Sunday, December 28, 2008

A very small window

Today, while driving to Williamsburg with my friend Lisa, I realized how Christopher's death has changed the way that I see a part of the way God leads.  If you've ever used a GPS, you'll know what I am talking about.  

As you are going along, you can see where you are on the screen, but you can't see very far ahead.  You only see what you need to see for the next few miles. That is really the way that God seems to deal with me.  For example, I know that I am supposed to apply for the PhD program, but I don't really know if that is what I need to be doing next fall; He only seems to be showing me a few steps at a time.

Until Christopher died, this was more frustrating to me than it it is today.  I used to want to see how this was all going to work together; I wanted to know what He was doing.  I know realize that I am so thankful that I didn't know that December 8, 2007, what Christopher's date to pass from this world to the next.  Had I known, I wouldn't have been able to let myself enjoy what were to be his final days.  

I used to think that withholding His plan, was God's way of denying me what I thought I needed.  In reality, withholding His plan enabled me to enjoy what I had.

God is good and life is hard.  This is not a contradiction or a lack of faith; it is my reality.  It is hard because this is not my home.

I am in Williamsburg staying in a timeshare.  Even though it is really nice, it is not my home and I don't expect that I'll be totally comfortable before we head home; I still can't figure out which light switches control what lights, for example.  It makes it hard to get around.  

That is not unlike why life can be hard.  When I get to heaven, everything will have a place and be in its place, me included.  

This is not my home.  I want to go home, but again, I only see a little bit of the picture ahead and, thus far, it doesn't include heaven.  I guess, I just have to trust that is my destination and keep on following, one little window at a time.

Thursday, December 25, 2008

Facing Christmas without Christopher

Christmas night and I've made it. Last night was the toughest as there was no anticipation like there was with Christopher. He was like a little kid in a huge body when it came to getting gifts. He'd never admit it, but he really enjoyed the events: the people, the food, the gathering.

There is a part of me that feels like that is all gone for me and never to return. I did good, though, I had Christmas dinner for my brother, sister-in-law, niece and mom. I made a good meal, if I may say so myself and generally enjoyed myself. But is it just different. That family is different from what I had with Christopher and what I looked forward to with him through the years.

It has been long enough that I have trouble remembering my last Christmas with Christopher; I get so confused as they all begin to run together. That is the way I feel about a lot of the thirteen years we spent together. It is just one, long movie that is growing more silent with each passing day. Is is coming to a point that I don't know what I remember as opposed to what I know. I know that we went on great vacations, but I want to remember every little moment, every conversation, every smile, even every argument.

I want it all back. I want every moment with him back to hold on to, to hear, to smell, to savor. Why don't we think that we will ever forget? Why do we think that the joy will last forever?

I often wonder what, if anything, I would do differently, if I had only know that my time with Christopher was to be so very short. You know, I wouldn't change a thing. Every encounter, every conversation, every experience, every adolescent talk-back and my response, (good, bad or ugly), is what made Christopher into the young man that he was and I loved him just the way he was (is).

I have to remind myself that Christopher "is". He isn't "was." That is vital to me to know that one day I will be reunited with him again and enjoy all he was on this earth and more. I will see the remnants of our time together in his laugh, his smile, his character. I can hardly wait, but I must. Apparently there is some reason for me to be left behind and to that I'll be searching. I may never find it, but I pray that along the way, that lives will be changed. This pain has to be good for something, something big, and I beleive it will be.

God is good and He has a plan. I don't like it right now I am alone this Christmas night (if I were to be honest, I'd probably be alone this night even if Christopher hadn't died. I need to remind myself of those truths as well.) He woudl be out with friends, I'm sure. And truthfully, he is with the One true Friend.

Christopher is home this night. It is me who hasn't made it yet. Maybe I resent that he made it first; you know we were always very competitive! :)

Merry Christmas, Christopher. I am sure that the birthday party was a blast! Wish I could have been there.

Talk to Papa for me and see what He can do about that!

Tuesday, December 23, 2008

Faith is Easy

Faith is easy, trusting isn't always so.  

I was talking to a friend of mine yesterday and we ended up talking about faith.  We demonstrate faith all the time and think nothing of it, but when it comes to having faith in God's directions, we seem to make it more difficult.  Let me explain.

