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.

Read Full Post »

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.

Read Full Post »

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.

Read Full Post »

New Beginnings

Adjusting to life without my son was difficult.  The first months were especially hard.  Three months after Jacob died, we were faced with Christmas and New Years.  The following is a letter I wrote to family and friends on New Year’s Eve 2006.

Dear Family and Friends,

Michael, Raleigh and I recently returned from our trip to Wisconsin and Michigan to be with family over Christmas.  We are still alive!  Much of our time there was very difficult, however.  We loved being able to be with family, and it was a far better alternative than being home, but it was excruciating at the same time.  We knew it would be hard, but it was worse than we expected.  We would like to wipe those dates off of our calendar forever.  Our families were wonderful, sensitive, and loving, but the overall pain and emptiness was more than we ever imagined.  We held it together most of the time because we didn’t want to put everyone else through the hell we were experiencing, but inside we were miserable.  We are glad it is over.

There were some shining moments during the week we were gone.  One that stands out more than the others is a visit we had with a couple from my sister’s church.  My sister arranged for this visit.  The husband, Rick, had been in a horrible car accident almost two years ago.  The doctors and nurses attending to Rick knew he was gone.  They disconnected all life support.  His precious wife, Lyn, was told that he was dead.  Blood that had been drawn from Rick was acidic, a clear indication of death.

In ways that cannot be explained by the attending paramedics, doctors and nurses, Rick’s body began “working” again after all human efforts to keep him alive had failed.  His blood levels and body returned to life, so to speak.  Rick was in a coma for a long time and he had to undergo numerous surgeries.  During all of this, Rick experienced something that he hesitates to call heaven.  He prefers to refer to it as “that place.”  He was actually leaving the hospital building (which he had never seen before).  There were two of him.  One was Rick in his earthly body and the other was Rick’s body in a different state.  The two were talking to one another.  What he remembers most is the effortlessness in his new body.  Moving took no effort at all.  It wasn’t like walking where muscles need to contract and move.  He simply moved.  He was playing guitar (his gift and love here on earth) and wearing a type of clothing he couldn’t describe with words that would do them justice.  They were beautiful!

Rick confessed that as much as he loves his wife and kids very much, he wishes he didn’t have to return to this earth as it is now.  He perceives the world very differently after that experience.  He now has a strong sense of the presence of evil here.  He longs to be where Jacob has gone.

How do I even begin to tell you of the comfort this man’s words brought to us?  I was looking into the eyes and hearing the voice of someone who has experienced death for a time.  If you could only hear the humility in Rick and Lyn’s voices.  He doesn’t speak in a boasting way of his experience at all.  He hesitates to speak of it.  I continuously did “checks” within my spirit to see if I detected anything dishonest or questionable in his tone and demeanor.  Not once did I sense he was imagining this or making it up.  He spoke humbly but with authority at the same time.  He said this was nothing like a dream at all.

Lyn shared with us things that Rick spoke of during his rehabilitation that he doesn’t recall.  Several times he spoke of relatives who were no longer living, some having been gone for more than a decade.  He said he had just seen them.  Had he?  Who knows for sure, but I am convinced once again that the veil between this place and heaven is very thin.

Now that the three of us are home again, we have to press ahead.  The most difficult part of today, New Year’s Eve, is looking to a new year in which Jacob never lived on this earth.  Maybe that sounds silly, but I don’t want to enter a year in which Jacob never took a breath.  He never wrote “2007” on any of his papers.  There is such heartache in anything new that Jacob is not a part of.  A few weeks ago, I had to replace the boxes of baking soda in my refrigerator and freezer.  It occurred to me that Jacob was still alive when I put the old ones in there.  There was a sense of loss as I tossed out those boxes of baking soda.  Whoever thought an act as simple as that would be difficult?  At the same time, I finally got around to throwing away the leftovers from our last meal with Jacob.  Emotionally, I could not go through my refrigerator to clean it out until then.  Those leftovers were a connection to Jacob.  I cried as I threw those things away, and there was a heaviness in my chest as the garbage truck picked up the garbage that week.

