GRIEF MATTERS

hello, it's me--how are you?

can you hear me?

my mind is thinking:

when space separates us...

the sun rises and sets repeatedly...

the sound of silence surrounds me like fresh fallen snow.

In these times I hold my breath and wonder--

will there always be a chasm such as this in life...

a divide no one can bridge..?

filled with questions no one will answer?

leaving heartache none comprehends?

My heart answers, "No; it won't always be this way."

Someday...when life moves on to the other side of darkness, misunderstandings, and tears,

the Savior will meet me;

He'll take my hand and lead me out of the abyss of pain, sadness and wretched quiet--the prison of neglect.

No longer will the thief of joy reign.

No longer will the sorrow of broken relationships smother laughter.

No longer will abandonment cling to my soul, nor fear beat its constant drum.

For the King of kings will wipe away the tears...

pain will cease and sorrow will be no more.

It's then the great divide between earth and perfect love will meet at home forever, and there will be no need to say "hello" or ask "how are you anymore". The sting is gone.

~hariette petersen, 2016

Grief --the thief

I sat staring at some tile-work the other day. One tile did not line up with the grout lines. I thought how annoyed my son would have been with that job.  He was such a perfectionist when it came to tile-setting...or anything for that matter. I smiled... My thoughts flipped to our last conversation, the night before he died and suddenly a wellspring of pain gripped my gut and coursed through my entire being.  I sat crying and wondering why. It's been nearly 11 years.  Shouldn't I be able to think of him without such heartache?

No.  Because grief is a thief.

It robs you just as surely as the uncaring men and women who broke into my home last August and ripped the wall-mounted television off my living room wall. Thieves intrude where they are unwelcome.  Where they have no right to be. And grief is no different.

Though you may be happy and filled with joy at the birthday celebration of a grandchild, or the gift-giving around the Christmas tree, or the bounty enjoyed with family at the Thanksgiving table, grief has a way of robbing you of some of the goodness, the sweetness, the preciousness of every moment.

In these times we must learn to let go of the pain, let it pour forth tears or even in expressions written in poem, song or articles.  Then we must turn to the the Comforter and let Him do His job to heal another space within our hearts that cannot be touched by human hands or surgical skill.

 

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Grief is a devastating battle

My Son, His Hope, His Rest

In the many hours I spent with my son he would share, so often, various things about Christ and how certain songs blessed him.  He'd say, "you gotta hear this one mom, you gotta hear it", and then he'd find the song and play if for me.

Many times he would take me to Mardel's Christian Book store and show me paintings that reflected how he felt.  He showed me this one and told me that he felt like he could understand the struggle going on in Jesus in the wilderness.  He said he'd like to have it.  

Another one that he loved is the one here on the right.  He saw this one hangin in our home and he said this made him think of what it would be like when he died and went to be with Jesus.  "Can you imagine, Mom?  Jesus hugging you like that?" He said it gave him such peace to look at it.

Today, a friend of mine posted a video with a song by Elvis Presley.  The song reflects the heart of where my son is today.  Some scenes remind me of how so often he'd call me and tell me of a situation he was in, one in which He knew God was taking care of him... that he wouldn't be able to make it through the day if not for knowing God was holding him as he walked through a dark and painful time.

Maybe as you listen to the song, One Pair of Hands, and reflect on the pictures, you can visualize yourself where my son so often visualized himself.

Today my son no longer suffers, no long is in pain, no longer deals with the heartache of being separated from his two little girls.  He is in the arms of God and he can see from his vantage point, what we so often cannot see-- his girls are in the palm of God's hand.  From where he rests, he has no fear, nor worry for them.  He knows.  He knows.  And that is my comfort at this moment.

I wish I could have a painting like the one below painted with my son's face in it with Jesus. 

I feel like that a painting like this would bring me more peace and greater comfort.

Hope you enjoy the beautiful song.

May God give us all grace till we see our loved ones again.

Grief is a devastating battle

Especially when it is fresh.  It's like a razor cut through your soul.  You cannot feel it as it slices through the fog of shock, of horror, of unfathomable circumstances.

When I walk through the valley of the shadow of death with my own memories, or with others as they face their own hours of mourning...sometimes there is so little within me that can pull breath from the air.  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. 

Tonight I mourn with a Mother, a father, a son.  A precious family who has lost a son, a brother.  Their pain is beyond any we can comprehend.  It's a lonely journey they must walk, together and individually.  Only God can comfort them in the deepest recesses of their souls as we clumsily come along side through condolences, touch, hugs, and prayers we lift on their behalf.

God be with the Caners.  Bless Jill with rest, Ergun with strength and wisdom, and Drake with faith unwavering.  Help them breathe, Oh Lord.  Help them breathe.

The Ninth Year

How? 

How in the world has it been nine years?

As I clipped the dozens of roses to make the ninth-year blanket for his grave, I could barely believe it had been this long since he died. 

But, it has.

I've managed to fill the days and weeks and months with various things and went on living.  His beautiful little girls have grown up to be lovely teenagers.  His eldest daughter just got her first job.  And I worry about her.  She's so lovely.  I worry about all the things I do believe Chad would have worried about had he lived to watch them grow up.

Abby plays his trumpet now.  She's doing very well in middle-school band-- so well that her teacher said if she keeps it up, she'll be in the high school band.  Same thing happened to her dad.  He could have gotten a scholarship to college.  Sigh.  so many memories. 

He'd be so proud of his beautiful girls.  Brooklyn sings in the church worship band.  She teaches kids about Jesus.

They both love life, people, and God.  They miss him.  Still.

As do I.  Life goes on.  But it is not the same.  It never will be.  I miss his laughter and jokes and funny stories.  I miss his long thoughtful, introspective conversations about life and living.  I miss hanging out with him.  I miss all of him.  And no, life is not fair.  It's not fair at all. 

 

When Grief Whispers My Name

I come here and sit a spell.

Sometimes it's easier to sit and read how I once felt, in order to comprehend how I can possibly feel like I do today. 

Sometimes there's a trigger that's pulled, a button that's pushed, a memory that's reclaimed that draws me back.  It's at these times I hear grief whisper my name.

Few can understand this pulling...

this magnetic attraction to isolate the thoughts within my mind...

to dwell a while with feelings only I can feel because only I am me with these feelings.

Today it was a song that drew me back, my son.  I heard it on facebook.  You would like the lyrics.  And since I know without a shadow of doubt you are Dancing in the Sky, I had to bring the song over here for safekeeping...

in case I needed to be reminded once again that where you are there is no pain, there is no sadness, there is no grief.  Only joy.  And from that knowledge I can smile again.  Though I miss you, I can laugh the laughter you cannot on this side of heaven.  I know you're laughing and dancing and singing praises.  I know you're enveloped in love and light and joy.  Oh, my son.  You are the blessed one, now.  I'm so glad we had such happy times together.

It helps so much to remember those times when grief whispers my name.  It really does.  momma

Dancing in the Sky. 

Related post: So I had a bad day.

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...their 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