Category: loss

better this year?

September 14, 2007

grief, healing, life, loss

This thing called grief lessens a little, definitely changes through the months. It’s always there, but it’s just not so horrific.

And yet as most things are better, there is one thing that remains unchanged. I think that every parent in the back of their mind is afraid of losing a child. But for me, that greatest fear has become a reality. And now I’m scared that I’ll lose another child. Although unlikely, it is within the realm of possibility. PLEASE NO! My baby is at the age where he loves playing in the toilet. What if he falls in when no one is around for a few seconds to pull him out? What if my crazy daredevil son falls out of a tree and breaks his neck? What if my other son falls off the ATV that he thinks he’s going to buy when he’s older? (now that one is a long shot–not the falling off, but the buying) What if I get pregnant and lose the baby? What if my 2 year old races toward the road, oblivious to the dangers of the street even though we have told her repeatedly not to go there?

This last example happened this week. We were all outside together. My toddler was riding her tricycle full speed down the driveway toward the road. Does lightening strike twice in the same place? Will the angel of death visit my house again? I screamed. She stopped, before going into the street. My husband scooped her up and took her in the house. I followed and screamed again. (not words, just the scream that comes from one who is terrified) My limbs were shaking; my breath was quick and loud. This is life. Living with the possibility of death.

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september mournings

September 14, 2007

family, grief, healing, loss

Sapphires and birthday cake. Cooler temperatures. Red leaves and orange leaves. These are things to look forward to in September. Girls in white dresses and blue satin sashes. (we just watched The Sound of Music) This ninth month of the year had always been my favorite because I was born in September.

Then September 11. The month wasn’t so nice anymore. I didn’t know anyone personally who died that day in 2001 when America was attacked. But those buildings collapsed and so did my security. So many lives gone.

Jump ahead three years. A phone call from my husband to let me know someone was missing. Suicide notes. Oh my God. How did this happen?

Then the approaching September of 2005, marking the half year anniversary of my daughter’s death. It was truly awful. I was nauseous all the time. I cried everyday. Each morning, I discovered more gray hairs than the day before. This thing called grief gripped me, consumed me, affected me. Whatever numbness that had protected me for a few months had worn off and the pain was deep. I wrote about it in six months in september. All I could do was the bare minimum for my family–putting food on the table and trying to keep up with the laundry. It was 6 months for my family since Abby died, a year for Jan since her husband died. These two anniversary dates took a toll on my psyche: I was emotionally exhausted and physically sick.

Then last September. Beth had just died in August. As I remembered how I had felt the year before, the grief seemed so foreign, and yet I had this new grief for Beth. I thought of her mother; another mother had lost a daughter. Plus I had several other issues bearing down on me. My mom’s heart health was deteriorating and surgery was looking inevitable. Barbara, my brother’s mother-in law, was dying. Jan was about to move away. I was approaching 10 months pregnant. I was just trying to have a baby. A reason to rejoice. Life was supposed to be happy. But I was surrounded by all this not-so-happy stuff.

Now to this year. Last month, the mothers of two of my friends died. One unexpectedly and the other a couple months after being diagnosed with cancer. I’m so sorry they are experiencing the pain of loss. My own mother is about to turn 60.

This September is a little easier than the previous two. It has been a time of reflection. I’m not nauseous and I’m not crying everyday. There are no gray hairs, or at least they’re not appearing in vast numbers. My tears have been for others as I watched profiles about 9-11 on TV. My pain is for the events of the twenty-second and wishing I could be with my Mom on her birthday and wishing I could see Jan this month. For my brother’s wife, the year anniversary approaches of her mother’s death close to the same time as her first child is expected to be born. So many mixed emotions for her, for me.

The emotions might be hard at times, but they’re definitely easier this year. Sweet memories have smothered my tears and made me smile.