My brother, Jim, got me a GPS for Christmas last year.  I have used it to go a number of places and will again next week as I travel to Williamsburg.  It amazes me.  A few months ago, I went up to Winder, GA to visit a friend.  I don't know the ways of rural north Georgia at all, even though I have been there several times.  But I had my GPS.  (It is a Garmin.  I call her Judy as she can be a know-it-all and besides, Judy Garmin has a familiar ring to it.) so there was no problem.  At one time, I talked to my mom and she asked where I was, to which I replied that I had know idea, but I knew I was where I was supposed to be.

This is sad to say, but I want to trust God as much as I trust my Garmin.  He has a positioning system too - it is called His will.   I want to be able to say that I don't know where I am, but I know that I am where I am supposed to be.

I think that difference is that with my Garmin, I know my intended destination whereas with God, He doesn't always tell me the destination . . . or does He.  My ultimate destination is Heaven.  With the loss of Christopher, I am not sure that it really matters where I spend the time between here and there.  Just like it doesn't really matter where my Garmin takes me on the way to Winder.  I just want to get to the destination.

Perhaps thats the way I need to look at the road I am on in life.  I need to trust my God, confident that He'll get me to the ultimate destination using the best route possible.  Of course, I'd like to enjoy the ride, but in the big picture, I just need to focus on following the directions He gives me.  Knowing that I am where I am supposed to be should help me enjoy the ride and I need to constantly remind myself of the destination.

God is good and He knows the best way through life.  My destination is secure, no matter what route He has me take.  I may not know where I am on my journey, but I know I am where I am supposed to be.

Sunday, December 7, 2008

First "Anniversary" - although there has to be a better word . . .

I have been at Camp Charis in Pelham, GA, for nearly 24 hours now.  I came to set aside time to reflect and remember last year.  It was 52 weeks ago, today, that Christopher left this earth to begin eternity with his God.  I still wrestle with this; believe me, I know that it is real, but it is still so hard to grasp.


So why am I in Pelham Ga?  Well, I decided that this year, I wanted some control over this weekend.  If there is anything that I learned last year, is that there is really so little that I can control.  Here, I am sort of alone, although there are a lot of people around me; some who know my story and some who don’t.  I am free to do as I please, when I want, but I know that my dear friend, Craig, is keeping an eye on me.  


I want for this weekend to be a time to remember and feel the events of last year in a way that I can only do by myself, without having to take care of anybody else.  I have done that some and think I will again before I leave on Monday.  


I have thought a lot about the other lives that were changed that night.  There was a young girl who was driving a truck behind Linda.  I have no idea what impact this has had on her; I don’t suspect much as I understand that she was not taken to the hospital, but quickly released.


There are Keith, Michelle, and Jamie, Linda’s children.  I have so appreciated getting to know them though I regret the opportunity that brought us together.  I have repeatedly tried to reassure them that I have found no fault with their mother that night.  I don’t know what caused the accident, but I firmly believe that Christopher would be here today, had the car he was in that night been going the speed limit.


I don’t know much about how the driver, Christopher’s friend, is doing.  I have never heard much from him.  I have reason to believe he has not reacted to this event as I (and others who knew him well) know that Christopher would have responded.  This has made it hard for me to know how to pray.  


As I have written before, I am not angry with him, but that does not mean that I think that his choices that night do not require consequences.  Fortunately, that is not for me to decide; there is a legal process over which I have no control or influence that will take care of that.  


When I first met Linda’s daughter, she and I agreed that we didn’t want this to ruin this young man’s life.  From the little I know of such things, a failure to deal with this type of trauma appropriately is more likely to have a negative impact on this young man than any consequence that the courts deem appropriate.  I am glad that there is a God in control of this entire situation who I believe loves this young man.


It is that same belief that has given me hope for the future for my life.  If you had asked me before the accident if I would be able to go on if something happened to Christopher, I don’t think that I could even imagine it possible.  


Sunday, November 30, 2008

In one week, it will have been a year . . . .

This time (literally) next week, it will have been one year since I learned that Christopher had been involved in an accident.  Just four hours later, I was told, "we're sorry. . . . we did everything we could, but . . . ."

