A Mother’s Day Gift

It feels awkward to sit at my computer and begin writing a post for this blog.  It has been months since my last post.  There are multiple reasons for that – some good, some bad.  I’m just thankful to be sitting here today and typing.

For those of us mothers who have lost a child, we recently experienced another Mother’s Day, or perhaps our first Mother’s Day, without our child.  It’s a tough holiday to mark because the one who helped define us as a mother is no longer here in the flesh.  What we wouldn’t give to hear that child say, “I love you, Mom!” just one more time.  What we wouldn’t give to get another hug, another kiss, another card with a few thoughtful words of appreciation for who we are as mothers.

I will never forget my first Mother’s Day without Jacob.  My husband, Michael, was proactive and contacted several people asking them to remember me on that day.  Dozens of emails filled my inbox, and each one mentioned Jacob and Raleigh (our daughter).  They didn’t address me only as Raleigh’s mom, but Jacob’s mom too.  In fact, some even addressed their emails to “Jacob’s Mom.”  That reference wasn’t meant to exclude Raleigh, but they realized how important it was for me to know I was still very much Jacob’s mom and always would be.  The love and prayers of many people carried me through one of the most difficult days of that first year.

There is another reason I will never forget that first Mother’s Day after Jacob died. Jacob came to visit me.  Now I know some of you are thinking I’ve lost my mind or that I temporarily lost my mind back on that painful and grief-filled first Mother’s Day, but that’s not true.  I was very much of sound body and mind.  So was my husband.  So was our dog.  All three of us experienced Jacob’s presence in profound ways at the same time, in the same room.

It was the early morning hours shortly before dawn.  I woke up and realized it was still dark out, so I shut my eyes.  As I lay there with eyes closed, a scene began playing out in my mind.  I was viewing the scene as if I was standing on the opposite side of the bed and I could see that I was in bed, but Jacob was standing next to my side of the bed.  He bent down to kiss me.  As he did that, I immediately was back in my body and felt him kiss me.  Then, I could “hear” his thoughts and he could hear mine.  We both expressed a desire to be together on that Mother’s Day.  I sensed Jacob’s love for me in a wonderful way.  Then the scene ended.

When I realized what had just happened, I smiled and thanked God for such a precious vision on Mother’s Day.  Feeling such a closeness to Jacob was a sweet gift, and I was praising God for it.  A minute or two later, I felt Michael get up and let the dog out.  Since I sleep with earplugs, I could not hear when she got up and scratched at the door to go out, so it was part of our routine that Michael would usually let the dog out in the early morning hours and come back to bed.  I fell asleep again before he came back to bed that Mother’s Day morning.

Later that morning after Michael and I woke up for good, Michael said, “I think Jacob was here to wish you a Happy Mother’s Day.”  I was shocked to hear him say that and immediately asked him why.  He went on to explain what he had experienced early that morning before it was light out.  He said even though it was dark, our dog, Nikki, had been jumping up and down on my side of the bed.  It was just like the sound she made when she greeted us each time we came home.  Nikki’s nails clicking on the wood floor was what woke him up.  Normally he would wake up to the sound of her nails clicking on the wood floor as she walked over to the bedroom door to go out, but this was different.  He could tell she was jumping up and down.

Michael sat up to attempt to see Nikki jumping around and was overcome by a strong sense of Jacob’s presence in the room.  In fact, it was so profound that Michael began talking quietly to Jacob, telling him, “I love you, Jacob!” over and over.  Jacob’s presence wasn’t frightening or upsetting for Michael.  In fact, it was comforting and peaceful.  That was in stark contrast to another experience he had.  Shortly after Jacob died, Michael woke up to a strong presence in the room, but that presence was frightening and threatening.  He spoke out loud then as well, but it was a prayer for God to remove the presence from the room.

Nikki eventually calmed down and curled up in her bed once again.  Michael knew something had caused Nikki to get up out of bed and jump around like that.  The fact that she only jumped around on my side of the bed suggested that the “something” must have been right beside me since there wasn’t much room between the bed and the wall.  Having experienced a strong sense of Jacob’s presence at that same time, Michael figured the “something” that had excited Nikki was Jacob, and maybe Jacob had come to wish me a Happy Mother’s Day  A couple of minutes later, Nikki got up out of her bed again.  That time she went straight to the door to go out, so he got up and took her outside.

My vision of Jacob standing next to my bed kissing me and letting me know he wanted to be with me, Nikki’s crazy jumping around in the dark on my side of the bed and Michael’s strong sense of Jacob’s presence being in the bedroom were all occurring simultaneously.

