Two and a half years

The half year mark hit me hard. As is typical of grief, it's the days and weeks ahead of "milestone" dates that are the most difficult. This was no exception. I wish I could say I handled it well, but I didn't. It's been almost two weeks of anger, yelling, and impatience. Like a wounded animal, I just want to be left alone to lick my wounds, and I snarl, snap, and bite at anyone who tries to help. It's also why grief is so very humbling - because it requires the wounded to not only reach out, but to accept help.

My best friend listened as I cried on her shoulder yesterday. She didn't try to fix me, make it better, or offer platitudes. She simply listened as I cried. She sacrificed the middle of her busy day to "sit in the dust and ashes" with me. I certainly haven't been easy to deal with, and I am so humbled by my friends and family who have stuck by me through the loss of my son, giving me grace and forgiveness, ever offering up prayers on my behalf to the Only One who can bring healing.

The closer the 2 1/2 year mark approached, the more I wanted to just leave, get away. But life doesn't stop when grief shows up, and there are still bills to pay and responsibilities to fulfill. I asked God to provide and somehow get us through the 29th. He is so good. He knows our needs even before we ask and provides in gracious and merciful ways. Quite unexpectedly, my husband received a generous gift card. It is enough for us to be able to get away for one night at a hotel...and that best friend?? She'll be spending the night with the kids at our house. I am eternally thankful. I was hanging by a thread on Tuesday. Looking forward to Thursday at the hotel is the hope I needed in order to hang on.

Another friend, a mom who joined "the group no one wants to be a part of" shortly after us, sent me the link to this song:



It couldn't have been more timely. Music is an incredible gift, even for those of us who aren't musically inclined! It's been as much a lifeline to me as the truth of God's word has been, perhaps because the lyrics of so many songs speak His truth as well.

Another recent song, new to me, is Michael W. Smith's "You Won't Let Go." Thanking God for the ministry of music and the reminders of His love and truth as we endure 2 1/2 years without Matt.

Stuffing grief

Ask anyone who's lost a child, and they'll tell you that grief makes no sense. Grief doesn't play by the rules. We want to put grief in a box and make it behave. Well, it doesn't. For every 100 people grieving, you have a 100 different ways to grieve. My daughter is still struggling deeply. For whatever reason, I'm not sure she ever allowed herself to express her grief. And that's the thing about grief. If you don't face the bully of grief, he will simply wait...like a ticking time bomb. He is an expert at planning attacks and an expert at waiting. It doesn't matter to him if it takes two years or ten, he'll explode eventually.

Though my husband and I have done our best to model grieving in a healthy manner over the past two years, I still feel guilty (responsible) for her struggle. I question myself wondering if I missed something, wondering if I should have tried harder to get her to talk about Matt? I hurt for her, yet I can do nothing but stand by watching her in pain. She hurts, and I hurt.

What really sucks, too, is that the resources for children and teens are pathetic. It's hard enough finding resources for adults, much less kids. It's like finding a needle in a haystack. Most sad is the fact that the resources I've found for adults have only been found through word of mouth. And of those, very precious few are from a Christian, eternity perspective. Books, too, are just as disappointing. Of the very few children's grief books available, I have yet to find one for teens.

I am, however, forever thankful to our funeral home, not only for the amazing support they gave me and my family, but for the information they provided about Children's Grief Connection and Hearts of Hope Camp. They were instrumental in helping our kids deal with their grief and in educating me and Tim about how children grieve. The volunteers and staff at Hearts of Hope camp are simply amazing, incredible people.

As frustratingly helpless as I am that I can't take away my daughter's pain, I will be relentless in finding her help. Death may have claimed one of my children, but I'll be damned if I stand by silently while grief claims another. I will continue to pray to the LORD who knows our every need. I will continue to speak the truth; that though Matt died, he is alive. I will keep reminding my girl of the hope we have in Christ, of the hope of eternity.

Weeping with those who weep

For a week now, one of our daughters has been struggling deeply. She misses her brother terribly. She asked if it was always going to be like this, if it would ever get better. She said she was afraid that she'd never stop crying. She doesn't want to go anywhere or do anything or see anybody. I remember feeling exactly that way in the beginning, as well.