It amazes me how eerily similar it feels right now.  I just turned in an assignment electronically and my dining room table is covered with my reference materials.  The night before THE accident, I was in exact same situation.  Finishing a paper with stuff all over the dining room.

I am so thankful that tonight's assignments complete the required work for this semester.  I have classmates who have more assignments and exams.  I don't know what I would do if that were the case for me.  I can feel myself fading into the black hole that I have spent 51 weeks trying to climb out of.

Of course, this next weekend won't be as bad as the reality of these days last year, but they will be painful as the reality of the loss continues to settle in.  I am amazed at all the holes that Christopher has left in my life.  The biggest is simply Christopher.  I miss Christopher, the young man he was and the man that I know he was to become.

I have to choose to focus on all the holes Christopher filled in the 13+ years that I had him in my life.  Before Christopher, I could never imagine loving as I have now loved;  I could never have imagined having been loved as I have now been loved.  I have a dear friend who wants to believe that we can love without giving our whole hearts.  I have tried to see it her way, but know that had I protected myself from the pain that I was to ultimately endure, I never would have known the love that I have known.

I wish her well in proving her thesis, but I'll take this pain to have not missed that love.

Friday, November 28, 2008

Giving Thanks, but . . .

I had a wonderful Thanksgiving day; the weather was beautiful so we moved it outside and it couldn't have been nicer.  There were 10 adults and Rose, a precious 11 month-old daughter of a couple that I know from work/school.  Everybody contributed to the dinner, so I don't think it was overwhelming for any of us; I know that it wasn't for me.

Thanksgiving was always Christopher's favorite holiday; it was the most predictable in terms of food and he loved all of it.  Even Kim commented that as she was making the sweet potatoes with the marshmallows on top, she knew that would have been Christopher's favorite.  It is hard to do anything without thinking about him and how it would be if he were there; how it had been when he was there.

A funny story about last year's dinner was that we shared it with Julie and two of her daughters.  I had committed to dessert so I had two pies.  When I mentioned the pecan pie, Christopher asked me where I had "found" it.  I had no idea what he was talking about, but later learned that he had bought a pie from one of his teachers (they were made by ladies in the teacher's church).  He had a piece at school and then when he got home, he couldn't find it.  He thought that the one that I had was the "missing" pie.  I suspect that he had it on the top of his car and drove off, but we'll never know.  He was just so matter of fact as he asked me where I found the pie - it makes me smile to remember.

So Thanksgiving is over (at least formally; we should always be giving thanks) and once again, Christopher didn't show up.  Today is Friday, so I guess it was 51 weeks ago tonight that I lost him.  Next Sunday, December 7 marks the first anniversary (there must be a better word) of the accident that took his life.

There is still a huge part of me that can not fully appreciate the loss.  A friend's son got married this week and I realized that was something I expected to be a part of on Christopher's behalf and that was lost.  This coming spring he would have graduated (hopefully!) with all the pomp and business that brings.  That two was lost.

I have to remind myself that he is not in the presence of God feeling any loss for these worldly milestones.  But I am here feeling these and many losses very deeply.  There reamins a part of me that can't imagine that he is gone from this world; I think that is God's way of protecting me from what would be a very overwhelming sense of loss.  Not to say that just missing him isn't overwhelming enough.

Then there is the legal process which continues on.  There have been charges filed as it relates to the accident.  Two counts of vehicular homicide.  This has given me opportunity to try to minister to the other family who lost their mom that night.  One the other side, however, it makes it very difficult to try to keep focused on the future.  Every mention of it takes me back to that night.

I am very conflicted about this legal process; I have great empathy for how hard this must be for that family.  At the same time, I don't believe that always avoiding consequences is a good thing; it often is not the best thing in the long run.  

So, I am able to give thanks, genuinely give thanks, but I hurt in ways that I never thought possible.  I can no longer say, "Last Thanksgiving, Christopher and I . . . "   I know that I already can't reminisce about last Christmas, but it doesn't feel the same.  I suspect that this confirms the fact that most people say that last Christmas doesn't count as the first Christmas without him because I was so numb and didn't really even try to "do" Christmas.  This year however . . . 