Michael and I recently talked about how hard it is to do anything new or buy anything new knowing that Jacob was never a part of that action or never saw the item we purchased.  We bought some benches for our back porch only a few weeks after Jacob’s death.  Without ever saying anything to one another about it, we were both experiencing a sadness about Jacob never having seen or sat in those benches.  I questioned whether I should buy some new clothes recently only because they were clothes Jacob never saw me wear.  I wasn’t sure I wanted to wear anything he hadn’t seen.  There is a degree of sadness as I wear those things now.  Life is complicated.  Some of you are probably thinking we need to stop thinking that way and just move on with life, but it isn’t that easy.  Any piece of life that doesn’t include Jacob is another reminder that he is gone.  We aren’t looking for those reminders, they simply exist all around us.

As Michael mentioned at the memorial service, we have no regrets.  No BIG regrets that is.  As I look through old pictures, I think, “Why didn’t I take more pictures?  Why didn’t I put my arm around Jacob more often when we did take pictures?  Why did we take so many pictures of scenery when we could have taken pictures of the kids?”  Now, as new pictures are taken I feel something in the pit of my stomach that makes me sad to be taking a picture without Jacob.  I want to slip back into the time of the old pictures.  I loved those times so much and I love them even more now.  But I want to put Jacob in the middle of each picture.  I want us to have our arms around him rather than having him stand apart.  What were we thinking back then?

Our family made a point of saying goodbye to one another whenever we left the house or when we hung up the phone with one another, and we always included words of love.  Now I wish I had said “I love you!” a thousand more times.  As Jacob was on his way back to UGA the night of September 24th, he called to get the final score of the Jaguars game.  I answered the phone, but he wanted to talk with Michael.  I teased Jacob about not even wanting to talk to me.  He laughed.  I handed the phone to Michael.  I remember exactly where we were standing in the kitchen at the time.  Just after passing the phone over to Michael, I realized I hadn’t told Jacob that I loved him.  My practical side told me not to worry about it.  That was being too mommy-like.  Jacob was a grown man, and besides, I would have a million other times to tell him I love him.  Wrong!  That was it!  That was my last chance, and I let it slip by because I didn’t want to seem too clingy.  The next time our phone rang that night, it was someone from the hospital calling to tell us Jacob had been in an accident.

Time and time again, I ask God to tell Jacob I love him and to tell him how much we miss him and how proud we are of him.  I can’t tell him that anymore.  Sure, I say it out loud, but how do I know he can hear it?

As the new year closes in, I pray that each of you is blessed beyond your wildest dreams in the year to come.  I pray that you can experience the intimacy with God that we have known over the past few months without the pain and suffering of such a loss.  I pray that God gives you the eyes to see Him all around you and the ears to hear His voice as He speaks to you.  Trust me, He is there and He is speaking to you.  The problem is that sometimes we are too blind, too deaf, and too proud to acknowledge it.  He is calling each of you by name, offering a love beyond any love you have ever known, and more importantly, he is offering you the gift of eternal life in heaven.  Receive the gift.  Know that because of Jesus, death has no power over those who believe.  Death is merely the door to REAL LIFE!

There is something from the book I am currently reading that I want to share with you.  The book is Secrets in the Dark by Frederick Beuchner.  He writes:

Life:  that’s what we all hunger for, wait for always, whether we keep coming back to places like church to find it or whether we avoid places like church like the plague as the last places on earth to find it: both delivered in part and derelict in part, immigrants and mongrels all of us.  It’s life as we’ve never really known it but only dreamed it that we wait for.  Life with each other.  Life for each other.  Life with the darkness gone.

Beuchner also writes:

Whether you believe or do not believe, you date your letters and checks and income tax forms with a number representing how many years have gone by since what happened happened.  The world of A.D. is one world, and the world of B.C. is another.

We don’t date those things based on the birth of Mohammed or Buddha or one of the thousands of Hindu gods.  We date them based on the birth of Christ.  That really blows my mind!  Think of that as you date your checks with the year 2007.  That is no small thing.

Read Full Post »

Grief Is Not Neat

Below is a column I wrote in April, 2009. What struck me as I looked back over it today is that my husband and I could probably say we are having a similar day, only ten months later.  One difference is that instead of crawling back into bed, I purposely chose to do something for someone else.  Sometimes doing for others helps us get our minds off our own problems.

Here is the column:

This morning, I didn’t want to get out of bed.  In fact, after my husband left for work, I crawled back in bed and cried, before falling back to sleep.  That was the first time I felt like staying in bed since we moved to a different house two months ago.

I was missing my son, Jacob, like I do every day.  But this was one of those REALLY hard days.

Jacob died in a car accident over 2 ½ years ago, but my emotions can still be unpredictable. Some days are good.  I can smile, laugh and not be overwhelmed by sadness; other days, I can hardly get out of bed.  My husband also struggles.  Two days ago, he told me he felt himself slipping into a mild depression.