I cried with her. I hurt with her. I hurt for her. I feel helpless. Helplessness is a horrible feeling, for I know there is nothing I can do; I can not take away her pain. I can, however, point her to God, who is our comforter. I can speak truth to her. I can offer what little comfort I have to her with the comfort which I myself have received. (2 Cor. 1:3-4)

I told her that it wouldn't always be this painful; it will get better, but it will take a long, long time. I told her that the tears will eventually be fewer and farther between. I told her that God understands and because He understands, we can be honest with Him. (Isaiah 53:3) Then I asked her if she would like to wear my eternity necklace that has Matt's name engraved on it. She's been wearing it since. I also told her she could sleep with his blanket/comforter (the one he used to have on his bed) if she wanted, which she has. She went to GriefShare with me on Monday, as well.

All I can do is pray for her, speak God's truth to her, and give her the right tools for how to deal with her grief. She's painted this week, too. What writing is to me, painting is to her. I'm thankful she has an outlet. In the meantime, I weep with my daughter.

Living intentionally

I was reading this blog post last week and paused when I came to this question: "What were the most important events of 2013 and how did they affect me?" I realized I couldn't remember any significant events from 2013. In fact, I couldn't remember anything of 2012, either, due to the shock of losing my son, and the reason I don't recall anything of 2013 is because I was simply too busy trying to get back into life, into living.

To be sure, there were important, and even joyful, events in 2013, like birthdays and such, but recovery from grief is an agonizingly slow process. The effort it requires to get back into life is simply astounding. I look back to where I was two years ago and still can't believe I survived. But I don't want to just survive. I want to thrive. I want to overcome. Things will never be the same. I am forever changed, and my family is forever changed. We will never be the same. We will never go back to the way we were, and things will never go back to the way they were. Healing is now about moving forward and trying to define the "new" me as well as my "re-defined" family.

The loss of a child makes you question everything, most especially your purpose in life. Additionally, when your child's life ends suddenly, without warning, there's no chance to say sorry, to make amends, or say good-bye. I have enough regrets about Matt's and my relationship that I most definitely don't want any more. I can't change the past, but I can purpose to do better in the future. The death of a child is a wake-up call, a call to live intentionally.

I want to know, too, that I lived intentionally, not just over the past year, but throughout my life. I receive Ann Voskamp's emails, and the one from this Monday struck a chord, as well as the Proverbs 31 ministry email from Tuesday titled, "The God Moment That Changes Everything." (Yes, I'm back to reading!) What stood out to me was the realization that I wanted to fly again. I want joy again.

Ann talked about memorizing Scripture, specifically the book of John, through what she called "The Jesus Project." I shook my head and chuckled. John is the Precept Bible study I'm currently attending. I love when God does stuff like this, speaks to us first one way, then another, all with the same message. I believe His message to me right now is to seek joy.

(Photo from Ann's website - the Jesus Project printables)

Tuesday's email from Proverbs31 Ministries also reiterated to me that my son's death was a wake up call, and I could either shut the alarm off and go back to sleep or I could get up and get ready. This sentence from the devotional said it best: "But here’s what I’ve discovered: the effectiveness of any alarm is in direct correlation to how much you don’t want to hear it. In other words, until your desire not to hear the alarm outweighs your desire to keep sleeping—you’re not going to wake up." I can listen to what God is telling me or I can choose to ignore Him.

In the beginning, the pain of losing a child is so great, you just want to die. You search for anything that will take it away. Finding even just one thing to be thankful for seems an insurmountable task. It's why I believe it's crucial to turn to God and focus on His character, as well as find a grief support group. I truly think your very life depends on it. How you respond to your loss those first few weeks and months determine, I believe, the course of your healing.

I don't want to just survive the loss of my son, living the rest of my life never experiencing a depth of joy that equals the depth of grief that I've experienced. I have to believe that that's not what God wants, either. God is a God of intention. He never intended for death to be the end. Never. God's story has always been a life, death, life story. (This is just one of many truths GriefShare reveals in their 13 week session.) I want to live, and run, this race of life intentionally as the apostle Paul says in 1 Cor. 9:24-27. God gave us Jesus, not only to redeem us, but to enable us to live a life of intention through His strength, for His glory, and by His grace.

In the new year: What I am certain of

I am certain that:

1. I will always be a bereaved mother.

As parents, our children are a part of us, and when a child dies, we lose a part of ourselves.