Was it just our grief-induced imaginations?  Maybe.  But how peculiar that we would be experiencing those things at the same time.  Stranger yet is the fact that the dog was responding to something as well.  Make of it what you will, but we believe it was real and God allowed Jacob to visit me in a unique way to give me hope and comfort and to remind me that our relationship continues even after death.

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Extending Grace During Grief

People say hurtful things.

That is a lesson quickly learned by someone who is grieving.  Words from a friend or acquaintance intended to comfort you end up coming across as insensitive or inappropriate.

People do hurtful things.

Despite the desire to be helpful, certain acts of service can end up harming a grieving person more than aiding in their healing.

A common mistake people make in coming alongside a grieving person is vilifying the individual or party that may have initiated the grief.  The friend who tries to be helpful by speaking poorly of a spouse/partner who just ended a relationship or the boss who just ended an employee’s job isn’t really being helpful.  That friend would be much wiser to sit with the person who is grieving, listen and acknowledge the pain.  Quietly. 

An act of service often performed by well-meaning friends for someone who has lost a loved one is cleaning up the home or removing evidence of the deceased’s existence.  The intention is good, but is often that last thing the grieving person wants.  Washing the dirty clothes of one who has died, especially if that death was unexpected, is not helpful.  Those clothes might contain the only remaining scent of the deceased. 

Removing and washing linens from the bed of one who has died is unnecessary.  Family members may want to lie down on those sheets one last time.  That may sound strange or even disturbing to some, but it comforts others.  Don’t worry if the linens were soiled.  Offer to wash them, but wait for family approval before acting upon that gesture. 

After my son’s death only five weeks into his freshman year of college, I was comforted by the thought that I could still touch and smell the dirty clothes he had left in his dorm room. He told me the washers on his floor of the dorm were not working, so he had a bunch of dirty laundry.  When I was finally ready to go through his personal belongings, I searched the boxes from his dorm room, longing to bury my face in his dirty clothes and smell that sweet combination of his deodorant and sweat. I found clean clothes of his that were neatly folded, but I couldn’t find his dirty clothes anywhere. I panicked! When I learned that a friend had washed his bedding and clothes, I screamed and cried. Some of the last little pieces of my son that were left on this earth had been washed away by a well-meaning friend.

I was grateful no one had washed the linens on his bed in our home. He had slept on them for two nights before heading back to campus the day of his accident.  In fact, those sheets were the last ones he slept upon before he died. The dirty clothes in his backpack from his weekend visit were untouched as well. To this day, I open that backpack, pull out his clothes and breathe deeply the scent of my son.  While I’ve removed the sheets from my son’s bed, I have never washed them.  They are sealed in plastic bags that I can open whenever I want.

Someone other than the mother and father packing up the nursery of the precious infant who never made it home is like denying the baby’s existence and the time during the pregnancy spent bonding with that child.  Part of the grieving and healing might involve touching each item and weeping over the loss.

Don’t try to cheer someone up or distract them from thinking about their loss.  Every thought, breath, or moment is filled with the pain of that loss.  One of the most refreshing feelings for someone who is grieving is being able to be real and not having to pretend in front of others.

Unless you are absolutely certain that you share the same beliefs as the person who is grieving, do not try to comfort someone using concepts from your belief system.  Far too many people have been hurt by shallow cliche’s that hold little meaning or comfort in the heat of the moment.  Telling someone “This is part of God’s perfect plan,” or “This will make you a stronger person” demonstrates a complete lack of respect for the agony of the moment.  It might make it easier for YOU to deal with the other person’s grief by saying those things, but it probably won’t help the person–at least not in the early days or weeks of grief.

What are the right things to say and do?

While every person’s needs are different, there are some general ways to be helpful:

Listen.  Eloquent words aren’t necessary.  A tender hug can mean more than words.

Acknowledge grief and respect it.  Never tell someone not to cry.

Offer very specific ways you can help.  “I would like to cut your lawn for the next four weeks,” is better than “Call me if you need anything.”  If a mild protest ensues, take that as permission to do what you’ve just offered.  If your offer is strongly denied, consider something else.

When someone has experienced intense grief that leaves them exhausted, coordinate meals to be brought to the home, preferably in containers that do not need to be returned.  If you are close to the person, bring the food about an hour before meal time and offer to sit and talk for awhile.  If you are not very close, simply drop the meal off with a few words of comfort and perhaps a card.

Stay in touch.  Reaching out to others is nearly impossible for someone who is grieving, so it’s easy to become isolated.  Calling the person or offering to go for a walk with them is helpful.  Since dinners are usually the only meal ever brought to the home, suggest going out for lunch or bringing a breakfast or lunch to the person’s house.

