Tag: #griefhurts

frozen wave against sunlight

Preparing to Let Go

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To my friends who have recently lost or are preparing to lose their children…my heart is hurting for you.  This is not a time for platitudes and my words may mean nothing during this traumatic time and that’s ok.  I certainly am not the expert in how to prepare for such a loss.  I’ve walked a similar path, but no two stories are ever the same.  Your unique relationship with your child is precious and I know the thought of not having the tangible physical presence of your child takes your breath away.  Honestly, it still takes mine away at times, when I’m missing my girl.  I’ll offer some simple statements and pray that somehow you will be strengthened.

This is NOT the end of your child.  They are “arrows:”

Psalms 127:4:  Like arrows in the hands of a warrior are children born in one’s youth.

I wrote a blog about it here.  Our lives are not time-lines with an end.  You’re sending your child into eternity ahead of you, but they will live on with a future and a purpose. You will have more days ahead of you with your child in eternity, than you’ll ever have apart, if heaven is where you’re headed too.

I know you know this, but it’s worth saying….don’t wait to say what you want to say.  Soak up every minute you have left with them.  Hold them, smell them, look into their eyes and their souls and make sure they know how wonderful they are and how brave they have been.  No regrets.  However, it’s ok to leave the room for a minute.  In her last days, sometimes Sarah needed a break from me.  I had to respect that and give her time alone with other loved ones.  It was hard.  More often though, she wanted me right by her side and that time was precious.  We did everything possible to honor her and her wishes. 

Don’t take your eyes off Jesus.  I recently watched the end of season 3 of The Chosen series…spoiler alert here…They include the bible story of Peter walking on the water and they took some artistic liberties to connect it to the topic of Peter and Eden’s grief of losing a child.  Wow…did that hit me hard!  Losing a child feels so much like being in the boat in the middle of the storm.  Somehow, Chad and I have chosen to get out of the boat and just walk towards Jesus.  I imagine Sarah standing next to Him and His hands reaching out to us.  We want to go to him too, but our journey towards him is still full of things left here to do.  When I look at the waves and wind, I sink, but when I lock eyes with Him and remember who He is….somehow I rise above the storm.  He’s got you too, friend.  He won’t let go.  You will hear many people express that they could never imagine losing a child.  We can’t either.  We are living and surviving the impossible.  You can too. 

Your child will receive healing soon.  It’s disappointing that it’s probably not going to be an earthly healing.  It’s perfectly ok to get mad about that, but always be honest with God about your feelings.  He knows when you’re pretending and He can take it.  It doesn’t change His feelings towards you.  He knows what’s it’s like to give up a son.  He knows that you can’t see the end of the story yet.  Believe in your heart that you can trust Him with your child.  As hard as it is too imagine, He loves your child even more than you do.  Let that sink in.  Along with a heavenly healing comes so much more than we could ever give them here.  I have found comfort in realizing that there’s a lot of things that happen here that she will never have to suffer through because she is in heaven. She is protected forevermore and she is only experiencing complete and perfect love, joy and peace.  I believe it will takes us about 2 seconds in heaven to forget all the pain that this world caused.

I wish I could tell you that eventually the pain will lesson.  Over time you will learn to carry the pain differently.  You will get stronger, but it won’t lessen it.  You somehow grow around it.  One of the best analogies that I’ve related to is that it is sort of like having an amputation.  You learn to live a part from them, but not without them.   It’s not easy at all.   You’ll need help sometimes, but that’s ok.  Other parents who’ve lost children connect deeply with each other because not many people understand.   Reach out when you’re ready and you’ll be embraced. 

overhead view of white pumpkin in wicker basket

Numb

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Grief has a way of interrupting so many things in my life.  So excuse me, for not always making my thoughts flow well and with clarity.  You see, my brain is still sometimes foggy and my memory is terrible-except for the stuff that I want to forget, but I can’t.  I have no concept of “real time.”  I walked around for a few days saying that Chad and I would be celebrating 26 years of marriage…until a friend corrected me and said, “Ugh, isn’t it 28?”  She was right.  In many ways I feel like I’ve lost 2 years of my life.  People that know my story have been so gracious to me in so many ways, but I’m sure there have been many a stranger that thought I was either on drugs or just plain crazy.  I sometimes have no memory of completing task or managing responsibilities.  Somehow, with God’s help, things have gotten done and I haven’t completely wrecked our home. 