I rejoice that I am certain of so many things, not the least of which is that Christopher is experiencing no loss or pain or regrets.  I rejoice that I will see him again.  And, I am thankful for those truths, but for today, it just hurts and I am sad and that's okay.

Tuesday, November 18, 2008

In three weeks it will have been a year . . .


If I may say so myself, I have done an excellent job of managing significant days over this past year. We celebrated Christopher in our lives on our adoption day (April 26) and we dedicated a playground in remembrance on his birthday. I even celebrated his birthday with family and his friends. But I come upon the most painful of the significant days. There is little to celebrate so what does one do.




I could celebrate the reality that Christopher is in Heaven. God has assured me of that. Through Christ's death on the cross that was secured. That is worth celebrating and I don't want to lose sight of that. But Christopher is the beneficiary of that. December 8 is the day that he received his reward and moved into the presence of his God and King. For me December 8 is a day of great loss and there is no way around that reality.




So, what do I do in remembrance on that day? Call me selfish, but I can't celebrate. The wound is still too fresh and too deep. I miss him as my son; I miss him as my "bud"; I miss the future that he represented for me. That is a lot of loss. There is still a lot of pain. I just can't celebrate.




Lord, God, prepare me for that day. Help me to be wise and do what I need to do to honestly face this loss and all the pain that goes with it. You have been with me all the way and I pray that You will be even more real to me December 7/8 as I remember the events that changed my world. I am thankful that You have enabled me to trust this to You and so I commit these details to You even now. Amen.

Sunday, November 9, 2008

I'm sorry, but this just isn't right.

I am in Erie, PA, visiting my cousin. A little while ago, we were headed to be when my cousin told me to look outside, "it's white." While we peacefully watched "quality" Sunday night TV, the world outside changed. It had snowed. Everything is now different and it will be more different by morning.

It has been eleven months since Christopher died and I still have a hard time believing it. It has not even been three months since my cousin's thirty-year-old son was killed by a drunk driver. On the way to Erie, from my dad's house in Wooster, OH, I stopped and visited the mother of one of my brother's friends; her 17 year old granddaughter committed suicide last week. I've previously mentioned my friend whose four year old died in a day care fire. The list goes on.

I don't know that I ever knew anyone when they had a child die. I've learned since Christopher's death that it isn't an uncommon experience and I, in fact, know several people who have had a child die. I've been told that we are not wired to have to bury a child; we expect our parents to precede us in death, but never a child. If that is true, then why am I walking with so many through this horific experience?

When I look back to that night in December, if can remember the same numbness I feel tonight. There is an inability to really feel all that has happened; I still cannot believe that Christopher has left this world. I take great comfort in knowing that we will be reunited, but that does little good tonight.

The last time I was here with my cousin Linda, Christopher was with me. He, her then 14 year old son and 10 year old grandson went sledding with Christopher. When we left Cleveland for Erie in the morning, there was no snow, but by noon, there was plenty on which to fly down the local hills. Tonight is one of those nights. If Christopher were here, I have no doubt that he would, even now, be outside romping.

But he's not. Neither are Kevin, Grace, Megan, Ryan, Taylor, Steven, and the list goes on. I am sorry, but this just isn't right. Or is it. It sure feels wrong, I can tell you that.

We were laughing earlier today about our sons in heaven laughing at the two of us telling stories. Another of Linda's sons (she has five sons, a daughter, five granddaughters, and a grandson - she is much older that I), laughed and decided that the boys were probably saying, "I told you my mom was crazier than yours!" Jay may well be right.

I shared Steven Curtis Chapman's song, "With Hope" with Linda today. Then I realized that I have this all wrong. I am so blessed to have the hope of heaven. I cry, I ache, I hurt, but I somehow do all this with a sense of hope. It isn't a hope that I can always feel, but it is always there.

You know, it is night, and it is cold, here in Erie, but somewhere out there, the Sun is burning hot and bright. I don't feel it now, but it still is; my feelings have nothing to do with that reality. I don't feel like any loss of a child is "right", but it still is. God is good and He loves me. In the past eleven months, that has been my hope. Do I feel it, not often, but I have to remember, my feelings have nothing to do with that reality.