Ultimately, we should remember to extend grace to one another.  When the grieving person seems unappreciative or when the well-intentioned friend says or does something that inflicts pain, forgive one another. 

We are all doing the best we know.

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Stop Playing the Blame Game

One of the quickest and easiest ways to turn my grief into something that is unhealthy and destructive is to play the blame game.  When I point a finger at someone else whom I consider responsible for my grief, I attempt to justify my anger and behavior toward that person and absolve myself.  This kind of behavior might help me get through today, but it will only serve to destroy me in the long run.

New grief requires survival tactics, so if blaming others helps me get through the first few days or weeks, so be it.  For the long haul, however, I am much better off practicing forgiveness, offering grace and investing time in self-reflection.

Let me give you a few examples:

If I just lost a job, I might need a little time to vent about my boss or co-workers to ease the shock and pain for awhile.  But if I’m still ragging on these people weeks down the road, I’m only setting myself up for a bad attitude that will potentially reveal itself through future job interviews.  I am better off taking some time to truthfully evaluate my strengths and weaknesses.  By considering my strengths, I increase my confidence.  Where I find personal shortcomings, it serves me well to consider ways to overcome or compensate for them.

If my marriage is ending, my natural instinct is to protect my heart and my pride, which might lead me to express a lot of bitterness toward my ex.  However, if my desire to vilify him continues over time, it does more to reflect my own insecurity and unforgiving spirit than to hurt him or his reputation.  I sabotage my own reputation and other relationships of mine in the process.  Perhaps my energies are better spent considering where I might have been able to make the relationship stronger or what qualities I should be looking for in future relationships.

In some cases, the blame fully lies with another person.  Hopefully, these are situations where justice is served in a court of law.  But even then, holding onto the anger and bitterness only destroys me.  Directing my energy toward something positive such as bringing about a change in legislation so that further injustices do not occur is a more productive use of my time and effort.

Refusing to play the blame game in the middle of our grief is an essential step on the road toward healing and redemption.

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I’m Not Who I Used To Be

About six months after my son died, I began to realize that some people were in a hurry for me to return to “normal.”  They didn’t like that I was hurting so deeply. One person said that my pain was her pain and she wanted it to stop. At the time, I wondered whose pain she was more concerned about, mine or hers.  People around me wanted life the way it used to be.

I did too.

But my life will never be what it used to be. Planning vacations for our family of four, going to North Carolina for Thanksgiving, calling my son to see how his day was or receiving a random text message from him about some amazing car he has just seen were normal parts of my life before my son died. What made my life normal in the past no longer exists.  I had to create a “new normal” from the remains of the life I once knew.

In some situations, the new normal can be better than the old.  A change in career or job has the potential to bring about a whole new purpose in life.  A new relationship might prove to be deeper and richer than the one that ended.

My new normal, however, is not better.  Perhaps it will be one day, but right now, I have a hard time imagining such an outcome.

Life without him is different, but not better.

Granted, certain aspects of my life are better.  My faith is stronger.  My grip on the things of this world is weaker.  My love for my husband and daughter is deeper.  I am more in tune with nature and people, because of a new appreciation for the rhythm found in life and death, and in joy and sorrow. The big picture of life is becoming more apparent to me, therefore being stuck in traffic, missing an appointment or having to wait for a table doesn’t bother me as much as it once did.  My new house is smaller.  My needs are fewer.

But life itself is not better.

My friend, Molly, was a dance instructor who taught people of all ages how to dance.  She loved dancing as much as she loved teaching.  Her life and her career revolved around dancing.

Molly had to have her leg amputated below the knee due to a blood clot that went undetected for too long.  While Molly will dance again, she knows her life will never be the same.  She has been forced to find her new normal.

Molly will tell you her new normal is better in many ways—she has made new friends, renewed her faith in God, realized the depth of love and compassion in our community and discovered an inner strength she never knew existed.

Part of creating a new normal after a major loss like Molly’s or mine is recognizing and accepting what has changed.  Research shows that among those changes as a result of intense grief are changes in the brain.

Dr. Arif Najib, a German researcher, used MRI scans to study the changes in the brains of women who had experienced grief over the loss of a romantic partner and published his results in the December 2004 issue of the American Journal of Psychiatry.

Not surprisingly, the scans indicated increased activity in the regions of the brain associated with sadness.  However, the region of the brain associated with emotion, motivation and attention showed much less activity.

This kind of research is helpful in understanding grief, but the findings come as no surprise to anyone who has experienced it.