I wish I could get motivated.  Motivated to care about things like:  being organized, cooking for my family, cleaning (no worries, I do shower and de-clutter occasionally), exercising- or even just being health.  I used to love to work out.  Now, I just don’t care.  I wonder if I will ever care about such things again?  Poor Libby…I miss every parent deadline, permission slip sign-up, volunteer opportunity, and am terrible about getting events on the family calendar that she’s involved in.  At home, I literally am taking it one day at a time.  I’m thankful for a husband and responsible daughter who understand and help out with the household. 

I’ve decided the best way to describe this stage is that I’m just plain numb.  I don’t want to feel right now.  I don’t want to feel sad.  I don’t want to feel happy.   I don’t want to feel anything.  So, I don’t.  I react to life’s situations, but only on the surface.  I know that I’m guarding this fragile heart of mine, while it’s trying to heal.  This is probably the place where some who are grieving may find ways to help them stay in the state of numb by turning to substance abuse.  I’m not enticed by that option for several reasons, but I certainly understand how someone may go there.  Unfortunately, that path leads to more loss and just starts a cycle that is so hard to break.  It’s a trap. If you’re stuck in that cycle. Please ask for help.

I’m not so numb that my emotions don’t occasionally break through.  So, I guess that’s a good thing.  I have moments where my tears come hard and fast.  It hurts.  It hurts like hell.  The band-aid rips off my heart and it falls apart again and I bleed.  It doesn’t last as long as it used to and it doesn’t happen as much, but it still happens.  I guess that makes me human. 

There is a comfort that comes in those moments though.  It’s not from another person; because…trust me, I make sure I’m alone during those times. It’s the ultimate “Comforter.” (John 14:26)   There’s a calm reassurance and presence that wraps around my heart and squeezes it back together.  He gently places the bandage of Hope over my scar and whisper’s “I’m here and I’ve got you.”  You know what?  He’s got Sarah too.  He holds us both.  That vision gives me so much strength.  So, for now, I’ll focus on that.

I’ve been drawn to the cemetery a few times lately in the early mornings, after taking Libby to school.  I guess I know the cold weather is coming and it won’t be as easy to go.  I took a white pumpkin to her gravesite and left it.  Every year, that was her choice.  She loved those white pumpkins.  I can’t see one and not think of her and all that her life represents now. I understand that not everyone is a fan of celebrating Halloween.  When we think about the process of creating a jack-a-lantern though, isn’t it a bit symbolic of what Jesus wants for us?  When we invite Him in, he cleans out all the yucky stuff and puts a light inside of us that others can see.

I love that as I’m driving off out the cemetery in Hope that I can always see the empty tomb.  That reminder…gives me just the boost that I need to keep driving.   

person marking his calendar

September

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Oh September, how I despise you now.  Once, you represented a beautiful season of life to me, but now I dread seeing you on my calendar.  Once you were a month full of back to school routines, Labor Day fun, fall festival planning, and anniversary trips.  Now, the sense of dread I feel as you approach makes my stomach turn in knots.  I don’t usually feel such animosity towards things, but I can’t help myself as I am taken back to our loss and the day that my heart was torn in pieces.

How can it be 2 whole years without our girl?  730 days of waking up and remembering that she’s gone.  730 days… but her hospital bag is still packed and sitting by my bed.  It still feels like yesterday.  I’m still not used to being here without her.  I can’t imagine that I ever will be.  September, why was this her time to go? 

Her high school class is now seniors.  As I am starting to see all of their senior pictures and plans for their futures, it’s easy to celebrate with them, because they are all amazing young adults; but… it still hurts.  I wonder what she looks like in heaven.  730 days and I’ve only seen her once in a dream and she never looked at me or spoke.  I don’t think it was really her.  Other people have shared their dreams of her with me, which I am always so grateful for.  I just want to hear her giggle and say “Mom! It’s been 730 days without hearing her.

September, you always signaled to me that change was coming and this time you really meant it.  So much is different now. I was so comfortable with how things were.  I still can’t get comfortable with this new normal.  There’s no rest for a momma when her child is missing.  Sure, we try to fill our days with a routine, but something is always “off.”  This change was not welcomed and I can’t seem to adapt. All I can do is put one foot in front of the other and keep moving forward. Sometimes though, especially on September 5th, I just can’t.

