GRIEF MATTERS

It's the Day AFTER Thanksgiving and I don't get your girls today

Sometimes it's harder than others for me that you are gone, son.  Today is one of them.  I suppose it's stupid of me to think anyone could understand that today is just another day... just an ordinary day.  Black Friday after Thanksgiving.  But... well, it's not.  To me, it is never going to be ordinary or normal again.  I pretend it is normal.  I pretend that life is okay.  I pretend that it does not hurt when the girls are not allowed to come be with our family... your family. 

don't you just hate it when you feel like giving up?  you look around you at all the people you love... the ones who love you, too, when they are not thinking about themselves or others more than you.  lol.  I'm such a whiner.  pathetic.  guess that's why I'm ready to leave this old earth.  knocked down, crushed and despairing unto death.  it's a ridiculous thought... but it is here, nevertheless and I don't happen to care if someone knows...  am seeing Linda on Tuesday.  by then I will probably have pulled myself up by the bootstraps, put on a happy face and pushed all the rotten, putrid junk back behind all the less aggravating things... and no one will know how hard I find life... no one will realize that just because they are strong in the storms of life, that there is someone who sits gritting her teeth, holding on for dear life... or not so dear.  sigh... I hate holidays.  and so I sing:

"Bless the Lord, oh my soul, and all that is within me, bless His holy name." Psalm 103:1

but sometimes there is so little within me, I think God barely hears a whisper.  it's then I hold onto the promise that when my prayers are without form, vitality, or hope... that the Spirit within me groans with me and intercedes on my behalf.

Sometimes I Have a Bad Day

And when I do... I come back here and spend a bit of time recalling how far I've journeyed through this life without your presence.  It's so very hard sometimes to smile or pretend you are not on my mind.  While others pass me on their way to the refrigerator, or set a table for dinner, my mind is spanning time and watching you tile a floor, measure a wall, chat with a customer, instruct your little girls on how to scoop sand into a styrofoam cup without breaking the cup.

Little things.  I go into a McDonald's restroom and notice the tile on the walls and see where something didn't quite square up and think of how that would have bugged you.  And I chuckle to myself.  I recall our conversations and struggle to recall the sound of your voice. 

Intangibles.  Oh how I wish I had a few moments or hours of tangible time.  Time to hug you.  To share a story.  To make your favorite dessert.  I know.  I know.  I hear you.  "Remember the good times, momma."

So I Had A Bad Day/link.  It won't be my last.  I'm sure. 

Thinking Of You Today As Every Day

Those Who Share My Grief

There are people who've tried to encourage me since I lost Chad.  I so love them.  There are others (who I know love me), but, still, they are uncomfortable with the whole grief process.  Sometimes I wonder about that term.  It's like something is processed and there is a resulting product afterwards.  That's not how grief is to me.

To me, it lingers.  Mostly in the shadows of the day, or crevices of a particular experience.

Sometimes just talking about him brings in a rush of joy, heartache, or emptiness.  Sometimes hearing his name called out to another person who owns it sends chills down my arms...it's like they've stolen something that belongs to me, yet I know that is not so.

But there are those who share my grief.  They see a particular situation and realize that what they are experiencing as the normal course of living, is not something I can do any longer.  My day of experiences are done.  I only have memories.  Normal can no more exist for me than typing could be for a person who loses their arm.  No matter how proficient and effective one becomes with the use of one arm, the other is always missing.  And it is more obvious to that person than to others.  Grief is a personal thing.  It's hard to share it with someone else with any confidence.  Will another receive my thoughts, my emotions with the understanding, or will they simply nod and want to melt like rain into dry ground?

I suppose that is why I write about it over here.  My safe space.  I don't click on my facebook and twitter accounts to share it with the world.  The world at large doesn't really care, I've found.  Only the few who seek another's peace while in search of their own will stumble upon this blog through various links offered with other blogs I write.  That is enough.  God brings those who need another heart which connects with theirs--someone else who's walking in the valley of the shadow of death.

If you are here, I pray my thoughts can strike some chord of comfort within your heart and ease your pain somewhat.  May God richly bless and keep you.  selahV 

Some People Ask How Are You

I usually answer, "fine".  That's usually what they want to hear.  I know they wonder how I walk through life without my beloved son, and remain sane in the process.  I think about it myself.  I know that but for the grace of God and the prayers of His people, I would still be a puddle in the middle of my grief-counselor's office tan carpet.  I don't talk as much about him as I use to.  When I do, people do not seem to bristle and recoil like they did in the days and months right after we lost dear Chad.

Just typing his name brings a kind of soothing feeling.  It's like soaking in a warm tub or having my neck massaged.  Seeing his name in print makes me recall the days when he was pitching in little league and I called, "Come on, Chadder."  Then that thought brings to mind how he use to get so sick to his stomach just before a game.  He was so very passionate about performance.  I'd tell him he was only 10 and not to get so worked up.  I may as well have been talking to the butterflies in the wind.  That thought brings on another of the note I found in my box of old pictures.  He'd written it to me before he'd left on a band trip to King's Island.  He'd taken the time to write me a note before his dad took him to join the group.  It was on a blue index card.  He'd signed it "I'm still your little Chatter."  I have to laugh.  He was a chatter-box.  But then, he came by it naturally.  We often spent hours upon hours at night, lying in bed talking about everything.  God, life, girls, guys, funny things.  I wish I had recorded all those conversations, now.  But I didn't.

