Second Anniversary

Today is our second anniversary. Besides your death, it's the most grievous day of my life.

The past two years have seemed to move in slow motion. Each day is a trial. Each day presses me in some way. What used to be easy is now hard. Some things that were once difficult are now much easier. I liken the pain to a concept like infinity. I realize all over again how amazingly big it is. But just when you think you know it, just when you think you’ve grasped it, God shows you differently. Grief is a lot like infinity, too. As much pain as I go through, I realize that most people don’t understand it. Worse, I know that, somehow, others have gone through pain much worse, even though you can’t really conceive of it yourself. And yet, I can’t imagine a pain more intense than what I’ve experienced the past two years. It has to be out there, but I hope to never discover it.

And that’s what I try to remember when others are insensitive, seemingly uncaring, or just unresponsive. They can only know grief as strong as they’ve experienced. And maybe, they can only understand grief that is the type of grief they have gone through. They can’t know, even though they think they do know. It’s hard to remember that at times. You want to reach out and strangle some people. You want to punch them right in the nose. Undoubtedly, I’d be forgiven for doing so in some people’s cases. You have to forget about those hurtful people.

Because just like that concept of infinity, I can’t imagine, even to this day, the grief your mom experiences on a daily basis. She held you in her womb for nine months. She gave birth to you. So, as much grief as I have felt, I somehow know she has had more. How much more? I can’t know. And she can’t explain. Not in a way I could understand. It’s just the way grief works, it seems.

Three years before you died, one of my best friends lost a child. All I could offer was a heartfelt condolence. I felt helpless and sick about it. But I had no idea what he was going through. How could I? I couldn’t imagine. People say that all the time: “I can’t imagine”. It’s very true. The mistake then is to try and imagine and act accordingly. Or speak accordingly.

If you can’t imagine…

You can close your eyes and listen to the sea, you can feel the Holy rhythm. It says ‘Great is the Lord and Greatly to be praised, for the mercy He has given. He’s still giving. It’s the same old song and dance. (Andrew Peterson, Song and Dance)

My toughest moment was when your mom called and told me those three words, "we lost -----." When it sinks in the entire world you live in becomes some place entirely different. Entire parts of your brain split off, your soul is shattered, and everything turns upside down. And everything comes into focus at the same time that your mind is completely unable to handle it. You will never be more alone and helpless than in that moment.

And you will not wish such a crushing moment on any person - even the worst person in the world. Not Hitler. Not Osama Bin Laden. No one.

I so wish you were here with me. It seems selfish perhaps, because I know your in a much better place. I fully know that God took you early for a purpose, for something good. It doesn’t ease the pain much to think about that, but it’s true. “He won’t return to me. I will go to him.”

In the weeks and months that followed, I was changed. Forever. For better or worse. I wasn’t myself, but maybe that was a good thing. Some people didn’t like it. A few understood. I slowly picked myself up and tried to go through the motions of “normalcy”. It seemed like what you were supposed to do. Some books also suggested it. Maybe it works for some folks. It didn’t really for me.

Some things are easier. And some are much, much harder. What has become harder?

• Investing time and energy into things without lasting value
• Being around large groups of people just being social (goofing off)
• Tolerating dissent and discord among people
• Being patient toward those who waste precious moments of their life with trivialness or shallowness
• Listening to those who justify their divorces or infidelities
• Being a good mother and a good friend
• Spending time with anybody
  

I’m not saying that these are impossible. Just harder. Some of them are harder just because I probably wasn’t trying as hard before. And now I do. Or I want to.

And some stuff was always hard for me, but it seems almost insurmountable nowadays.

What has become easier?

• Walking away from wasteful relationships
• Appreciating all people every moment of the day - even when they are testing me
• Feeling love toward others children, even when their parents are dolts and have raised them to be rebellious punks
• Spending time and money listening to great music that lifts my spirit
• Focusing inward on my family and less outwardly on the rest of the world
• Reminding folks about Christ, whether they like it or not
• Trying to live a more righteous life
• Telling folks to cherish their loved ones (I’ve always done this, but now I get serious about it)
• Not worrying about other people’s concerns as much

Some of these may seem a bit in contrast with the Harder list. Maybe so. It doesn’t have to make sense. It just is. These are just the patterns I’ve seen in myself.

Some Words of Advice

If you know someone who has gone through a serious loss in their family, especially a child or a spouse, avoid the following behaviors. I experienced them all. Each was very hurtful to me.

I’m traditionally as hard as a rock. I’m the shoulders on which giants stand (so to speak). I’m not an emotional person by nature. I stand firm when others falter. (Although my weaknesses are numerous too!), I’m hardly the kind of person that is hyper-sensitive to mild provocations.

1. Don’t make Empty Promises. If you offer to help in some way, do it. Do it without intrusion as much as possible. Don’t make a big deal of it, or expect a huge handshake and a hearty welcome. Just do it - quietly and without fanfare. But do it. If you offer your service, but then never do it, you would have been better off had you never offered anything.

2. Make a Major Effort to Reach Out. The funeral would be a good illustration of the contrast between what a “major effort” is versus “no effort”. I had friends show up and make a huge effort - people who I hadn’t spent a lot of time with in my life. People contacted me who had experienced a similar thing (who I never knew) and came to the funeral - just to support us. One of my friends flew from several states away and was the first on scene to help get things organized. One sweet friend played music on her piano. People came who were merely acquaintances, or friends of friends.