September, you make the days shorter, but the nights are becoming longer.  I don’t like the night.  That’s when I miss her the most.  My eyes still fill with tears often as I lay awake and miss her and my memory still replays the trauma of our loss.  My favorite time is the morning.  I’m eager in the mornings to spend time reading and studying.  It’s also safe to turn on my worship music because Chad and Libby have to wake up any way. That’s where I feel closest to heaven.

September, none of this is your fault.  It’s just the way that it’s going to be.  I don’t know any way around you or September 5th…  If I did, I’d certainly take it.  I’m not sure how many September 5ths I’ll have to endure before I’m reunited with Sarah.  All I know is every night before I fall asleep, I tell myself I’m one day closer to heaven.  Until then, I’ll keep asking to dream about her and I’ll keep looking for ways to remember her all year long, not just in September. 

Sausage Burrito

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When you’re grieving for someone that you lived with–someone who was part of your “normal” every day living, for a while it clouds every aspect of living. It’s as if you go through the motions, but the “inner” you is watching life go on– all the while screaming “This isn’t right!…None of this is normal or ok…..Stop!”…..Sometimes you do stop and give in to the tantrum, but sometimes you manage to ignore the cry of your heart and push through. I suppose we do it for the sake of others. It really is a terrible thing to make others sad just by being around them. Other times we push through because we know we need to find a way to live the new normal—to try and find moments of reprieve from the cloud, to not be so far inside our heads that we miss this life that is still happening all around us. So, we manage to have moments of living, but not without some serious effort and a constant loss of innocence that taints every good moment. There’s always the realization that those moments can be gone in a flash. We are never guaranteed another tomorrow. I’d like to say that makes me appreciate the good times more, but sometimes the bitterness wins and I just feel cheated. Regardless of the bitterness, I know better than to carelessly let a moment pass without recognizing it’s importance. That’s the problem of grief, it makes every normally menial task somehow seem important.

In my grief, I try to find ways to connect and honor Sarah even in my every day moments. Maybe I’m holding on to tightly. Maybe, at this point, I’m just hanging on. However, I know that when I find a way to include things that meant something to her, it makes me feel better. Today, I ordered a breakfast burrito from McDonald’s and stuck the round “sausage” sticker in a funny place. She did that to me all the time. I’d find them hidden in the funniest places. When I’d find them, she’d laugh so hard and was so proud of herself for being so clever. Today it made me smile to remember her sense of humor. Tomorrow, the same memory may make me cry. I have no way of knowing which one it may be. That’s ok. I’ll still find a way in the “new” normal of my day to connect and remember her. If the tears come, I’ll let them. After all, their only purpose is here on earth and their days are numbered.

The Pandemic of Grief

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Friends, we are in a season of grief. Every week, there is loss. Because of COVID almost all of us have experienced the death of a friend, family member, or at the least you are hearing stories of acquaintances who have passed away. Many of these are seemingly healthy people, prior to contracting COVID, and sadly they are people who seemed to still be in the prime of their life, possibly with young children. I don’t feel led to address any stance on COVID precautions. We all know the tools that are available to help us fight this horrible pandemic. I’m also not trying to spread fear. At this point, we also know the risk of COVID. I simply feel led to address the topic of grief and loss and its hard to deny the increasing number of folks who are joining the “grief club.” In a way, it’s becoming a pandemic itself. It’s shocking and heartbreaking to see so many families hurting and I can’t help but contemplate the effects of grief on our current society. Realizing that everyone’s grief journey is different, I do think there are a few things that I have learned on my own journey that I’d like to share.

Grieving people will never be who they were before their loved one died. Losing a loved one causes you to lose a piece of yourself and I’m convinced that it’s a piece of your heart. I remember the person that I was before Sarah died, untainted by death. I laughed more, I focused better, I slept better, I ate better, and my priorities were different. I may not seem different to many of you, but to my family, they can tell. There’s an innocence’s that is lost when death steals away someone that you love. It’s as if the unthinkable actually occurred and there is a distrust of statistics and reasoning. I give no weight to percentages now when I hear them used to minimize a risk. I just can’t help it.