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breaking the silence

September 12, 2007

grief, healing, loss

It has been nearly 2 months since my last entry on this blog when I posted the painting of Abby. There are several reasons for this silence. I mean, how can I follow that? I am humbled by the love and time that Mary put into painting the portrait and I am humbled by the hundreds of people who have looked at it and the comments I have gotten both on the blog and privately. WOW, and thanks again, Aunt Mary.

It’s not that I haven’t had anything to say, its just that I haven’t had the physical or emotional strength to say them this summer. Today, I’m crawling out of hiding. I’ll see you soon.

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a portrait

July 5, 2007

everyday life, healing, loss

One of my husband’s aunts has painted a portrait of Abby. She finished it several months ago and it has been “curing.” I assumed that we’d be bringing it home with us from our family vacation in September. And I wondered how we would keep it out of harm’s way in a minivan with 4 kids and all our stuff. I have been anticipating seeing the painting, wondering what my reaction will be. Will I cry uncontrollably or just smile and let out a contented sigh? Will it take some getting used to or will I love it immediately?

No longer will I have to wait until September. I have word that it is on its way and will arrive Monday or Tuesday. I’m feeling kinda nauseous. So much for having 2 more months to prepare for it. And yet, I’ve been contemplating it for quite some time. First for over a year and half, I was reluctant to choose a picture for it. How could I possibly pick just one photo; what if I chose the wrong one? After I finally made the decision, a month or so later, I heard that the portrait was finished and the artist was pleased with the finished product. Part of me has been happy that it has been curing 950 miles away! Out of reach, out of sight.

I am very excited, yet also very apprehensive! Please pray for peace. I’ll let you know how it goes.

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Hannah’s gift: a book review

June 22, 2007

book review, christianity, grief, healing, loss

Maria Housden has gathered memories from her daughter’s life and woven them into a compelling story in Hannah’s Gift: Lessons from a Life Fully Lived. In the first few pages, I fell in love with Hannah, the little girl who wore red shoes who was diagnosed with cancer shortly before her third birthday. Through carefully chosen anecdotes, Hannah emerges as a delightful, precocious pre-schooler who is never silent, always making her desires known. Hannah embraced life with energy and understanding. Will, her five year old brother, wonders, among other things, how long it takes for a body to decompose as he faces the reality that his sister is going to die. Maria faces the truth about Hannah’s cancer and eventual death. She shares these truths about life, love and loss that she learned from her daughter. Throughout the book, Maria’s language is poetic. I found myself re-reading sentences, re-reading paragraphs, awed by the language.
Listening to the night, I felt poised on the edge of greatness, certain that the silence I was feeling was God.
and
I held my breath as long as I could, hoping that some feather of joy from this moment might lodge in my lungs today so it could drift lightly and unexpectedly into one of the dark moments I knew was ahead.
If you read Hannah’s Gift, you’ll smile, delighted by Hannah’s sweet antics. A minute later you’ll have to flick the tears that have fallen on your pages as the raw truth of cancer sets in. Read Hannah’s Gift and you’ll hug your loved ones a little tighter. Maria Housden was one of the parents featured in the documentary, Space Between Breaths.

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choosing to live after a loved one dies

June 7, 2007

christianity, grief, healing, loss

I heard Elaine Stillwell, author of The Death of a Child: Reflections for Grieving Parents, speak last week at a conference. She related a story about an elderly woman going to live in a new apartment. As the young man pushed her wheelchair, he told her about the lacy curtains and other things that he thought she would like. She squealed with delight and said that she loved it. He replied that she hadn’t even seen her new room yet, how could she love it? The woman’s response was that she had already chosen to love it. It didn’t matter whether she liked it or not. She had made the choice to love her new surroundings and be content even before she had seen them.

After Elaine told this story, she said that we all have choices in life. We can choose to live after the death of our child/children or we can choose to be depressed or be defined by our loss.

Elaine’s words reminded me of the day that my daughter Abby died and the choices that I made that day. I sat on my couch all afternoon and into the evening and I contemplated life. How on earth could I go on? At one point, it suddenly dawned on me that we had a funeral to plan.

Oh my God, I thought, we have a funeral to plan.