A woman in a grief support group I used to attend was always very punctual. Since the death of her husband, she has had difficulty getting anywhere on time.  Another friend from that same group never used to have a problem keeping her finances in order before her husband died.  After he died, she began making impulse purchases of clothing or items for her house that she knew she did not need.

Profound grief changes people.

Some of my family and friends might want me to be the same old Sandy I was before Jacob’s death, but that’s not possible.  Besides, I like the person I’ve become.  Maybe they will too, eventually.

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Stay or Move?

After experiencing intense grief, there often develops painful associations with the places and things that remind us of our loss.

The hospital we once drove by without a moment’s thought is now avoided because it holds the memory of the death or illness of a loved one. The office where we once worked now only serves as a reminder of being fired or laid-off. A favorite restaurant where we dined with a spouse or partner triggers a panic attack after the relationship ends or a spouse dies.

The list goes on and on.

After my 18-year-old son, Jacob died it became almost unbearable for me to go to church—despite a deep love for God and an ever-increasing faith. Every Sunday, since he was old enough to sit still, we sat together as a family in the same general area—the front, left section of the congregation.

We tried sitting in a different place, but I found myself staring at the area where we used to sit with an overwhelming sadness. We tried attending the 11:00 a.m. service held in the main sanctuary, but realized, as soon as the music began, it wouldn’t work either. That was where Jacob’s memorial service took place.

Tremendous pain was associated with what was once such a joyful place. I didn’t want to be there anymore. I wanted to be in church, but not the old, familiar buildings and rooms.

Two years after Jacob’s death, my husband and I decided to attend a new church. In the end, the pain won out.

For my husband, our renovated 1950’s brick ranch, located a short bike ride from the beach, became a place of painful association. Years of memories—celebrating holiday dinners, decorating for Christmas, planting bushes that were Mother’s Day presents, tossing tennis balls for our golden retriever—turned the house and yard he once loved into harbingers of pain.

He wanted to move, frequently saying, “The same old life, without Jacob in it isn’t going to work. I need change!”   I couldn’t leave all of the memories.

I loved going into Jacob’s bedroom to look at his beloved collection of model sports cars, page through his Bible or touch his clothes left hanging in his closet and tucked neatly in his dresser drawers. I would even lie down on his bed and cry out to God, asking “Why?” Time and time again, God comforted me there. It was my refuge which was reason enough to stay.

My husband’s desire to move let up briefly when my daughter, Raleigh, also put up a fight about moving. He also sank deeper into depression, rarely smiling or interacting with us.  When he came home from work, he’d go to the couch, turn on the television and stare blankly at the screen.

I knew we were in trouble.

My husband asked Raleigh and me to consider other major decisions he had made for our family, pointing out he had served our family well in the past. He hoped we would reconsider his record and trust him on this one.

The next time my husband was out of town, Raleigh and I had a long discussion about the health of our family. Together, we came to the conclusion that having a husband and father who was healthy was more important than having a house that held precious memories. Life had already changed so much, but losing the house we loved was nothing compared to losing the man we so dearly loved.

Two-and-a-half years after Jacob died, we moved. In the end, the pain won out.

But that’s not the whole story.

Although I fell to my knees crying in Jacob’s room the day we moved, I was astounded by the peace and joy I felt in our new home.

The real test, however, was our daughter. The kicking and screaming she promised she’d do if we ever moved never happened.  Instead, she confessed to also having peace with the move. She still missed our house, but no longer hated the new one.  I discovered I was able to create a new place for my life and that our old house, without Jacob in it, just didn’t work anymore.

My husband’s wisdom served our family well.

Running from pain is not healthy, but refusing to inflict unnecessary pain upon ourselves is—even if it means choosing a different route, restaurant or residence. Personal experience and observation have shown me it’s good to create boundaries which may limit the pain of grief. Building impenetrable walls to block out all of the pain only slows the healing process.

We each make choices whether to stay where we are or move to a new place in the aftermath of grief. Those choices might involve compromise. And they require time. Lots of time.

We need time to honestly determine if staying in a certain place is our way of accepting the loss for what it is, or if it’s our way of getting stuck in the past.  We also need to decide if moving is our way of embracing life in a new way or if it’s running away from the past. Getting to the heart of what truly motivates us can be painful, but it is essential before making decisions that will not only affect us but those whom we love.

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How Could This Happen To Me?

On the night of September 24, 2006, after the phone call had come from the hospital in Greensboro, Georgia telling us that our son had been in a car accident, I refused to believe anything REALLY bad could have happened.  When my husband suggested, “Maybe the reason Jacob wasn’t transported to the hospital in Athens is because there was nothing more they could do for him,” I screamed back, “STOP IT!” and pulled away from him in horror.  With total disbelief I asked him, “Why would you say something like that?”