Grieving people need space to just be. Don’t expect them to attend family functions or keep appointments regularly. Sometime, even in route to something planned, a wave of grief comes out of no where and just paralyzes me. Please give grace to those who are adjusting to a new normal. Grieving people often just feel sick themselves. The aches and pains of grief can make you feel like you’ve ran a marathon or even have the flu. The lack of sleep can also cause a grieving person to feel less than themselves. If you’re grieving, some days it’s OK if the most that you accomplish is getting out of bed and doing some self-care, like eating, showering, or taking an extra nap. Grieving people need time to work through the trauma of their loss-some more than others. If you are a friend, co-worker, or supervisor of someone who is grieving. Please give them some margin. Sooner or later, you’ll be in their position of grief too.

Grieving people need to know that you are available to talk about and remember their loved one. Please don’t be afraid to say their loved ones name and share memories or special things about their person. I realize that this may cause you to be concerned that you may upset them or make them sad, but honestly they already are both those things. They may actually need someone one else to validate their loss and feelings. It’s more hurtful when others do not acknowledge the loss that you feel. Tears are not always an indication that a grieving person is having a bad day. Sometimes tears are exactly the thing needed to have a better day. Trust me when I say that is a gift to them to even just speak their name. There are exceptions to this rule. So, don’t be too pushy and just follow their lead after you mention their loved one.

Grieving people need forgiveness. That’s right. I said forgiveness. Grieving people will not always make the right choices. They will do things that are hurtful, selfish, impulsive, irresponsible… I could go on and on. You see, the hurt is heavy and grieving people are just trying to stop the hurt, hide the hurt, or forget about the hurt for a while. Grief shouldn’t entitle us to hurt others on purpose and there are consequences to bad choices, obviously. It’s ok to set boundaries with a grieving person, if they are not respecting you. However, just be aware that extra grace is needed when maintaining a healthy relationship with a grieving person. Watch for indications that professional grief counseling may be necessary and encourage them to seek further help.

Grieving people need Jesus. I follow different types of grief support groups on social media. There are some grief support groups that do not tolerate any sort of faith-based approach to grieving. It honestly is so dismal. I’m even more confounded by it because most will admit that their loved one is still a spiritual being. They believe that their soul/spirit has moved on somewhere and they may even believe in heaven, but they will not acknowledge Jesus. Friends, Jesus is the only one to defeat death. He is the key to heaven. He is the way, the truth, and the life. Unless we humble ourselves and accept His payment for our sins, we will not receive eternal life in heaven. Submitting our lives to Him, not only gives us the hope of heaven, but it provides joy, peace, and purpose for us now, here on earth.

Even on my darkest day, I can know, because of Jesus, that I will be reunited with Sarah someday. Even on my darkest day, I can know that the Holy Spirit will comfort me and give me strength to endure the sadness. Even on my darkest day, I can still feel joy. I may be sad for myself because I miss Sarah, but I can know that she is experiencing pure joy and happiness. Even on my darkest day, I know that death has been defeated and one day, it will not exist. God is patient, but there will be a day that every knee will bow before Him and every tongue will confess that He is Lord.(Philippians 2:10-11) If you’re still not sure about Jesus, I encourage you to research Him for yourself.

Me, Without You

Categories Poems, The First Year, , , , , , , , ,

Some days I just can’t-

look at your pictures,

listen to your voice,

hold your things,

hear your songs…

Not because I don’t miss you,

but because I miss you so much.

Some days I can-

look in your eyes,

listen to your laugh,

smell your scent,

and sing along-

Because I miss you and

it seems like you’ve been gone so long.

Some days I just can’t

breathe

or even make myself move

the weight of missing you

sits on my chest like a giant rock

and won’t let me up until I sob.

It’s suddenly like we just lost you

and I can’t believe you’re gone.

Some days I can-

go with a friend for a while,

leave my house and shop in a store,

go outside and watch the clouds,

But, even when I do-

I’m always missing you.

Though your death isn’t new

It will never be normal.

The complexities of grief

have made me different.

Which version of me, without you,

will I be today?

