Thoughts on mourning and grief
What I wouldn’t give to fight with you over the last piece of German chocolate cake at dinner today! I miss you always, but I’m grateful that we had 30 Thanksgivings together (even if we didn’t get to spend the holiday together every year). If they have German chocolate cake in heaven, I hope you’ll save me a slice with lots of icing. I love you, Nathan.
Source: Flickr
Some old college friends got together for a mini-reunion this weekend, and it was nice spending time with them. Everyone’s kids got along well and spent a couple of hours playing together at a local park. We even got to catch a home football game — something I never really cared much about when I was in college, but it’s fun to cheer them on now.
There’s a lot to catch up on when you haven’t seen folks in a decade or two. I learned that a friend-of-a-friend (someone I didn’t know well but recognized his picture) died of a brain tumor after graduation. That news made me think of my brother and wonder if his 15- or 20-year high school reunion will mention his passing. He didn’t bother attending his 10-year; he was never a big fan of institutionalized education. (I chose that word on purpose, since he often compared school to prison, ha!)
As we got back into town and turned onto the main highway, I noticed that an intersection was closed off by several police cars with lights whirling, but what I didn’t know was that a colleague had perished in an accident there just a couple of hours prior. He leaves behind a wife and toddler daughter. I didn’t know him outside of the board on which he served as a steering committee member, and I just met his wife for the first time at the Condoleezza Rice event last week. I’d seen pictures of his daughter but now wish that I’d taken the time to get to know his whole family better.
I’m experiencing a grief relapse today.
It’s been nearly three years since Nathan died. I have a hard enough time wrapping my head around that fact, but the even sadder part is that so much grief has occurred even since then. I lost another colleague in a car accident, a family friend who was like my second mom, an uncle, a cousin, my boss’ son, a friend’s infant son, another friend’s miscarriage, a different friend’s miscarriage, a neighbor’s cancer diagnosis, a friend’s cancer diagnosis … even strangers who were close to my circles — like students and church members lost in accidents and illness — tugged at my heartstrings.
Today, I’m reminded of one of the first “long” passages of Scripture that I ever memorized. I learned it for a skit that my youth group performed for our church, but it has truly been written on my heart and has seen me through some devastating days. Following is the way Revelation 21: 1-4 sounds in my head, but here is the NIV version (I guess I tweaked a word or two over the years):
And then, I saw a new heaven and a new earth. For the first heaven and the first earth had passed away, and there was no longer any sea. I saw the holy city, the new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, like a bride beautifully prepared for her husband. And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, ‘Now the dwelling of God is with men. He will live with them; they will be his people, and God himself will be with them. He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death, or mourning, or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away.’
Come quickly, Lord Jesus.
I’m writing this post ahead of time, because I know that when the day finally rolls around, I’ll be a blubbering fool, incapable of making coherent sentences.
Today is the day that my late brother’s fiance is getting married. I am so very, very happy for her. And yet, my heart aches so very, very much.
They would be approaching their second anniversary together. I might even have been an aunt again by now. Instead, she had to cancel reservations and go through the heartache of explaining to vendors why the wedding was off. I was still wallowing in my own raw grief at that point, and I only vaguely remember thinking how awful it must have been to tell a stranger that your fiance had died.
*Stop, tears! If I can’t even write a blog post, how am I supposed to make it through the wedding?!?
The fact is, I’m not going to make it through the wedding with dry eyes; I already know that. I just hope that I can control my weeping and not cause a scene.
How can you be so happy for someone and yet so overwhelmed with heartache all at the same time? I love her like a sister, and she will always be part of the family, in my eyes. We call each other sisters-in-love instead of sisters-in-law. That’s who she is. I used to tease my brother that he *finally* picked a good one. I was really looking forward to having a “sister.” I love her very much and want only the best for her.
Truthfully, today is an answer to more than two years of prayer. As soon as I could get beyond “Lord, help me make it through today” sorts of prayers (ah, who am I kidding — I still send up those survival-mode prayers!), I prayed for her to find love again. I asked the Lord to match her up with a godly man after His own heart, someone who will heal her grief and walk alongside her through their new life together … someone she can grow old with.
The Lord answered.
I wish it could be my brother meeting her at the end of the aisle, with that smitten puppy look on his face that he had every time she walked into a room. I wish my nephews were carrying ring pillows or standing tall as junior groomsmen by their Daddy.