The hospital wouldn’t tell us his condition and the trooper who called the house had just told me the boys left the accident scene by ambulance “breathing and holding their own.”  That my husband would even entertain the idea of Jacob dying was incomprehensible to me.

Why?

Did I think something like that couldn’t happen to him?  Did I think such a disaster could not fall upon our family?  Did I think God simply would not allow it?  Yes. Yes. Yes and No. No. No.

In my mind I always knew disaster could strike my family at any moment, but I never really thought God would stand for it.  I had always been so grateful for the gift of a faithful husband and two healthy children who had good minds and made good choices.  My husband and I lovingly disciplined them and brought them up to know and appreciate the immense love God has for them.  We spent quality time with our children on numerous family vacations and weekend camping trips in our trusty VW Vanagon Camper.  We exposed them to other cultures and ways of life. We listened to them and got to know their hearts.  They grew up to be joyful, well-adjusted, compassionate and confident people.  God needed more kids like them in this world.  He certainly wouldn’t take one away.

As twisted as that might be, somewhere in the back of my mind, I honestly thought we were going to be spared from the worst of nightmares.  After all, my husband lost his mother at the age of six and I had lived with enough heartache, disappointment and dysfunction to be a guest on Oprah for a week.  Hadn’t we endured enough?

The problem is, life is not about equal amounts of suffering being distributed amongst the world’s population.  If that were the case, I could expect much more.  Compared to the pain and suffering of people in some of the poorest communities around the globe, my life was and continues to be pretty darn comfortable and easy.

The truth is, God never promised anyone an easy life.  There is nothing in Scripture that says once we follow God our problems will disappear.  In fact, we are told to expect problems.  In John 16:33, Jesus clearly says, “In this world you WILL have trouble. (emphasis mine)  The rain falls and the sun shines on the wicked as well as the upright.  Although it is possible to experience God’s favor while on this earth, it would serve us well to be prepared to experience heartache and disappointment.

So what’s the point?  Why live a life for Christ when He isn’t going to stop the pain train from smashing into us?  The reason to follow Christ has to do with all of the other things that come with a life in which Jesus is at the center.  When we draw near to Him, God draws near to us.  God sends us the One who comforts.  He gives us peace that is impossible to understand or describe.  He gives hope in the midst of hopeless situations.  He brings new joy into our lives each and every day.  He gives us eyes to see the good in life if that is what we long to see.

Jesus tells us to take heart even though we have troubles in life because He has overcome the world.  There is nothing in this world that he cannot help us overcome.  That is not to say we will never be faced with life circumstances that are more than we can handle.

There is an often misquoted passage of Scripture about this very topic.  People confuse I Corinthians 10:13 to mean that God will never allow us to face trials that are more than we can handle.  But that’s NOT what this verse says.  It says, “God is faithful; he will not let you be tempted beyond what you can bear. But when you are tempted he will also provide a way out so that you can stand up under it.”  This passage is talking about temptation.

When it comes to despair, that’s a totally different thing.  God knows there will be times in life when we simply cannot make it on our own.  Paul says in II Corinthians 1:8 & 9 “We do not want you to be uninformed about the hardships we suffered.  We were under great pressure, far beyond our ability to endure, so that we despaired even of life.  Indeed, in our hearts we felt the sentence of death.  But this happened that we might not rely on ourselves but on God, who raises the dead.”

God wants us to know that He is there for us when nothing in our world makes sense.  When we feel we have no reason to have hope or to keep on living, He is there to pick up the pieces of our broken lives and put them back together again.  As Creator, His rightful place is to be the source of our life, and that’s exactly what He promises to be when we have no strength left to live.  Remember, He raises the dead.

When my husband and I were told that Jacob had not survived the injuries he sustained in his car accident, I wanted to die.  I felt betrayed by God and wanted to scream, “How could you allow this to happen?  Why Jacob?  Why my family?  Why me?”  Perhaps the better questions are ones that I should have asked myself, “Why should He have stopped it?  Why NOT Jacob? Why NOT me?”

Sure, I have perfectly good answers to those questions I should have asked myself, but they are from my human, finite and earthly perspective.  God’s answers are from His holy, infinite and Heavenly perspective, which is all together different.  And it’s perfect.  That’s still not easy to say or write, but it is true.

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The Value of Dreams

Two nights ago I saw my son–twice!  I saw him afresh again yesterday!  But how is that possible considering he died on September 24, 2006 in a car accident?