Things I’m Learning…

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I’ve been feeling quiet in my spirit. I know it’s because I’m processing so many things all at once: it’s almost been one year since Sarah’s death, trying to parent and support a 14 year old who is also dealing with grief and so much change. Changes in our church family, good friends moving away, and trying to discern what God is calling me to do next as a job, etc… In many ways I feel like I’m waiting. While I wait, I am enjoying the freedom to grieve as I need to. I’m not going to lie, the gut punches have been hitting me hard over the past couple weeks as I’ve been missing Sarah and reminded of where we were one year ago and our journey to the end of her life here with us. It’s been especially hard walking into her room, seeing her things, and thinking about the beginning of school and how she should be enjoying being a junior in high school. As grief continues to demand it’s own attention in my life, here are a few things that I’m learning a long the way:

  1. Not everyone will be comfortable around you like they used to be. Sometimes it can make conversations feel awkward as people are unsure how to approach you. Depending upon my particular mood for the day, some days it’s easier to approach others first and just act normal, but somedays I know that I shouldn’t. It’s hard knowing that when people see me, it makes them feel sad. It’s not anything that can be helped.
  2. You can laugh with anyone, but it’s only your best friends that you can cry with. We know that someone has reached a special place in our hearts when we’re comfortable letting out our deepest emotions. I’m thankful for friends that I can be real with, when I need to be.
  3. I look for “signs” from Sarah everywhere. There has been some really special ways that she has been with us lately…like the amazing “angel” figure in my vacation picture. I hope I never stop receiving them. I still haven’t had a real vivid dream with her. I still ask too, but God knows best about how to minister to my heart. So, I’m going to trust Him with it.
  4. When you’re grieving, it’s very easy to let feelings of jealousy and bitterness rule in your heart. I have to be honest, it’s hard not to compare what could have been, when I see FB posts about other kids hitting milestones. Sometimes, very negative thoughts cross my mind as I read comments from mom’s who are missing their children who have just moved away or when someone complains about something very trivial. That is totally normal for me, but it’s also not ok for me to NOT submit those thoughts to Jesus and let His Holy Spirit set me straight. It would be hurtful for me to not acknowledge those feelings, but it’s more hurtful to let those kinds of thoughts rule in my heart. I need to have grace for others. The reality of it is, that I wouldn’t wish this kind of grief on my worst enemy. So, it’s ok if others live in a space where they don’t have to consider the things that I do. I’m learning what posts to just scroll over and sometimes, I just need to stay off of Facebook for a bit.
  5. Sleep is such a precious thing. Lately, I’ve been waking up in the middle of the night again. It’s so frustrating! I know that when it happens, the more I try to force myself to go back to sleep, the harder it becomes. So, I just try and find something good to meditate on; or I just bare my soul to Jesus, if I’m struggling with anxious thoughts or trauma.
  6. Worship still is the thing that connects me to Sarah more than anything and most importantly, Jesus. I know that when I worship, it’s like a little taste of heaven. As much as I miss Sarah, Jesus is the only thing that can fill the emptiness in my heart. He understands my grief, but he truly is the only one worthy of our worship. Worship while were suffering is life giving. It is the way to truly activate His strength in our weakness…which leads to my next point.
  7. I’m learning a lot about the biblical theology of suffering. Yeah, I know…that doesn’t sound very exciting. However, we know for those who do not believe, many times it’s because they can not accept that a loving God would allow for pain and suffering of those He loves. I’ve discovered an author, Rebecca McLaughlin, Confronting Christianity & 10 Questions Every Teen Should Ask (and Answer) About Christianity, who has some very helpful insights about this. First of all, if you’re looking for logical answers about theology, I highly recommend her books. The one directed towards teens is superb and actually quite helpful, even as an adult. She takes on almost every culturally relevant issue and has a fantastic way of explaining correct theology, with grace and love. Anyway, back to suffering. She uses the story of Lazarus to make some very keen points in regards to suffering in both books actually. My quotes will come from Confronting Christianity:
  • “Sometimes we call for Jesus and he does not come.”
  • However, “If Jesus had only come when he was called, no one would be crying.” and we wouldn’t have the verse: “Jesus wept.” John 11:35
  • “Jesus does not just feel sorry for us in our weakness and pain. He takes on that agony himself. ”

“He was was despised and rejected by mankind, a man of suffering, and familiar with pain…Surely he took up our pain and bore our suffering…”

Isaiah 53:3-4
  • In the story of Lazarus, “Jesus knows the resurrection is coming. And yet he cries out in his distress.” He bears the heartbreak of our suffering. “Pain is a place of special intimacy with him.” When we go to Him in our sorrow, we find understanding, comfort, and hope.
  • When Jesus does arrive, he doesn’t automatically fix Martha’s problem. Jesus looks into this grieving woman’s eyes and says: “I am the resurrection and the life. Whoever believes in me, though he die, yet shall he live, and everyone who lives and believes in me shall never die. Do you believe this?” (John 11: 25-26) He wasn’t just talking about Lazarus to Martha. He was talking about Martha herself. It’s as if he was saying to her, as she was longing to have her brother back, “your greatest need is not to have your brother back again. It’s to have me…He himself is life: Life in the face of suffering, life in the face of death.”
  • Our suffering is never an indication that God does not love us or that we’re being punished. Time and time again, in the pages of The Bible, we see those who are “chosen and beloved suffering. When Jesus comes, we see that script played out on a cosmic stage: God’s beloved Son, the One who the Father is well pleased, comes expressly to suffer and to die out of love for his people. Indeed, our beliefs about God and suffering expose the fault lines between our natural assumptions and the biblical narrative.”