Shouldn’t we be beyond this stuff?  Hadn’t we already worked our way past isolation, despair and depression?

Of course we had.  Multiple times.

That’s the interesting thing about grief; it’s complex.  Numerous authors have written about the grief experience.  I know, because I’ve read dozens of books on the topic in the past 2 ½ years.  Some are better at capturing the nuances, complexities and realities of grief than others.  Some of my favorite books are:  Shattered Dreams by Larry Crabb, A Grace Disguised by Jerry Sittser, Sit Down, God…I’m Angry by R. F. Smith and A Grief Observed by C.S. Lewis.  These books steer clear of the clichés and platitudes found in some other books I’ve read.

Of course, I would be completely remiss if I did not include Randy Alcorn’s book, Heaven.  While it doesn’t focus so much on the topic of grief, it gave me more hope than any of the grief books.  Another book I cannot leave out is the Bible.  It not only brings me great hope every single day, but it most definitely deals with the topic of grief.  Reading the devotional Streams In the Desert by L. B. Cowman was like applying a daily balm to my hurting soul.

Brilliant researchers who have studied grief categorize it into stages or cycles.  Elizabeth Kubler-Ross is probably the most well-known researcher on grief.  She categorized grief into five stages:   Denial and Isolation, Anger, Bargaining, Depression and Acceptance.  Of course, we compartmentalize and name our grief in an attempt to understand the process a little better.  We like to think that we’ve got grief figured out and controlled.

Except grief doesn’t work that way. There is little clarity or neat beginnings and endings.  Instead, grief is more like a ball continuously bouncing between two walls.  Along those walls you find different aspects of grief.

One moment, grief hits a place known as anger.  The next moment, it hits an area of acceptance, only to bounce over to denial a little while later.  These areas of grief can overlap as well.

It is this unpredictability of grief that often leaves me wondering if I’ve lost my mind.  I ask myself, “How can I be feeling so good one moment and so lousy the next?”  Just when I think I’ve turned the corner, I find myself staring it in the face again.

It’s all normal.

More contemporary research refutes the concept of “stages” or “cycles” in grief and acknowledges the ebb and flow of emotions that are a natural response to loss.  This research suggests there are no simple formulas for grief that apply to every person and every relationship.  John Bowlby and C. Murray Parkes have softened the concept of stages by defining the four dimensions of the mourning process which are:  Shock and Numbness, Yearning and Searching, Disorientation and Disorganization, and Resolution and Reorganization. Bowlby and Parkes acknowledge that the dimensions do not follow a specific order and a person can experience feelings from several stages at one time.

So when you find yourself back at square one, you don’t need to panic.  Accept it for what it is—part of the normal process.  If it means you need to take a day off work (hopefully you have enough sick days left to do that), or if you need to cancel plans with friends, so be it.

You need to allow yourself time to do what helps you most, even if that means doing nothing but crawling back into bed.

Read Full Post »

Life Seven Months After Jacob’s Death

Another journal entry:

My heart is racing!  The phone just rang and the person on the other end said, “Hi, may I please speak to Jacob?”  I could hardly respond. It was an army recruiter who had gotten Jacob’s name from a list of seniors who graduated from his high school. I calmly asked the gentleman to remove Jacob’s name from the list because he had died. That is a classic example of how simple things like a phone call can become complicated.

Last week someone called from our local Honda dealership. The person left a message wanting to know if we still owned the S-2000, the car Jacob was driving when he had his accident.  Did I really have to call them back?  Yes, so they wouldn’t call again.

I was shaking as I dialed the telephone number to return the call.  The phone rang and rang.  Part of me wanted to tell the whole story of what had happened.  I just needed to tell somebody.  But no one answered.  With a little more time to think, I rationalized in my head that I didn’t need to burden anyone with what had happened.  I would simply tell the person we no longer owned the vehicle.  Yet my heart longed to speak Jacob’s name and tell the story.  There were miracles to share despite the tragedy! That’s when I said, “OK, Lord, you know I want to tell this story to release a part of my pain, but I don’t want to burden someone with it.  All I am going to do is say that we no longer own the vehicle.  If you want me to tell the story, You make the person ask the questions.”