Thursday, October 23, 2008

Wandering - Alone with Others

Since Christopher's death, there have been several other young people who have died, including my cousin's 30 year old son.  I have also attended the funeral of a former co-worker's 18 year old son.  There has been other young people to die in Tallahassee, including a young man whose father died two weeks later.  So much pain, so much grief.


So, I guess my experience is not so unique.  Why doesn't that help?  I am trying to look at all these other losses to normalize the loss that I have experienced.  I can't do it.  I know that they loved their children, but they didn't lose Christopher.  (Yes, I realize that I haven't lost their loved one either, but that is not my issue.  My issue is that I lost Christopher.  Call me self-centered.)


What did I lose when Christopher died?  Not just what you might think.  Sure, I lost a fine young man.  A tall, handsome man who called me "mom".  But I lost more than that.  I feel like I lost my closest companion.  As a friend said, I lost the wind in my sails.  Every now and again, I get a breeze as I begin to look ahead and try to begin a "new" life.  The problem is that it is lonely.


Sailing is not fun alone.  Traveling is not fun alone.  The plans that I am making would be so much more enjoyable if I could just tell Christopher about them.  I know that he would not always be "traveling" with me, but he still would share in the details.  He wouldn't admit it, but he'd be proud when I graduate next Summer.  


I lost my sense of family; my sense of my belonging for the future.  I know that I have a place, I have a purpose, it is just suddenly not the one that I've been imagining for the last 14 years.  


I miss my old dreams.  As yet, I can't imagine the new ones, but I know they are there.

Wednesday, October 1, 2008

Is Hope the Best We've Got?

I love the hope that is provided in the Gospel. I love that through Christ, we have the hope of heaven, the hope of being reunited with Christopher, etc. But more than hope, I have confidence. I know that Christopher is in heaven, I know that I am going to heaven and we will be reunited.

I don't hope that God forgives me, I know that He does. I don't hope that God will sustain me through this painful process that I hate so intensely; I know that He will.

God has made a lot of promises. I don't hope that He keeps his promises; I know that He will. Hope is not the best that God offers. He offers Himself and that gives me confidence.

And for that I am truly thankful.

Monday, September 22, 2008

Reflections for a hard "Night of Worship"

Last night, I attended a night of worship at a local church.  The music was not particularly my styles, but it was good.  I had to leave early however, because I was struggling so deeply.  Interestingly enough, I wasn't when I went (otherwise I wouldn't have gone - duh!)

Upon further review (yes, yesterday was an NFL Sunday), I realized that this was a different time of worship and I am not sure that I like it.  The reason, I went, was that I need to focus on Jesus;  I need to be reminded about who God is.  That is what I think of when I think of a night of worship.

The songs selected for last nights "event" (using Facebook lingo here), had the word "I" in them to many times.  I wish I could remember them all.  But it seemed to be more about us praising than it was about the object of our praise.  It kind of reminded me of a pastor who once told me that he loved me unconditionally.  I finally figured out that mean he didn't really, because he had to keep telling me.  Rather than talking about praise, let's just do it!

I think that these songs were hard for me because, while my faith has remained strong, it has certainly been a struggle.  My faith hasn't been a struggle, but anytime someone wants me to get over my circumstances because of who God is, I crash.  I firmly believe that I can have confident faith, and still be in the pain of grief.  If the scales are going to be tipped towards praise in the midst of the circumstances, it is only going to be done by a genuine focus on the character of God and not by declaring that "Praise is what I do."

In the songs and from the worship leader, I felt condemned for hurting so.  I felt like he was implying that to allow circumstances to influence us was wrong.  I don't don't know how you can avoid letting the death of your only child not affect you;  it just wouldn't be honest.  I am convinced that standing before God, admitting my pain is worship.  And when I am able to do this, "I" is not the main noun;  I go because if who He is and not who I am.

I am thankful that he makes that possible.

Sunday, September 21, 2008

Memories from Pensacola: the good, bad, and the ugly

Yesterday, I had reason to go to Pensacola.  My mom had lived in that area (Gulf Breeze) since before I adopted Christopher until 2003.  As a result, there are a lot of "Christopher memories" in that area.