I have no affiliation with Amazon for sharing, but if you’re interested in reading Rebecca McLaughlin’s books, they are available on Amazon here. I highly recommend them!

Reflections On Our Trip

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Life goes on, but my heart still hurts. We knew that after the hard past couple of years, that we needed to move forward and take a family trip. Usually family vacations are so fun to plan and there’s so much to look forward too, but when you’re grieving, even vacation planning looses it’s excitement. It becomes one of those things that you know is good for you, but you’re just not feeling it. So you commit to doing it, just because you ought too. It’s like so many things, when you’re grieving-bittersweet. It’s just not the way that we imagined our life would be. Visions of future “bucket-list” vacations always included Sarah. However, we knew it was time to take this step towards reality and go.

So, we planned at family vacation out west. I planned the drive, the hotels, the VRBO’s, the National Parks, the extra stops. We decided to invite one of Libby’s closest friends, Sam, to come along. Thankfully, her parents were willing to entrust us with her for 2 whole weeks. I’m so glad that they did. Big life events, holidays, and vacations just magnify “the missing” for all of us, especially siblings. Libby has suddenly been forced to take on the role of “only child” of two grieving parents. That’s a hard job. We’re doing our best not to smother her and respect her 14 year old introverted self, but it’s hard not to be a helicopter parent. It’s our job to fix what’s broken for her, but this time, we can’t.

I can honestly say it was a good trip. We saw things that were just so beautiful-places that we have been wanting to see for years. We took lots of pictures, saw lots of animals, laughed, ate too much, and had fun. We also felt a deep ache in our hearts that I will compare to being “home sick.” Although, we knew when we arrived home, it wasn’t going to be alleviated. It’s a longing for how home used to be.

It’s no surprise that I pray a lot for God to give me signs from Sarah. I also say things to Sarah out loud sometimes, just in case she can hear me. When you’re missing someone that’s in heaven, you know that they’re ok, but you still want signs that they are still with you somehow.

One day, while sightseeing in Glacier National Park, we were driving along and came by this beautiful crystal blue lake that was so still that it had a mirrored reflection of the snow capped mountains in it. As he often did, Chad quickly pulled over to park and get out and just take it all in. I jumped out of the truck and started taking pictures. He noticed another couple also had stopped and as he does so naturally, he struck up a conversation with the man. He told Chad that he and his wife were retired ranchers from North Dakota and they now lived closer to this area. He said they come to Glacier a lot, and they took this particular drive about every 2 weeks. He said he had never seen it so still. He even told Chad that usually the waves in the lake were white capping because of the wind. So they also were amazed at the beautiful reflections in the mirrored water. I snapped several pictures with the phone camera, trying to frame the shots exactly like I wanted. It wasn’t until I reviewed the pictures that I saw it. This beautiful glow of light that seemed to build in a few of the images, until this magnificent bright image showed up on the picture. Again, none of this was viewable as I took the pictures. I knew right away that it was a sign. I zoomed in to look at the light…It was more breathtaking to me then the gorgeous mountains. All I could do was say thanks! Thank you, Jesus and Sarah, for letting us know that she was with us on our trip. Not the way that we exactly long for, but in a way that is better for her. I know she’s healed, free, and in perfect peace and paradise.

I’ll keep asking for signs this side of heaven. She’s a part of me and I can’t help it. What exactly did I see? I’ll let you interpret that for yourself. You may not see what I see, but that’s ok. What signs have you experienced from your loved one that has passed?

Sweet 16

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Dear Sarah,

Tomorrow is your birthday.  Such a special day to us and always celebrated, but this year it feels so different.  I still want and need to celebrate you, but there is such a cloud of grief still hanging over my head because I just ache to be near you… to hear your laugh, see your smile, and look into your eyes.  What I wouldn’t give to hug you!  That cloud lifts at times and I’m able to feel the warmth of the sun.  It’s helping. 