The sightings two nights ago happened in dreams.  But they weren’t just ordinary dreams.  They were vivid, and I had a clear knowledge of Jacob’s death.  When I saw him, I knew it was very special and I had to take in every little detail of his face, hair and body.  In one of the dreams he was the same age he was when he died–18.  He was sitting on a couch wearing his classic khaki shorts and tennis shoes.  I remember looking at one of his legs draped across a couch and loving that it was HIS leg.  In the other dream, Jacob was a baby.  In fact, he was still in a highchair and I was feeding him.  Again, I remember taking in the little details of his face and cherishing them.  When I woke up, I was thrilled!

If you’ve never lost a child, you might not be able to appreciate the value of a vivid dream.  For those of us who have, these dreams serve as a connection with our child once again.  We literally wake up from these dreams knowing that we have been with our child for a time, and it is wonderful.  It is painful too, because the dream had to end.  These dreams give us hope and strength to keep pressing on through the grief.

I’ve had regular old dreams where images are just brief flashes and the flow of the dream is disjointed and makes little to no sense.  Jacob has been in some of those dreams as well, but they are entirely different.  In those dreams, I have no knowledge of his death.  I just see brief images of him, and there is no sense of wonder about being able to see him.  I wake up from those dreams feeling confused, not elated.

As I walk along this journey of grief, I dream of the time when I get to be with Jacob again, forever.  I dream of our family of four being together again in eternity.  Those dreams give me hope to make it through another day, week, month and year.  Dreams are important to keep us going.

There is a passage in Scripture that says, “Where there is no vision, people perish.” Proverbs 29:18  The word vision can easily be replaced with the word “dream” and the meaning will not change.  Where there is no dream(s), people perish.

By the way, the same night I had the two dreams about Jacob,  my friend who lost her daughter (who happened to be a classmate of Jacob’s) also had two dreams of her daughter–one where she was the age at the time of her death and one of her as a little girl.  We laughed and wondered if those kids were up to something again with both of them showing up in two of our dreams on the same night at roughly the same ages.

One of my ongoing dreams is that over time, more pictures, stories and videos of Jacob will emerge that will bless and comfort me and my family.  A little piece of that dream came true just yesterday.  Someone sent via email a picture of Jacob I had never seen.  It was a beautiful picture of him. He was front and center, smiling and looking straight into the camera.  A mother’s dream come true! Although I would have been happy even if he had only been in the background, I got to see Jacob’s face up close with a big smile, looking straight into the camera.  Seeing that picture was like getting a glimpse of him once again on this earth.

A few weeks before that, one of Jacob’s friends showed me his cell phone.  He had a video of Jacob skimboarding.  We have no videos of Jacob as an older teenager, but there I was looking at a video of my son taken the summer before he left for college.

As we each pass through life, it is important to have dreams, visions, goals.  They keep us moving forward.  Jacob understood that in his short life.  He had huge dreams.  At times they seemed almost too big to attain, but he held on to those dreams and never allowed anyone to talk him out of them.  His enthusiasm for life was contagious and many of us wanted to learn how to dream like he did.

Those dreams helped Jacob to live his life fully.  So full, in fact, that he had on his cell phone, “The Glass Is Full.”  He hadn’t attained all those big dreams of his, but he still knew his life was full…his glass was full.

Never lose sight of your dreams.

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Unpredictable Emotions

This post comes from a blog I wrote over a year ago:

Yesterday, I spoke with my friend yesterday who had lost her nephew only hours earlier. She repeated a comment her brother (the father of the young man who died) had made to her earlier that day.  She said, “I’m having a strong moment right now.”  Those words reflect the strange place in which we are suspended in the aftermath of a traumatic experience. We are living moment by moment and hour by hour.  There seems to be a near “out of body” feeling of standing outside ourselves and observing that we are doing well.  It seems out of body because we know that we should be in a puddle on the ground given the circumstances.  Yet, somehow, during these early days, we find that we are held together or held up at times by a force beyond ourselves.

The reality is that in the first days of intense grief, we can swing from a strong moment to a total melt down within seconds.  Suddenly, some new thought enters our minds like, “Oh my gosh, he won’t be there at Christmas!” or “I’ll never get to see him get married!” and we fall to pieces.

Varying emotions are to be expected.  A numbness sets in that allows us to function on auto pilot for awhile, but even that numbness can only last so long.  Each time the reality of what has happened hits us afresh, we might find ourselves gasping audibly then crying uncontrollably.  This kind of thing might go on for months.  Even now, as I stand 2 years and 2 months after the death of my son, Jacob, I still have moments that take my breath away because of the intensity of my inner response.