An amputee will always be an amputee. Limbs do not grow back, and though healing happens and joy returns, our children do not. 2 Samuel 12:23b "...I will go to him, but he will not return to me.”

2. God will get me through.

He is faithful. I already have proof that He has gotten me through some pretty horrendous days, months, and years. He does not change. He will not suddenly fail me.

3. Life is short.

If loss of a loved one doesn't make you realize life is short, then I don't know what will. Less than a year ago, we also lost my grandma. She was two weeks away from her 90th birthday whereas my son was only 16yrs. old. However, Gretchen Rubin was right when she said, "The days are long, but the years are short.” They went by in the blink of an eye, like the snap of my fingers. 

4. Trials are what grow faith.

A faith that is tested and tried is a faith that grows. Yet faith does not grow bigger. It grows deeper. My faith was sincere, and I sincerely thought it was deep, but it was not deep. It's no wonder the Bible uses the analogy of trees and water when it speaks of one's life in Christ. Trees are made strong only through adversity, and roots grow longer only when forced to dig deeper by hard circumstances. Jesus tells us that He is the living water. Sorrow is the catalyst that sends us searching for eternal springs.

5. Joy and grief can coexist. Joy is not the absence of grief. It is the choice to worship and trust God in spite of it. Grief is not the absence of joy, either. Kay Warren defines it best when she says, "Joy is the settled assurance that God is in control of all the details of my life; the quiet confidence that ultimately everything is going to be all right; and the determined choice to praise God in all things."

What I am certain of in this new year is that God is with me. He loves me. He loves my family. He is faithful. He will never leave us nor forsake us. There will be hard times in this new year, but God has promised that we will have His presence and His strength to see us through. We will overcome because He has overcome. Of that, I am certain.

Grief lesson #1 - You Are Not in Control

It only takes seconds after a loss for this lesson to solidify in the heart of the bereaved. Especially as parents, we tend to think we have so much control. We're so busy running our lives, and the lives of our children, that we are deceived by the facade of control. But then tragedy hits and you realize that any control you thought you had was just a mirage. For those who don't believe in God and His sovereignty, I would imagine there is very little comfort after the loss of a loved one. For believers, however, the knowledge that there is an omniscient, omnipresent, and omnipotent God brings a comfort beyond understanding. Comfort because it means there is a reason for our suffering. Loss is not without purpose. Loss, in God's economy, is not wasted. Jesus carefully and tenderly gathers up the shattered pieces of our devastation and redesigns our life. Comfort doesn't diminish the pain, but allows one to bear it.

This is only our third Christmas without Matt, yet, for me, it feels like it's only the second; the second because I don't even count the first one. The first one isn't even a blur as I simply have no memory of it! The entire first year is gone, like my memory was erased. Losing a child is traumatic, to say the least. I understood so much more going into the second year why "everyone" (those who've experienced child loss) said the second year was actually harder. It's because you have no memory of the first, you're in shock. You come out of the cushion of shock the second year and the reality hits full force that your child one is never coming back. Never. (Not this side of heaven, anyway, and not until you join them on the other side.)

When grief teaches you this lesson, that you're not in control, it opens your eyes to a lot of things. Since Matt died, I think I definitely say yes more. It made me realize that when you have nothing left but memories, then you desire to create memories. It taught me to let go more. It showed me that the things, the battles with my kids, that I thought were so important were really just quite stupid. They were not the big issues I had perceived them to be. It drove home the reality that life really is short. The Bible isn't joking when it says that our lives are like a vapor and are but a handbreadth. (James 4:14, Psalm 39:5)

While there've been positive results to learning grief lesson #1, there have also been negative ones, fear being the biggest. The fear of losing another child is persistent. I mean, never in a million years would I have thought I would lose a child, but I did, and the unthinkable happened. And because it happened, fear now stalks. I've lived the reality. I have proof that it happens. It is a daily choice to trust God with the lives of my children and husband. It's choosing to resist, as well, the temptation to control as a result, because control is birthed from fear.

This lesson has also taught me to recognize what I can control and what I can't. What I can't control is when grief hits, but I can control how I choose to respond to it when it does. I can't control the punches it throws, but I can control how I fall. I've learned that leaning into grief, not avoiding it, is really the best way to deal with the sucker punch it throws.