I wish …
Lord, today and evermore, please bless this union that we witness today. Thank you that in your wisdom and divine providence, you saw fit to bring them together. Guide their steps as they walk this journey of life. Thank you that your mercies are new each and every morning. Thank you for bringing her love again.
Instead of sharing a poem today, I wanted to talk about word choice. I realize that schools, doctors’ offices and every other place that requires parental signature are just trying to be politically correct, but the phrase “Parents & Guardians” really grates on my nerves.
For [hopefully] obvious reasons, I have not gone into many of the legalities concerning my nephew-sons, but I’d like to make one thing clear: I am their parent. My brother was a terrific single father who loved them to no end, but when he died and the judge signed the guardianship Orders, I went from being Aunt to Mom. I realize it’s just a title – a nickname, if you will – but I am more than a mere guardian. I’m the sole custodial parent in the eyes of the court.
The word guardian makes me think of a babysitter or an orphanage. Don’t get me wrong — there are some orphanages that aim to create a very family-like atmosphere, and I think that’s terrific. Yet, even a foster parent arrangement, in my mind, is more than just someone who watches over/guards the children. If a child lives in your home day in and day out and has been incorporated into your family structure, then how is that not parenting?
Again, I realize people don’t mean any offense when they use the word guardian, but I wish they would just say parent. Distinguishing between the two only confuses the children and risks making them feel excluded.
Something very scary happened on the way to drop off the boys at Kidzone (kids’ church) this evening. It was a classic Defensive Driving scenario: We were turning left and had been stopped for several seconds with my left turn signal on, waiting for oncoming traffic to pass by at 60mph. A car was exiting the cross-street, waiting to turn onto the road that we were turning off of. Suddenly, a car came barreling up behind us going easily 70mph (in a 60mph zone, mind you), and it obviously wasn’t planning to stop for the Chevy Traverse with its brake lights clearly on and its left turn signal clearly blinking.
It scared the crap out of me.
There was nothing I could do in the instant that I realized it was about to slam into me from behind, throwing the five boys and me into oncoming traffic. My reflex was to tap the brake; I didn’t even have time to honk the horn (as if they would hear it from behind me??). At the last moment, they swerved onto the shoulder and avoided slamming into us. I was shaken. Literally, shaking, as I drove the last mile or so to church. All I could think of was “what if” …
I declared aloud, “Thank you, Jesus.” I’d like to say that that was the first thing that came to mind, but honestly, the first thing that came to mind was to shout, “Idiot!!” at the swerving car.
I’ve had too much grief to deal with in the past 2-1/2 years. Yet, I kept thinking about the side-curtain airbags and wondered if they’d be enough to protect the two boys who were seated on the passenger side in the 2nd & 3rd rows. In a split second — longer than I would have liked to imagine it — I pictured them unconscious … even dead. I didn’t want to believe it, but my imagination went there. I imagined waking up in the hospital and not knowing which boys were alive and which ones were dead.
I prayed and asked God to clear my mind, and I thanked him again for intervening and letting us avoid what surely would have been a terrible wreck. Even after praying, even after driving back to the church and picking them up and arriving back safely at home, I’m still leery to go to sleep. I don’t want those nightmares. Perhaps I will read for a while and try to distract my imagination.
*Disclaimer to any men folk reading: You might just want to skip this post. You’ve been warned.
Ok, ladies – here’s the deal: Since I had a hysterectomy a few years back [let us pause for a moment of silent hallelujah], I don’t know what my hormonal cycle is up to. When I’m having a rough day (or days on end, as the case may be), sometimes I wonder if it’s just work/the kids/school/grief/whatever or if it’s PMS, and I just don’t know it. I can’t point to the calendar and have an obvious answer for why I’m feeling bummed.
Over-sharing? Perhaps. I’m still thankful that I don’t have to explain feminine hygiene products to the boys when they go rummaging through my bathroom cabinet looking for a Band-aid. 😉
This may be a tacky comparison, and if so, please forgive me, but I don’t feel like talking about the real situation, so we’re going to talk about cancer, instead. Compared to most people my age — and many who are older than me — I have experienced a lot of grief in my [relatively young] life. I have attended a couple dozen funerals (conservative estimate) and could check off multiple items on the Life Stress Inventory.
In fact, as a point of reference, I just took the inventory and scored 508. The quiz told me: “OVER 300 POINTS: This score indicates a major life crisis and is highly predictive (80%) of serious physical illness within the next 2 years.”