As a matter of fact, the home that Christopher lived in before he came to me was in Santa Rosa County (same as Gulf Breeze).  When we were transitioning from their family to me, we would alternate between me coming to their home or that family coming to mine.  When I would pick him up at their home, Christopher and I would just go to my mom's place rather than driving all the way back to Tallahassee.  As a result, some of my earliest memories of getting to know Christopher were based in that area.  

We often went to "Quiet Waters Beach".  This is an area on Pensacola beach, on the sound side, that was very calm; perfect for small children.  The water was shallow and the beach was full of families with young children.  At the place where my mom live, Seaview Pines, there were 23 units in a "U" shape.  In the courtyard, there was a small pool.  For most of the time that mom lived there, this was a really great community.  We would be out at the pool and everybody knew us and we knew them.  It was easy place to be.

Seaview Pines was destroyed by Hurricane Ivan in 2004.  The place has been rebuilt, but nothing looks even remotely familiar.  It was almost hard to imagine what I remembered.  It appears that few people who lived there before the hurricane will be back.    

That is kind of how I feel about moving forward without Christopher.  What I knew has been destroyed.  It is being rebuilt, but it doesn't look even remotely familiar.  I fear that it will become hard to imagine what I remember (and that is why I write).  The question is, what can be done?

I don't know.  I suspect that this is the root cause of my desire for a "new life."  I don't want to rebuild on the same ground.  I don't know that I can handle trying to live with the memories in a place while there is a totally different view.  At the same time, every change I consider is diminished by the reality that it will always be a direction that I took, "because Christopher died."  Hard to get excited about that foundation on which to move forward.

Doesn't appear to leave a lot of options.

Friday, September 19, 2008

Slow Fade

Below are the lyrics from the above-referenced song by Casting Crowns.

"Slow Fade"

Be careful little eyes what you see
It's the second glance that ties your hands as darkness pulls the strings
Be careful little feet where you go
For it's the little feet behind you that are sure to follow

It's a slow fade when you give yourself away
It's a slow fade when black and white have turned to gray
Thoughts invade, choices are made, a price will be paid
When you give yourself away
People never crumble in a day
It's a slow fade, it's a slow fade

Be careful little ears what you hear
When flattery leads to compromise, the end is always near
Be careful little lips what you say
For empty words and promises lead broken hearts astray

It's a slow fade when you give yourself away
It's a slow fade when black and white have turned to gray
Thoughts invade, choices are made, a price will be paid
When you give yourself away
People never crumble in a day

The journey from your mind to your hands
Is shorter than you're thinking
Be careful if you think you stand
You just might be sinking

It's a slow fade when you give yourself away
It's a slow fade when black and white have turned to gray
Thoughts invade, choices are made, a price will be paid
When you give yourself away
People never crumble in a day
Daddies never crumble in a day
Families never crumble in a day

Oh be careful little eyes what see
Oh be careful little eyes what you see
For the Father up above is looking down in love
Oh be careful little eyes what you see

Wednesday, September 17, 2008

Grief is like Football?

I absolutely love to watch football, much to almost everybody I know's amazement. I especially love the NFL. Falls are hard for me because there are late games on both Sunday night and Monday night. Jessica asked me on Monday night who I wanted to win. I don't even remember who was playing; it does matter. I just love to watch football.

Yesterday I was encouraged that that the only way through this grief process is right up the middle. Of course, I think of football. Actually, I don't know that my friend who offered this counsel even watches football, but no matter. Have you ever seen the brutality that players who try to run up the middle experience? I think that I watch in awe that not more guys get hurt.

So I, at five foot tall and too many pounds, am being told that the only way through this grief process is to run straight through it. I picture myself in a Cleveland Browns (of course) uniform and the play has started before I was ready. I've been handed the ball and, having see the size of those defensive guys, I don't want the ball. But I've got it and there are boundaries that keep me from running around them. So, I have no choice but to go up the middle.

I am confident that this is going to result in my certain death. I know that it really hurts.

I can hear the commentators, "If she can just keep her legs moving, she'll make it through."

Lord, please just help me keep my legs moving. Either way, it is going to be a painful process, but the shortest difference, I'm told, is straight through it.

