive, keeping the bereaved living. Once that's accomplished, then it's on to rehab, beginning the recovery process of re-learning how to live again with a part of you missing.

The process of rehabilitation is frustrating and exhausting. I am still not sleeping well, unable to fall asleep most nights until midnight or later. In particularly weak moments when the pain of grief is simply unbearable, I find myself crying out to God asking, "Why? Why did you take my son? Why mine?" It is pain speaking. A year of sleeplessness and continued illness certainly doesn't help with one's state of mind, either.

I have also struggled, from the beginning, with prayer. I found myself (and still do at times) asking, "What's the point? If someone has a set time to die, then why pray?" I have lamented to God. For months now, I have silently inundated Him with my questions and doubts. And I know He hears. I'm not worried, for He knows the honest cry of my heart.

Last night I picked up Streams in the Desert and read the entry for August 1st. What a timely reminder! "My child, you can trust the Man that died for you. If you cannot trust Him whom can you trust?" Also yesterday, a friend posted a link on my FB for one of the speakers on our GriefShare videos. And what should his post be about? Prayer, of course.  http://paultrippministries.blogspot.com/2011/10/transforming-power-of-prayer-part-1.html

Our Heavenly Father is so very tender and loves us so. We can spurn the comfort He gives or turn to Him in trust. I can cling to the hurt I feel or surrender it to Him, allowing Him to be the Great Physician, tending to my grievous wound.

So though there are days and moments of unspeakable pain, and while I don't profess to understand all of it, I know and accept the truth of God's Word because I know He is faithful, and I know His character. 

"For to me, to live is Christ and to die is gain. If I am to go on living in the body, 

this will mean fruitful labor for me. Yet what shall I choose? I do not know! 

 I am torn between the two: I desire to depart and be with Christ, which is better by far;  

but it is more necessary for you that I remain in the body. 

 Convinced of this, I know that I will remain, and I will continue with all of you

 for your progress and joy in the faith, so that through my being with you again

 your joy in Christ Jesus will overflow on account of me."  

Phil. 1:21-26

Random tears

Out running errands this morning, I drove up to a stop sign, then burst into tears because I was remembering that Matt always stopped way behind the sign. He was such a cautious and conscientious driver. Just doesn't seem right that he would lose his life as a result of a car accident. A small, quick ambush, but it still sucks.

Not prepared

I went to PT this afternoon and the therapist asked, "How's the family?" (It's the same gal I saw 2-3yrs. ago for my bursitis.)  I fell apart and started crying: *sigh* Yeah...moments like that suck.

Heavy of heart

The one year mark of our son's homegoing was this last Sunday. We had a remembrance event and it was a wonderful, wonderful turnout of amazing, supportive friends. But since then, I've had such a heavy heart. I miss my son. It's been one year since he died, but it feels more like four. Yet I've read/heard comments from others about how fast the year went. Well, I can tell you it didn't for me/us. Just one day with grief is endless. I am trying to remember the TRUTH. The truth is, my son is ALIVE in Heaven. And we are now one year closer to seeing him again.

 

All Things Possible - Mark Schultz

This is what I'm believing God to do with our grief...get us through.