Yeah, um, things are a wee bit frazzled in my life right now.
So, back to the cancer analogy. I lost a dear family friend to cancer, and I’ve been thinking about her lately. She was sick for a very long time. Then, she’d perk up a bit, and treatment would seem to be working. Then, she’d get sick again. Then, they’d try some experimental stuff, and she might or might not respond. I had the privilege of talking to her on the phone shortly before she died, and I was thankful to have the opportunity to tell her that I loved her.
In her last days, the focus seemed to be on palliative care. I’m no healthcare professional, but from what I understand, palliative care is when you try to manage the pain, stress, etc. to make someone more comfortable when there really is no hope for recovery.
No hope. That’s a hard thing to wrap my head around, as a believer in Christ. I want to believe that there is always hope. I believe in a God who can (and does!) heal miraculously. Sometimes, for reasons I don’t think I’ll ever understand, that healing seems to come by means of letting that person’s body die.
It’s one thing to provide palliative care, in a physical sense. There are medications available to help alleviate pain, and so forth. But, how do you provide palliative care when the problems aren’t physical? What can you do for a dying relationship, for instance? Hope and pray that things will change? Wait for things to change? Try to force things to change?
And when they don’t …?
There’s no palliative care for relationships. You can try not to hurt people; you can try to ease the tension, but it’s going to be painful, no matter what you do.
Omigoodness, I’ve cried more today than I have in the last six months, if not longer. A cousin of mine died of a heart attack today (I found out after I’d already written my earlier post about how frustrated I’ve been feeling). I cared about him a lot, but I think that hearing of his death has opened up a floodgate of tears that I’ve been holding back for a very long while.
I’m crying for his family. I’m crying jealous tears for his heavenly reunion with my brother and our other deceased family members. I’m crying because I don’t even know why. I don’t think that I’m normally an overly emotional person; I can usually be the voice of reason amidst other peoples’ panic; yet, right now, I’m a blubbering fool. I think I’ll just go to bed and hope that I don’t wake up congested with a headache and a sopping wet pillow.
I’m filing this under “Grief” because I don’t know what else to call it. I try to keep the tone of this blog fairly upbeat, yet I want to be authentic. I know how very, very blessed I am. I have so many things for which to be thankful, and I am. Yet, at the same time, I feel defeated and disappointed right now.
How can such a paradox exist in my heart?!
I feel defeated by processes that are in motion all around me that affect me directly, yet I have no control over them. I feel helpless to influence the outcome. For eight hours a day, I struggle to discover what else I can possibly contribute, when it feels like I’ve already done all that I can do. It’s a deflating experience for a Straight-A kiddo like me to come face-to-face with the cold, hard fact that I can’t meet expectations.
I also feel disappointed by gestures that might have made me feel appreciative months or years ago, but now they just … don’t.
One thing that keeps me grounded is writing the weekly prayer devotionals. It helps me to focus on something outside of myself. Of course, kids are good for that, too. They give me plenty to think about every day! I’m trying not to dwell on my frustrations … they seem so pale in light of larger tragedies in the world …
I’m currently reading A Storm of Swords from the Game of Thrones series. Without giving any spoilers, allow me to vent that some of my favorite characters have died or disappeared. Some of my favorite characters have lost everyone dear to them (so they believe, at least), and they are alone in the world.
One of the chapters I finished recently talked about how one character broke a stick “sword” against a tree to release the grief and anger that had welled up inside. It’s an awful feeling to lose someone dear and to feel like no matter which way you turn, all roads are equally dreary. There have been times when I’ve done manual labor-type of jobs around the house because I needed to get out my frustrations. Weed-eating, for instance, is not particularly fun, but it looks nice when it’s finished, and it’s a good arm/shoulder workout. Shredding blades of grass to smithereens helps to clear the weeds out of my head, too.
I appreciate how the author is candid about the characters’ grieving process. Some bottle it up and try to forget it, put on their strong faces and deal with the here-and-now. I’ve been in that place before; sometimes, you just have to do what you have to do to survive the moment. Other characters wail and mourn openly. I’ve been there, as well. Some characters channel their grief into vengeance, purpose, drive, etc. I’ve experienced that resurgence within my own spirit at times, also.
One of the things I dislike about such strong character development in a novel, however, is that I get “close” to a character. I learn to like them and relate to them. I don’t like it when they die. 😦
faith, sweat & tears 