Later that afternoon, I tried again.  This time, someone answered the phone immediately.  I said I was calling to inform them that we no longer owned the S-2000.  The man’s response was, “Please just tell me you sold it and that it wasn’t in a wreck!”  My heart stopped.  I could not believe what my ears were hearing.  I said that it had been in a wreck, but gave no other information.  He asked, “Is everyone OK?”  The door had been opened.   I shared the story with him.  He was so compassionate.  Before hanging up, he said very gently, “You have a blessed weekend!”  As I hung up the phone, tears spilled down my cheeks.  I realized that God had heard my cry–the desire of my heart, and He provided.  What an amazing God of detail He is, yet He spoke the universe into existence.

While these past 7 months have been some of the most difficult days in the life of our family, they have also been some of the most blessed.  Michael, Raleigh and I have each had our own moments of knowing God more intimately and passionately than ever before.  For me, I have never desired to know God more.  In the past, I could go days without reading Scripture and my prayers, although frequent, were not always passionate.  My relationship with God was strong but far from being desperate.  Now, I can’t go more than a day or two without reading from Scripture.  When I don’t, I notice that my thoughts are about death rather than life.  These words of Jesus restore me:

But about the resurrection of the dead–have you not read what God said to you, “I am the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob?”  He is not the God of the dead, but the living. Matthew 22:32

Never before have I been so hungry to receive wisdom and understanding.  Every day I cry out to God that He would give me eyes to see and ears to hear Him.  I don’t want to miss a single thing He has for me!  The words of the prophet Isaiah ring through my head:

You will weep no more.  How gracious he will be when you cry for help!  As soon as he hears, he will answer you.  Although the Lord gives you the bread of adversity and the water of affliction, your teachers will be hidden no more; with your own eyes you will see them.  Whether you turn to the right or to the left, your ears will hear a voice behind you saying, “This is the way, walk in it.” Isaiah 30:19-21

At the same time, I have never wanted to see my son or hear his voice more.  I cried like a baby when he left for college.  My heart ached just to walk by his quiet bedroom those first weeks he was away at college.  My heart would jump for joy every time I heard his voice on the other end of the phone.

One day, I was walking in the grocery store missing Jacob terribly.  My cell phone rang, and I saw that it was Jacob calling me in the middle of his busy day on campus.  I remember the time he sent me a text message just to tell me he had seen the daughter of one of my friends on campus.  Sweet connections with my son that he initiated.

I will always cherish his first visit home from college when he specifically asked me if we could talk about some things on his mind and heart.  He told Michael (Dad) not to join us.  To that, Michael replied, “Jacob, you have just made your mother’s year!”  How true!  What I wouldn’t give to have a face to face and heart to heart conversation with my son now.  I want to see his dimpled smile and hear his laughter, but I can’t.  We have no videos of him as an older teenager.  We have pictures of him, but I long for so much more.

Last night, I came across a laughter journal I made once when we were on a family trip.  We were all trying to remember some of the funniest moments our family had shared together.  It was four pages long!  I laughed until I cried, as it occurred to me I will never be able to add another laughter memory with Jacob.  Dear God, that hurts!  He made us laugh so much while he was here.  Our lives were so much richer because of him.

Read Full Post »

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.

Read Full Post »

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.

Read Full Post »

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

Read Full Post »

The Nearness of God Will Be Evident

I will always remember how sick I felt the first time someone suggested that through Jacob’s death I would gain. Gain what? This person probably meant I’d gain valuable things like insight, compassion, wisdom, etc. But benefiting in any way from Jacob’s death seemed appalling to me.

From the moment I learned Jacob’s accident had left him dead and his friend hanging on to life, I knew I had a choice as to how I would live my life going forward. I kept saying to myself and others, “I don’t want Jacob’s death to be in vain.” However, by refusing to let myself “gain” and be transformed through Jacob’s death, I was the one who was guilty of allowing his death to be in vain. My initial stubborn refusal to let beauty arise from ashes for me personally was also in some way disregarding the victorious and miraculous battle Jacob’s friend was fighting to stay alive and rehabilitate.

Then, it was almost as though I could hear Jacob’s voice saying, “Mom, if you don’t allow my death and Matt’s brave struggle to bring forth positive attitudes and changes in yourself, then my death as well as Matt’s hard work HAVE been in vain.” They were not only going to be in vain, but they were going to be the breeding ground of destruction and pain in my life and the lives with which I came in contact. How could I possibly do that to my son? How could I do that to his friend?