What does one say when someone asks how are you, and your life has been so drastically changed?  so changed that you cannot verbalize the oddity of walking on without that crazy, goofy presence in your life?  I don't know.  It's hard to simply say I'm fine when I'd really like to share the moment I last heard his voice.  Would they understand how much I want to bop him for not coming up to spend Mother's Day weekend with me?  Would they understand that even though I'd like to bop him, it's not because he missed Mother's Day 2005, but because he missed all those Mother's Days since then?  I think of how his last words were "I love you, momma," the night before he died.  And I cannot help but smile; he had a special way of saying momma...I've never heard anyone say it like he did.  I so wish I had that moment to relive and say, "I love you, too, my precious son."  Instead I sit here typing this for no other reason than just to pen the thoughts that run rampant through my head at times.  It's late.  It's nearly 1:00 a.m.

Perhaps you are a bit lonely tonite, too, my friend--whoever you are.  Perhaps you share a kindred bond, or simply want to know how I really am in all this.  I can truthfully say, I take each day as it comes and embrace it with as much energy as I have within me.  Sometimes that is alot, and other times it could not move the battery-bunny's toe.  But through it all the love I have for Chad was not buried in the grave with him.  I contemplate the day when I shall see his name in print once again.  I clearly see it written in the Book of Life and know someday I'll be able to thank Jesus Who makes it possible for us to reunite and celebrate our life forever in heaven.  What a day that will be!  What a day!  I know I'll be fine, truly fine that day!  selahV

EMPATHY

 
Quite different from sympathy.  One feels sorry, the other feels deeply.  Empathy climbs inside another's soul and heart and cares when no one else seems to understand.  Empathy does not always comprehend the complexity of another's feelings, but nevertheless, it tries, because empathy wants to share another's pain, shoulder another's burden, and lift another up when they are having a bad hair day, experiencing the blahs, or suffering the loss of a loved one.

Empathy goes where others will not, and takes the risk that others cannot to soothe a weary heart. It does not concern itself with how it looks when it reaches out and touches another's hand in a crowded room.  It senses the hurt, the embarassment, the discouragement and grief another feels and rubs the knots of tension from another's shoulders without saying a word.  selahV

A SPECIAL DAY

I talked to Brooklyn on May 10th.  She returned my call from May 8th.  She asked me right off, "Mimi, did you remember that the other day when you called was a special day?"  It was the day her daddy died 3 years ago.

"Yes, baby.  I remembered."

"Good."

"Did you remember?"

"Yes."

"Were you sad?"

"No."

"Good, because daddy wouldn't want you to feel sad.  He'd want you to be happy today.  Because he loves you very very much."

"Yeah."

And then we went on to discuss the joys of her life, passing classes with flying colors, enjoying her new room in her new house.  Little things.

May 8th.  Brooklyn calls it a "special day".  It's a day she finds important to remember.  A day that changed her life forever.  As time passes, we each find ways of coping with our losses.  Life moves on while death lingers in the shadows of yesterday.  We carry with us memories of love, happiness and joy; they mingle with our present and give us peace.

I don't miss you any less, my son.  In fact, I think I miss you more.  But I am comforted by all you were to me while you were here.  Sometimes I get scared because I'm afraid I'll forget how you looked, or sounded.  But it's these times God brings to mind a particular expression, a scene that captures your essence and a word you spoke so long ago.  And I smile for a while.  I love you, Mom.

TEARS OF EMPATHY

With tears of empathy for the family who loses a loved-one, I write:

The excruciating pain you feel today is beyond explanation.  To say you "will feel better in time" is like adding salt to an open wound.  Time?  What is time?  It is now.  Now is the only time you know.  This moment seems like an eternity.  You ask, "Can I survive it?"  It feels as though you won't.  Even after your loved one has been lain to rest, your heart feels as though it may explode with the agony filling the void within you.

My heart cries out for God's unfailing mercy and grace to be upon you in your grief.  You will need His comfort to sustain you to simply breathe...to take another step...to drink and eat with normalcy.  For what are those things in this, so seemingly senseless loss?  Normal no longer exists.  It's gone.  Few who have loved deeply and lost can feel anything but the void of the loss.  Loss sucks the life out of you; it drains you.

There is a quiet place in the heart of God to rest for those who suffer much in this life. And only those who suffer much find entrance to that room in God's heart. It is the way of things. I would not seek to give anyone that key. But God in His infinite wisdom and grace, knows who best can benefit from the resting place and offer comfort to others from the strength and comfort they gain in that room.
 
Since my son's death, I've learned that many of his prayers have been fulfilled. I've watched as God worked and works in the hearts of those my son loved and cared for. I've found a peace in God only He could impart. I wish that I hadn't had to learn so many of life lessons as a result of my son's death. I wish my son could be here to see the breadth of my growth, the depth my trust, the abundance of joy in his children. But that was not in God's plan.

I do not understand if my son died to bring about these things or if my son's dying brought about the things that would have eventually happened.  I struggled with those whys for years. Today I am able to simply rest in God's sovereignty and know He brought my son home for His reasons and mine is not to wonder why any longer.

God bless you if you are suffering today.  God bless you if you find yourself inside that room and have no idea why you've entered.  My sincere love goes out to you.  selahV

ALL MY TEARS, by Selah

I thought I'd cried all I could cry.  I was mistaken.  This song helped me put it in perspective once again.

 

IT'S BEEN OVER FOUR YEARS

AND I MISS YOU EVEN MORE TODAY THAN THE DAY YOU LEFT.