I knew Christmas was going to be tough, but I wasn't expecting the blow from out of nowhere on Monday. I had dropped off "Army Guy," Matt's younger brother, at church for ping pong. (They have a group that plays several times a week. Matt really enjoyed being a part of this group, too.) As I watched Army Guy go into the church, grief walloped me right good, square in the face. Army Guy sauntered into the church, and that's when I got hit. His saunter was what threw me. It was just like Matt's. And then my heart split wide open with a fierce ache. I tried to hold it together, but by the time I got home, I realized I wasn't getting out of this one. I knew I needed to cry. It just sucked that I had be thrown to the ground with Christmas Eve looming. I guess some part of me had hoped I'd duck the blow and get through Christmas unscathed.

A friend on Facebook, another bereaved mom, posted this timely link, however:


I read her post and decided then that I wouldn't feel guilty for however I was feeling. I wasn't sure if I was up to attending our church's Christmas Eve service, and after being hit unexpectedly by grief on Monday, I decided it was okay to wait and see how I felt. I ended up staying home and spent the day in bed. We spent Christmas Day alone as a family and, for once, I was glad we hadn't invited anyone over. I found myself still trying to throw off the cloak of grief from Monday. I knew I needed to get focused again. I started with listing 25 things I'm thankful for. Thankfulness doesn't come easily when the heart hurts badly, but I suppose that's why Hebrews 13:15 calls it a "sacrifice."

I spent some time giving thanks and then put on some music. Once again, music had the power to touch my hurting heart. Even better than music, however, is the Giver of music. While I don't understand God or His ways at times, especially when my heart aches so badly, I know that He intends ultimate good for His children. I may not be in control, but I know the One who is.

Dear Matt,

Dear Matt,
Friday night, I finished a bowl of cereal and sat on the couch flipping through the t.v. channels. I smiled when I realized it was the same time of night you always ate your bowl of Honey Bunches of Oats^© cereal and that "The Office" and the "The Red Green Show" were on at the same time. I wondered what mood you would have been in and which one you would have picked. I went with "The office." "Burn Notice" was on, too, but that's for you and Dad to watch. I'll watch "Everybody Loves Raymond" next time, maybe. I love you. Love, Mom

P.S. Dad, Sweet Stuff, Artsy Girl, and Army Guy just got back from the movies...opening night of "The Hobbit." Apparently, it's pretty good if their excitement is any indication.

SUNDAY NIGHT:
Dad, Sweet Stuff, Artsy Girl, Army Guy, and Miss T.T. were playing Poker downstairs...your favorite, too....Texas Hold 'Em. We never noticed before, either, that your poker case is the Cardinal brand. Miss you so much. Love, Mom ♥♥♥

P.S. I finally got the ornament for you that I'm putting on our local Compassionate Friends' Christmas tree at the hospital. I knew you'd like it. :) Your aunt Cathy always posts when the Pack is playing, too. Makes me feel good. Love, Mom

P.P.S. We also went to the Christmas program at church tonight. Seeing Drama boy up front reminded us so much of you. At least he didn't jump on and off the stage like you did for your first program at age 6. LOL When he was playing with his shirt sleeves with his arms up by his ears, it was like déjà vu. Love you so much! Love, Mom

TUESDAY:
I opened several Christmas cards today. I exhaled with the realization that last year, I couldn't even open any at all because it was just too painful. Healing is bittersweet. I like to think, though, that you'd be proud of me. I also listened to Matt Redman's song, "You Never Let Go." I wonder that no one told us the songs we played at your funeral were going to be so excruciating to listen to afterward. It's been 28 months, and I finally listened to it without falling apart.

P.S. Your sister asked me the other day why I hate Christmas and why I always change the radio station when Christmas songs come on. I started crying and answered, "Because Matt's not here." I don't hate Christmas, but songs like "Have a Holly Jolly Christmas!" and "It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year" are lies. Christmas, in society's eyes, is all about being together with family. Well, guess what? My family's not all here, and you're not coming back. BUT...BUT GOD...He reminded me of what I already knew: Christmas is about Jesus Christ who came to redeem the lost. Without Christ, I would have no hope of a reunion with you, my son. Without Christ, I would be lost. Without Christ, I would have no reason to rejoice. Though there is sorrow, I do "rejoice in the God of my salvation." (Habakkuk 3:17-18)