The sucky days

Photo from the Confessions of a Grieving Mother FB page

You know what really sucks after 3 1/2yrs. of grief? It sucks that the more time goes by, the less and less I hear Matt's name. It sucks that I can't join in conversations with other moms about their oldest or what their firstborn is up to. It sucks that I overhear other mothers complaining about their teenagers when I'd give anything to have mine back. (And I'm not, by any means, discounting that the teen years aren't beyond difficult.) It sucks to hear other parents of sixteen year old's talk about how their life is so much easier because their teenager is now driving, while all I can do is swallow the lump in my throat and try to ignore the pit in my stomach, praying that they don't ask me why my current 16yo. doesn't have her license. It sucks to listen to the conversations of moms lamenting how difficult it is to send their child off to college (and it IS), but realizing that I will never be able to say that of Matt. Oh, how grief sucks!

It sucks that grief is expected the first year after a loss, but after that people don't get why you would have a bad day. It sucks that my son would now be 19, but he can only ever be remembered as 16. It sucks that grief never completely goes away. It sucks that I wonder if I will ever have to bury another child before me. It sucks that there are days like this.

The sucky days are rough, and all I can do is pray for God's grace to get through them. Sometimes I do o.k. and other times, well, not so much. Sometimes I hide the hurt in anger, lashing out at those closest, and other times I deal with it bravely. Sometimes the worship and praise music is enough to keep me afloat, and other times it just doesn't quite reach the surface.

I tried valiantly to ignore the pain, but I sucked at it. I thought I could fake my way through it, but I wasn't kidding anyone. I failed miserably. But God? He saw. He saw it all. He heard it all. He never fails, and He is always waiting. He waits patiently for me to come to Him with my hurts, my disappointments, my cries of "It's not fair!" and "It's too much!" He bids me to come to Him, and He will be my strength. He will take this mess of a world with all it's pain and sadness and redeem it. He will not allow the death of His Son to be in vain. He is working in us and for us. He understands. He knows the pain of child loss.

I am thankful God's shoulders are broader than the sucky days. I am thankful He whispers truth, precious truth, at just the right time. I am thankful for His forgiveness and mercy. I am thankful that He is with me.

"Shoulders" - For King and Country

When confusion's my companion
And despair holds me for ransom
I will feel no fear
I know that You are near

When I'm caught deep in the valley
With chaos for my company
I'll find my comfort here
‘Cause I know that You are near

[Chorus:]
My help comes from You
You're right here, pulling me through
You carry my weakness, my sickness, my brokenness all on Your shoulders
Your shoulders
My help comes from You
You are my rest, my rescue
I don't have to see to believe that You're lifting me up on Your shoulders
Your shoulders

You mend what once was shattered
And You turn my tears to laughter
Your forgiveness is my fortress
Oh Your mercy is relentless

[Chorus]

My help is from You
Don't have to see it to believe it
My help is from you
Don't have to see it, ‘cause I know, ‘cause I know it's true

[Chorus]

My help is from You
Don't have to see it to believe it
My help is from you
Don't have to see it, ‘cause I know, ‘cause I know it's true

Living with grief: three and a half years

It's the 29th and exactly three and one half years since losing our 16yo. son in a car accident. I wonder if I will ever stop counting months and years. My heart continues to ache, though most days the ache is barely noticeable. But days like this? The ache wells up, pulses strong. I force my thoughts to think truth, take them captive to Christ. Today, I think I will throw eggs.

The past week has been a tug of war between thankfulness and grief. I never thought I'd be "that" parent, the one who causes awkward moments in conversation because of an answer to the innocent question, "How many children do you have?" For the most part, however, I've learned to gloss over the introductions, doing my best to alleviate and avoid their uncomfortableness. I say it fast, moving quickly so they don't have a chance to "poor me" me. I forget sometimes how shocking it is for others who don't know our story, and I feel compelled to "smooth" the rough spot. I never thought I'd be explaining how old my oldest child would be.

The struggle with grief continues, though it's course has changed dramatically since it began. The wild roller coaster ride with its steep plummets and sharp turns has evened out. As my grief mom friend Jackie says, "The highs aren't as high, and the lows aren't as low." For that, I am thankful. My biggest struggle lately, surprisingly, has not been bitterness, but jealousy. Yes. Jealousy. I wasn't really aware it was jealousy I was feeling until I read fellow Christian blogger, Kara Tippetts' post. (I'm sorry, I don't have a link to her complete post. I believe her blog address moved, changing some post links.) Kara wrote that she has been asked many times if she struggles with feeling angry about having terminal cancer, and her "answer is typically the same- Jason and I have fought to be broken instead of bitter and angry. ... No one has ever asked me if I'm jealous." (from Kara's FB post)

With each milestone that Matt's friends experience in their lives, I fight against jealousy. While I am truly, sincerely happy for them, I grieve because Matt's not here, because we don't get to experience these milestones with our son. For every wedding I've attended since losing Matt, I've had to brace myself or look away when I see the groom and his mother. I have to intentionally squelch any thoughts or imaginings of "I wonder" or "What if." For every graduation, for every date or girlfriend, for every moment a mom friend talks about her teenage son, jealousy raises it's ugly head. I never thought it would be this hard.

Yet, for every hard, there is grace. Abundant grace. All-sufficient grace. There is the hope of something that "far outweighs" every pain of this world. (2 Cor. 4:17) There is an anticipation for a day when there will never again be sorrow, sin, or jealousy. I know that when jealousy raises it's head, I need only to do one thing: Put my head upon His shoulders, the only One who understands and knows all. I lean hard on Him and find the grace I so desperately need.