Monday, September 15, 2008

Roller Coaster Ride

Probably the most surprising thing through this process is the range of emotions and how quickly they can change - in either direction. Today was a good day. Work went well, I had lunch with a dear friend who lets me be where I am, I was encouraged to see new life in the midst of grief when I visited my friend Lili, I talked to two other dear friends and made plans for a trip the week after Christmas. All in all, a very good day.

Tonight I went to run an errand with a friend. We stopped at the cemetary to remove flowers that I had put on Christopher's grave for his birthday. Crash. I guess it shouldn't be a surprise when visiting my son's grave makes me kind of sad. As Christopher would say, "Duh!" But it was a good day and nothing really changed except that I started thinking.

I am much better on autopilot. I do much better when I am busy and don't think too much about my new reality. As a parent, I would often scold Christopher to "Think!", but as a grieving parent, I would do well to not think too much.

Clearly Christopher was smarter than I; he knew that thinking was overrated! He just lived life to the fullest and generally had a great time.

For that I am very thankful.

Saturday, September 13, 2008

Trying to run

I so want this process to end.  I am willing to run from it, but it appears that I can't hide from it so what is the use.  It is an odd process in that I am constantly amazed on how hard it is to accept what has happened.  I still look at pictures of Christopher and can't believe that he is gone from this world.

And the ache has been more intense this week than it has been for months.  I never imagined a couple of months ago that it could get harder or hurt more, but I was wrong.  I just so want a break from having to deal with it, but there is no where to go to escape.  I've tried some old standbys, but they haven't worked.  Part of me doesn't want them to work because I know that I can't run away from this; it will always be there whenever I decide to face it.  It is kind of like work after a long weekend; everything is still there waiting for me to deal with it.

I think that the hardest thing is the alone-ness.  It isn't exactly loneliness, but it is being alone in my grief.  There is nobody who knows what I've lost in Christopher; we had a one-of-a-kind relationship.  I don't like (and never have liked) the feeling of being alone in my emotion; I am a talker and need to let it out.  

I've cried more this week than I have for months.  I guess that is letting the emotion out before God.  He knows what I've lost; He understands.  I just need to believe that He is enough.  The hole left seems to big, too deep, for even Him.  I guess the reality is that it is bigger than what my faith feels like it can handle, but it isn't bigger than what my God can handle.  Somehow, it seems that He wants me to want Him to fill it; it doesn't seem like He is going to just barge in. 

I want to want Him, but I am afraid.  It seems like if He is going to work, it means that the pain will go away and I haven't found that to be the case.  I so want relief.  I confess that I want relief more than I want God.  

Herein lies the problem.

Thursday, September 11, 2008

I need to see a light

Last Saturday was Christopher's 18th birthday.  He didn't show up.  I really didn't expect that he would, but I so wanted him to.  I miss him so and he so much was looking forward to his 18th birthday; I wanted to share his birthday with him.

On Saturday, Mike Houghton sang Steven Curtis Chapman's song, "With Hope."  I had asked him to sing it because it fits so perfectly.  The first line is that "This is not at all how we thought it was supposed to be."  That is the understatement of a lifetime.  

I never imagined such pain.  I physically hurt through my breastbone to my back.  I just ache.  It has been over nine months; it shouldn't still hurt so much.  I know that this is my new life and I need to get used to it, but it just hurts so much.

I just need to know that this is going to end, even if it won't be for a long time.  I just need to see a light at the end of the tunnel.  

It is so dark and so painful and I am so alone.


Saturday, September 6, 2008

Happy Birthday, Christopher

This is the text of the words that I shared on September 6, 2008, Christopher's 18th birthday, at the dedication of the playground at the Tallahassee Campus of the Florida Baptist Children's Homes.


I decided that I would take this opportunity to share with you a little insight to Christopher and I as a family. I got this idea from my Family Counseling class where my first assignment is to do a Family History/Analysis Paper. Using the outline that is provided for this assignment, let me tell you about our family ~ it was a great 13 years!

Family Structure - Household(s) composition, roles, hierarchies, family rules, etc.

Of course, as you know, our family is comprised of just Christopher and I. There was not dad, which baffled a lot of his classmates in early elementary school. When kids pushed the issue, Christopher, hiding his frustration with their ignorance, simply explained that his mom adopted him and she is single. It was like “Duh”

For the most part, the roles were clearly defined. I was the mom and he was to do what I told him to do (or so I thought).