At the same time, I had some other things happen. I had close friends who never showed up or sent word. Some had a flimsy excuse (child’s baseball game). Everyone’s different, I understand. But understand that your friendship can hinge upon your actions during a time like that. What you do or don’t do sends a very powerful message. Although we’ve forgiven, we aren’t God. It’s hard to forget.

3. Be sensitive. You think it would go without saying, but I was shocked by the indifference that some demonstrated over the coming weeks and months. A few cases stand out. I received an email from a fairly close friend that said “Gee, that’s too bad.” That was the entire email. It was as if I had told him about a recent loss of the Pittsburgh Steelers, not the death of you. I had several close friends suggest, at various intervals, that I needed to “get over it”, “move on”, “pick myself up”, or words to that effect. My advice here is simple, if you have nothing nice to say, don’t say anything at all. That means, shut up. Go away. Your absence of condolences will be more easily forgotten than hurtful and misguided attempts to comfort.

4. Be normal. I lost all perspective of what normal was. I probably still have to some degree. The last thing is I need is for my friends to be abnormal. In other words, even though it may be awkward, when you do make contact with someone who has recently been in a loss, acknowledge it and be sensitive (as above), but speak normally about normal things. I have a great appreciation for my friend ------ who played an on-going joke with me. She talked just as we might normally. She was humorous and positive. With so many others either prancing about on tip-toes, or being insensitive, it was very helpful to just get back into the business of life. Maybe she knew that, maybe she didn’t. But she was normal with me - and that was what I needed to be around.

5. Don’t remind with little quips. How often we heard “God is still on His throne”, “God has a reason for taking ------”, or worst of all, “Time heals all wounds”. Yeah. We get that. We aren’t dumb. All those thoughts hit my head within minutes of realizing that you were dead and with the Lord. Knowing it in your head and getting it into your heart takes a lot of time, grief, tears, prayer, and actions that you can’t do for someone else. It doesn’t take little Hallmark lines.

Better to be silent. Just hug. Or just say “I’m sorry”. That’s enough. That’s all we could even absorb. We weren’t ready for other’s captivating thoughts about what they thought, much less heady theological discussions.

I can’t speak for every couple that has experienced such loss, but for me, I later realized how I reacted to people. I would have a little conversation with them. If I liked the first thing they said, I would ask something else. If I liked that, too. I would ask a little more. Very anti-social. Very baby-like. I didn’t realize it at the time, but I think I couldn’t deal with anything but the most comprehensive and wise understanding of a few close friends. Since most people don’t have that gift, it’s probably best that others just didn’t say anything.

But there’s always the few that think they have some captivating word of wisdom that’s going to put me in a pre-March 17, 2006 state. No. It won’t ever happen. At this point, I can laugh inwardly at such novel expressions of trite sentiments. But at the time, it was very trying and exhausting. My advice for others is that, unless you know you have something absolutely amazing to say, something that would shock the world with its profound and keen insight, something that could get you a book deal, then it’s probably best if you say very little at all for the first few weeks. Maybe even months. Possibly forever.

Summary

I have great hope for the future. I am a very positive person overall. But that future looks so very different from what it used to in my mind.

In the two years that have followed, I think about how you are up in heaven enjoying the presence of the Lord. And we’re still stuck here on earth. Sure, I get excited about new technologies, music, basketball & football season, and other stuff. I love being with our kids & my nephews and watching them grow. I love teaching them about everything that parents should.

Yet, life is short. So very short. Death hangs over me like a cloud. I’m ready to go and fully accept it. It's okay if it happens soon. Friends were a big change. My friend list literally flipped over and turned itself inside out. I’ve met some new good friends who I didn’t really know well (or at all before). Some of my old “good friends” are pretty much long gone. And some friends stayed through it all - or became even better friends. I can’t explain it anymore than I’ve already done here. But I’m okay with it. Life is too short to spend on some people. Doesn’t mean I don’t care about them. But I just care about my time with other people more. My family. The other better friends. Even the friends I’ve yet to meet.

I’m going to end, on what else?, a song this song pretty much sums up the past two years for me.

No More Faith, Andrew Peterson, from “Clear to Venus”

This is not another song about the mountains
Except about how hard they are to move
Have you ever stood before them
Like a mustard seed who’s waiting for some proof?

I say faith is a burden
It’s a weight to bear
It’s brave and bittersweet
And hope is hard to hold to
Lord, I believe
Only help my unbelief

Till there’s no more faith
No more hope
I’ll see your face and Lord, I’ll know
That only love remains
Have you heard it said that Jesus is the answer
And thought about the many doubts you hide
Have you wondered how he loves you
If He really knows how dark you are inside

I say faith is a burden
It’s a weight to bear
It’s brave and bittersweet
And hope is hard to hold to
Lord, I believe
Only help my unbelief

Till there’s no more faith
No more hope
I’ll see your face and Lord, I’ll know
When there’s no more faith
And no more hope
I’ll sing your praise and let them go
’cause only love
Only love remains

So I will drive these roads in thunder and in rain
And I will sing your song at the top of my lungs
And I will praise you, Lord, in glory and in pain
And I will follow you till this race is won
And I will drive these roads till this motor won’t run
And I will sing your song from sea to shining sea
And I will praise you Lord, till your kingdom comes
And I will follow where you lead

Till there’s no more faith
No more hope
I’ll see your face and Lord, I’ll know
When there’s no more faith
And no more hope
I’ll sing your praise and let them go
’cause only love
Only love remains