Knowing that my greatest comfort came as I read Scripture and prayed, I began to press into my relationship with God. I leaned on Him more than any other time in my life. He “spoke” to my spirit, especially when I felt fearful about Jacob’s final moments and his experience of entering Heaven. Jacob’s eternal life in Heaven was not in question, but whether or not he was lonely or frightened during those moments of transition from his earthly body nagged at my heart and mind. During those times, I could sense God reminding me, “I was with him, and he is here with Me now.”

God gave me a vision ten days after the accident. In this vision that played out like a movie before me, the accident had just taken place, and I was suspended above and slightly behind Jacob’s car. He was in the vehicle, but I did not see his friend who was riding with him. While it was dark and raining, the scene was very clear. A large, black hand wrapped its fingers around Jacob’s torso and pulled him out of the car. Jacob was unconscious and slumped forward, so he didn’t struggle or show any fear. A deep voice that I knew was connected to the black hand could be heard saying, “I’m going to tear this family apart!”  At that moment, I saw a figure come from the right, and I instantly “knew” who it was. Jesus gently took Jacob’s right arm with both hands and calmly but firmly stated, “Let him go! This one is Mine!”  The hand released Jacob immediately. Jacob’s head lifted as though he was now alert, but still somewhat groggy. He said nothing. Jesus then left with Jacob. Four months later, when we visited the accident site for the first time, the location matched my vision, even the positioning of the vehicle was the same.

During those first months, my nearness to God was unlike anything I had ever known before. Rather than consciously offering up a prayer now and then throughout the day, it was as if I was in a constant dialogue with God. I think that’s the connection God intended us to have with Him.  Ever so slowly, that has slipped away. There is more silence on my part and His, but I think that’s because I’ve allowed the distractions of this world back into my life.

The spiritual experience of God’s nearness was like “scales falling from my eyes.” I was seeing things as I had never seen them before. Even when I closed my eyes, vivid colors would swirl around. Things I had never noticed before caught my attention. My hearing was altered. Usually, I have difficulty deciphering competing sounds, so I’m horrible at conversing with people in a group setting where multiple people are speaking.  Concerts are usually very frustrating for me to attend if people around me are talking.  Less than two weeks after Jacob’s accident Michael and I attended a Jars of Clay concert.  To my amazement, despite some less than ideal acoustics, I could clearly hear the lyrics being sung.  It felt like God was opening my ears to hear because the words ministered deeply to my soul.

I also heard things I never heard before. On more than one occasion, I heard Jacob’s voice. One time I heard, “Hey, Mom!” which is the way he would frequently greet me. This all may sound terribly strange or even scary, but I never felt more alive and “in tune” than ever before. Nearly a year after Jacob’s death, I literally heard a male voice while my husband was out running and my daughter was sleeping. This voice calmly but firmly declared, “Put them together.” That made no sense, but I quickly shared what I heard with friends and family anyway. By that afternoon, the phrase made perfect sense because of the way the day’s events miraculously unfolded. Many of us were in awe that a seemingly meaningless group of words suddenly had full meaning.

The nearness of God was so intense that the account in Scripture of Moses going up on Mount Sinai and standing in the presence of God came to mind a number of times. When Moses returned to the people below, he had to veil his face because he was so radiant as a result of the close encounter with God.  Each time Moses entered the Lord’s presence and then spoke to the people, he was radiant from having been in the presence of the Lord.  In the weeks and months following Jacob’s death, there were several occasions when people, even complete strangers, told me that I was “glowing.” One time, two men working at a desk in an office building in Atlanta jumped when they saw me walk in. I wondered why they had such a reaction. The first one said, “This may sound strange, but you are glowing! I mean, you are really glowing!” The other guy said with his eyes wide open, “It’s true! You are!” If they only knew I had lost my son months earlier. The only explanation for this glowing was nearness of God.  His intimate presence brought forth a radiance that could ONLY come from Him.

God is always near, even when we don’t believe He exists. When we are grieving, He draws nearer still. If we invite Him in with hungry hearts, He is like skin on skin. It will be known, not only to us, but to those around us. Ask God to draw near to you. He will.  And your face will show the evidence, even in your most desperate hour.

Submit yourselves, then, to God. Resist the devil, and he will flee from you. Come near to God and he will come near to you. Wash your hands, you sinners, and purify your hearts, you double-minded. Grieve, mourn and wail. Change your laughter to mourning and your joy to gloom. Humble yourselves before the Lord, and he will lift you up. ~ James 4:7-10

Read Full Post »