I went to the kitchen and leaned on my husband and said, “Funeral?” He said not to worry about it. His dad, a pastor, would help us take care of all those details. I went back and sat in the living room. I thought and thought. What would I do? I was still a mother. I had three living children. I had to mother my living children. That was the choice I made that day. I had to get up every morning and take care of my young children. They needed me. Some days it is much easier than others. Daily, I need to make the choice to master this grief rather than let it master me. And I find myself failing some days.

Another choice I made the day that Abby died was not be angry at God or blame Him for allowing her to die. Instead of demanding answers from God or asking Him why, I chose to rest in Him and find my comfort in Him. I did not understand, still don’t understand this Providence for our family. In the early days, I found comfort in reading the Psalms and I found myself “hiding in the shadows of His wings.” When I wrestle with my thoughts, I have to remind myself to go back to the resting, back to the Psalms.

Have mercy on me, O God, have mercy on me,
for in you my soul takes refuge.
I will take refuge in the shadow of your wings
until the disaster has passed. Psalm 57:1

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finding joy in the oily soot

May 28, 2007

family, life, loss

I called my cousin Kathy when I got the news from another relative that her house had burned down this week. Oh my, what next, I thought. Such sorrow and heartache she has experienced these last five years and here is another loss. I was surprised she answered the phone; I was expecting to just leave a “praying for you” message on her voicemail! I was glad to hear her tone was upbeat. She and her mom were worried that something had happened to my family when I called.

No one was home when the fire started in the old refrigerator. Fortunately, the flames were contained to half the kitchen. What a blessing that her house and everything in it didn’t burn. My cousin arrived home after an afternoon at the beach and black smoke rushed out of the house when she opened her door. Soot covered everything.

Kathy’s belongings smell like smoke. Calling herself a packrat, she laughed and said that she has been wanting to go through her papers and stuff and get rid of things. She told me that her mother-in-law has been hoping for an extreme home makeover for her. She said to be careful what you wish and pray for–God might answer your prayers.

As Kathy decides what to keep and what to throw away, she thinks about how she would feel if everything had burned and was gone. As she fingers each paper, would she be sorry that it was gone if it had turned to ashes instead? This makes the decision making easier.

Kathy has found joy in her soot covered stuff. She is glad that no one was hurt and that she still has her precious photos even if they do smell like smoke.

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a documentary on grief and healing

May 14, 2007

documentary, grief, healing, loss

Space Between Breaths is a new documentary that will premiere at the Kentucky Theatre on May 31, 2007. The film interviews several families who have experienced the loss of a child. To learn more about the documentary and to watch a trailer of the film, go to the website. I am looking forward to attending the premiere in Lexington, Kentucky. To read about one of the families who was interviewed in the film, read this news article . It is about the Kechter’s, whose son died in the Columbine High School shootings.

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top 5 things not to say at a funeral

May 9, 2007

christianity, death, everyday life, grief, healing, heaven, loss
In the two years since my daughter’s death, several people have asked me what they can say to a friend who has just lost a child or another loved one. My answer has always been,

There are truly no words. Just listen. Get your friend talking.

Ask about their loved one. Ask what they miss the most, what they remember. If you have some stories to tell about the person who has just died, tell them. They will grasp onto your memories and cherish them.

Here are five things not to say to the grieving family at the visitation or funeral and why you shouldn’t say them:
1. You can always have another child. OR you’re young; you can get married again.
2. Don’t worry. You’ll see him again.
3. At least he didn’t suffer long.
4. He is in a better place.
5. Be thankful he died at an early age. He doesn’t have to experience pain and heartache on this earth.
Although these might be true statements, they are not helpful and can be very hurtful. You can’t replace a person by having another child or remarrying. The parents will want this child back. The widow will want her husband back. The child will want his parent back.

For Christians, death is bitter sweet; yes, we’re glad that our loved ones are in heaven and we look forward to seeing them again. But the reality is that we would much rather have our loved one here right now with us.

A note to pastors for mother’s day
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