Anger is a very real part of the range of emotions that might be experienced.  For some, anger is an early response, for others it might not come until later.  That anger might be toward the one who died, especially if the death was the result of suicide, risky behavior or a failure to live a healthier lifestyle.  When death is the result of someone else’s actions such as murder or drunk driving, the anger is naturally directed toward the perpetrator.  Sometimes the anger is toward God or the universe for even allowing such a thing to occur.

To those around the grieving person, please refrain from judging the anger.  It may seem irrational, but it is real, and the quicker it can be released, the better.  Anger is poison to the soul.  If it is forced to stay inside, it will only intensify and do more damage.  Providing a safe place for someone to release their anger is helpful.  Remember, it doesn’t have to make sense to you, so please don’t say to the one who is grieving, “You shouldn’t feel that way!” or “Stop talking like that!”  Those responses will only make the anger worse.  Anger that is released is more likely to be diffused.

The first morning after Jacob’s death, I remember being mad at the sun.  How dare it come up and look so beautiful when my son was dead!!  Don’t the darn birds know there is nothing to be singing about now that Jacob has died?  Is that rational?  No, but it was how I felt.  Even in the first few minutes, I was angry at the officer who told us Jacob was dead and the nurse who said Jacob had been dead too long to donate his organs.  There was also the need to deal with my anger toward God for even allowing such a thing to happen to my son.

Many times I cried out to God.  I kicked and screamed and pounded on His chest by pounding on the bed.  Every time I wrestled with God, the match would end peacefully.  God would speak to my soul and comfort me.  He would remind me of how much He loves Jacob – even MORE than I do.  He would assure me that Jacob was right there with Him, forever safe, where there is no more suffering.  I could sense Him wrap His arms around me and hold me, and my spirit was calm once more.

Our emotions are part of who we are, and we should respect them by giving them a safe place to be released.  That might mean getting all alone and screaming at the top of our lungs.  It might mean talking to a close friend who is not afraid to be there when we cry.  Writing our thoughts down on paper might be helpful, even if it means writing so hard it tears the paper.  In fact, that might be the most helpful way.  Then, we might follow it up with tearing the paper to shreds.  Maybe a good workout (think punching bag here) or a long walk or run would help.

To be most effective, each of these physical activities might need to be done in conjunction with an emotional release like crying or yelling.  If we choose to combine the two, we need to be mindful of where we do this.  We should avoid causing undo pain to the ones around us by directing our emotions at them, even if they were somewhat at fault.  They are probably beating themselves up rather harshly as it is.  Anger directed at people will only destroy relationships and create bitterness.  Yes, we need to release the anger, but we also need to do that in safe ways for ourselves and the people around us.

*Now, 3 years and 4 months after Jacob’s death, my mind and body have “accepted” Jacob’s death to a greater depth.  I’m not as shocked when the reality of his death hits me all over again.  Now, it’s more like my mind says, “Oh, that’s right, he’s gone and I really miss him a lot.”  A sadness comes over me, but it doesn’t send me to my knees.  Time will never heal all aspects of Jacob’s death, but my emotions tend to be more stable three years after the loss.

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Does This Grief Ever End?

After someone we love has died, grief overwhelms us. It’s almost like a living organism that wraps itself around us. This organism grips our stomachs and makes it nearly impossible to eat. It invades our hearts, sometimes causing them to beat irregularly. We ache from the intensity of the organism’s grip, but often times we can’t even determine where exactly it hurts – perhaps because in some ways it hurts everywhere. Grief carries a lot of weight, so when it attaches itself to us, we look different, we walk differently, we breathe differently.

So the question is, Do we ever break free of the grip grief has on us? If so, how and when?

The answer that comes to my mind immediately is, yes, we do break free, if we are willing to help make it happen. Some people cling to grief, long after grief has loosened its grip on them. Sometimes people will wear grief like a comfortable blanket because it allows them certain freedoms upon which they become dependent.

Grief offers us the freedom to cry whenever we need to, which is good and important. We might need to cry a lot, and if the intensity of the pain lingers, we might find ourselves needing to cry a lot for a long time. But when our grief (after it has subsided) becomes a license to cry whenever we want, over whatever we want, for however long we want, it is a misuse of that freedom.

Grief offers us the freedom to be angry for a time, but when we consider it a right that we cling to for years, we make everyone around us miserable. We who are grieving are often given leeway when it comes to responsibility, but we ought not take it to a point of thinking it is now our perogative to be irresponsible and irritable. When we take the freedom that grief offers us and misuse those freedoms, we become prisoners of our own self-destructive behavior and attitudes. We are unable to break free to enjoy life.