It’s been 7 months since you went to heaven.  I’m guessing that time is different in heaven.  The agony of waiting to see each other probably doesn’t exist there.   Surely the need for patience and waiting is part of the curse.   I like to think you can see us, and if so, I hope you can still feel the love that we feel and project towards you.  You’re never far from our thoughts, even though we try to go on with life here in this place.  Your absence has changed us.  We no longer feel at home in this world.  I think that’s ok though.  As followers of Jesus, we were never meant to.  Your journey to heaven has taught us so much.  Your willingness to allow God to use your story for His glory has forever changed eternity for many people.  As your mom, I’m so proud of you.  As a human, I’m inspired to be a better person.  As a follower of Jesus, I’m humbled by you.  You taught us that even at the age of 15 you can do big things for God.  I’m sure that your desire for others to know Jesus is even stronger now that your physically with Him and you’ve seen all that’s been promised to us.   Your light still shines bright and I’m often reminded that even the darkness of grief cannot hide it. 

We have a gift for you.  I hope it’s something that makes you smile.  However, just like when you were here with us, I’m not going to reveal your gift until your actual birthday.  Looking forward to celebrating you tomorrow in a way that honors you, and pays tribute to the things you cared about, but is also fun. 

We love you Sarah Rose!

Love,

Mom

I Can’t Drive 65

Categories The First Year, , , , , , 10 Comments on I Can’t Drive 65

When strong emotions catch me off guard, it still surprises me.  I’m not sure why.  I know it’s expected with grief.  I guess it’s because I like to think that I know how I’m doing and I try very hard not to put myself into a situation that I feel like I won’t handle well.  So when I’m overwhelmed with sadness that seems to come from nowhere, it only compounds the emotions.  I’ve never thought of myself as being “unstable,” but grief sure has taught me otherwise.  Grief is the great “humiliator.” 

Chad and I needed to drive to Greenwood the other day.  I never really gave it a second thought as we started driving in the Jeep.  We usually cut through the country to get to the interstate and as we were approaching the entrance ramp to I65, that’s when the fist lump in my throat suddenly showed up.  My mind suddenly replayed what felt like hundreds of scenes all at once of trips to and from the hospital.  Suddenly, I felt all of that weight and pain and I lost it—just because we were on I65.  I realized that I hadn’t really gone that way, since Sarah had passed.  I’ve been avoiding it I guess.  After she died, driving home was the absolute worst.  I’ve never cried like that before.  It was all so raw.

 Before cancer, we had driven that road so many times, but during cancer, it was like I could put the Jeep on autopilot and it would just take us to Riley.  There were trips where we were so scared about what we were going to learn, once we got there.  There were trips where we were so hopeful- that we were going to be victorious over the cancer.  Most of the trips took a lot of courage for Sarah.  Mentally, she was so strong.  She would crank up the worship music and we would sing our hearts out the whole way there.  Coming home after long stays, were always the best.  She’d usually ask for fast food from somewhere.  She was excited to see the Culver’s being built at the Franklin exit.  I remember thinking, as I drove her to the hospital the last time, she may not get to see it finished.  She didn’t.  How am I supposed to drive by that Culver’s and not have that memory every single time?  That’s grief and trauma working together in my head.  Somehow, I need to capture those thoughts before they attack me.  I’m still working on how to do that.  A couple of weeks later, I tried driving I65 by myself.  I still cried.  It may have been worse than the first time.  However, I refuse to let it master me.  I may choose to drive a different route sometimes, but eventually, I need to just “go down that road” and let myself feel and release those emotions.  I don’t want to have areas of my life that I avoid because the trauma is to painful. 

EDIT…Less than 24 hours after I wrote this blog, I did it!  Little did I know that a friend would be needing me to take them to Indy for an emergency situation.  Although, I’m sorry that my friend needed a trip to the eye specialist, I’m not sorry for the opportunity that I had to conquer this challenge.  God knew when I was writing this blog entry that He was going to work out just the situation that would require me to drive I65.  I know it will probably take more trips and especially, if I’m alone, it may feel differently, but I’m celebrating this emotional victory.  He’s always up to something. 

What about you?  Is there an area that you avoid because it’s connected to your grief?  Did you recognize that early on in your grief journey or did it surprise you?