So, in some sense, we choose when grief no longer controls our lives. Grief will always be there, especially when the loss is someone who was very significant to us, but we don’t have to let it always have the say in the quality of our life. When it comes to how we break free from grief’s grip, we also can have a choice. Sometimes, however, it just happens.

The first moment I felt a slight release came only days after Jacob died. A friend of ours was in China on a business trip at the time of Jacob’s accident. His wife had called him in China to give him the news, and he decided to call us at home. He spoke with my husband, Michael. After discussing the awful details of Jacob’s death and accident, our friend began sharing funny thoughts and memories of Jacob with my husband. I didn’t hear what he was saying, but I heard my husband laughing. That laughter came as such a shock, but I was thrilled to hear it. Not just anyone could make my husband or me laugh at that moment, but this particular friend certainly could. He had always made us laugh in the past, and he was able to do it again, even in our darkest hour. That laughter gave me unbelievable hope that grief would not have its stranglehold on me forever.

Grief’s grip can be loosened to a point of not really even noticing it is there some days, but grief, especially when it is profound, never really ends.  It softens and gets easier.  There are longer periods of time between one deep ache that sends us to our knees and the next, but the subtle ache remains forever.  I think the pain that accompanies grief is supposed to last; it serves to remind us of the frailty of this life and keeps us longing for what lies ahead.  For me, Heaven lies ahead.  I will be with Jesus and Jacob and so many others whom I love and miss.

That’s when grief really ends.

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Are We Really Helping The People Of Haiti?

A front-page story in our local newspaper yesterday focused on a couple in our community who felt led to help the people of Haiti.  Beautiful hearts.  Good intentions.  The problem?  In the end, it might only cause more chaos and frustration for those who are on the ground in Haiti.

This well-intentioned couple was filling up a trailer with bags of  items people were donating.  The plan is once the trailer is full, they’ll drive it down to Miami and ship it to Haiti somehow.  It wasn’t clear if they are asking for specific goods that they know are desperately needed, and it wasn’t clear if they have strong connections with a reputable organization that is already on the ground in Haiti that will be responsible for receiving and distributing the bagged goods.  If not, those items might end up in a warehouse, clogging up much needed space and never getting to the people in need.

When God nudges us to love others and do good, we should respond, but we should respond in a responsible manner.  We should do our homework and ASK QUESTIONS FIRST.  We need to ask HOW we can help and WHAT is needed before rushing in and doing something that might not really help or, worse yet, do more harm.

When people are in crisis, those who are around them want to help.  They want to do something… anything!  When the desire to help is so great that we don’t bother to take the time to find out what the people in crisis REALLY need, then we are actually acting selfishly.  We are satisfying our own ego and meeting our own “feel good” quota.  We are putting our needs before those who are truly in need.

Don’t assume the people of Haiti need blankets and sweaters.  It has been in the 80 to 90 degree-range since the earthquake.  Don’t assume the people of Haiti need canned goods (although they might).  What if they don’t have can openers to pass out with the canned goods?  Don’t assume you can just bag up a bunch of your old clothes and ship them down to Haiti and it will help.  Someone is going to need to go through all those bags of clothes and separate them out based on size and gender.  Someone is going to have to be in charge of distributing them fairly.  To simply unload bags of clothes and have people rummage through them and decide what they need is chaos!  People might end up hurting one another, or even killing one another, to get what they need.

Systems are in place and people are on the ground who know how to handle disaster situations.  Work within those systems and with those people.  That is the responsible way to help.

Locate reputable organizations/charities you can trust, and find out if they are helping the people of Haiti and how.  You can find excellent groups doing excellent work by doing a little of your own investigative homework.

Forbes magazine evaluates the top charities in the country and rates them based on their efficiency (how much of your money goes to the actual work being done to help people).  The Forbes rating is done every year, and a list of those most efficient charities is available.  I recommend looking only at charities that have a 95% efficiency rating or better.

Go to the websites of charity watchdog groups that look at the details of a charity’s work and finances to determine if they are on the up and up.  Charity Navigator is one of those watchdog groups.

Once you have found the charity you trust, ask what ways you can help.  Chances are, the greatest help you can offer is through a financial donation.  If you live in the same community as the charity, perhaps you can volunteer to help in the office by answering phones or packing goods being shipped.  If you are in the medical profession and want to serve on a team, you will likely look for an organization that coordinates that kind of trip and has plans to go to Haiti.  There again, just do a little research on the internet to find the group that seems to match your interests.

If you desire to help the people of Haiti, by all means do it.  But be sure to do it responsibly.  My personal recommendation for a charity that is already on the ground in Haiti providing millions of dollars worth of medicine and medical supplies is MAP International, but I confess to being a bit biased

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