When we was young and he didn’t respond to something that I told him to do, I would say, ‘and the answer is . .” to which he was to say, “yes ma’am.” There was a point in time where I would try to get him to say, “what is yes ma’am”, but he didn’t really “get it.” By the time that he got it, there was no way that he would do it!

Our relationship evolved considerably as he got into his teens, as you might can imagine. It became particularly challenging for me when he grew to over 6 feet tall! I had to be courageous in parenting as I knew that he could certainly “take me” if it came to that!

Our family had few rules, but the one that we most enjoyed was how to vacation. We had some great vacations. I soon learned that vacations were about the memory, not the experience. I can remember that I had to make him go out and look at “Old Faithful”. We got better at vacations as I began to embrace the reality that nobody did nothing better than us!

Life Events and Family Functioning - Impact of life transitions, major events, and/or traumas

I am thankful to say that beyond the trauma of Christopher’s life before his adoption, we experienced few traumas. We were around others who did and I am so proud of Christopher’s response to the hurt that other’s experienced.

Lynn and Elaine “from across the street” could tell you several stories about the heart, but I’ll share one that most amazed me.

I was out of town and the head of the Immanuel Baptist Day Care was retiring. I knew that one of the speakers was going to tell Christopher’s story as evidence of how Miss Edna loved the children. I had asked Christopher to go. He faithful reported to me that he had, in fact, gone and Ms. Fagan saw him. He seemed to act as if he needed a witness so I just assumed that he had shown up and made a quick exit. I later learned Christopher not only showed up, but he had dressed for the occasion and actually when up to Miss Edna expressing his love and appreciation. I hear that it was the first thing that Miss Edna commented about as she reflected on the evening!

Relational Patterns - Triangles, coalitions, alliances, communication patterns, boundaries etc.

The interesting thing about a single parent family of an only child is that it is hard to have relational triangles. I can remember times, however when I wished that there was a dad in the house that would say, “You will not talk to your mother that way”, but I have had many people tell me that it really wouldn’t have helped! I think that this really reflected a communication pattern that I let develop.

I wanted Christopher to be able to express himself and boy did he. Sometimes we went over the boundary, but generally he was soon remorseful and was willing and able to express that.

During any difficult time (and there were many), I think Christopher always knew that I was his greatest ally even if I didn't feel compelled to relieve him of the consequences.

Ethnic and Cultural Environment - Messages about ethnicity, culture, heritage

It always kind of bothered Christopher that he didn’t know his ethnic heritage. Somewhere along the line, he decided that he was Italian. I never saw it, but how could I argue. Maybe it was as simple as the fact that he loved Italian food!


Sexuality and Gender Identity - Messages about sexuality, gender roles, etc.
Christopher was all boy from the first day I met him. The first time that he came to my house, I was surprised to see him outside. Then I realized that he had found the Doggie Door!

To see my garage, you can see a plethora of car parts strewn about. He thought he could fix anything. He did, at times, get in over his head. I can remember driving across Tallahassee for a new a new exhaust system for the truck. Christopher had taken a saws-all to it and later realized that he had taken it off past the catalytic converter which is a no-no.

He also had some of the more “typical” male characteristics. For example, he never like the way that I cut the front yard. Similarly, I am very good mechanically, but you’d never known it by the way Christopher would talk about me. I did find it handy when he was determined to be “the man” when there were bugs or critters to be dealt with; Now I call Daniel!

Summary
This day is all about celebrating who Christopher was and what he meant to us. I have and will continue to learn from him and for that I am truly thankful!

Sunday, August 31, 2008

Peacemaking

"Blessed are the peacemakers . . . ".  

Today in church, the pastor talked about this passage from within Matthew 5 - the Beatitudes.    He spent a considerable amount of time contrasting peacekeepers as compared to peacemakers.  I have to confess, I tend to be a peacekeeper.  That is, I tend to go with the flow, try to appease people, avoid conflict.  In contrast, a peacemaker is honest and true to herself.

It is interesting that sometimes I try to convince myself that my willingness to avoid conflict is being selfless, but that is a lie.  I am simply trying to make my life easy.  I so want to avoid conflict that challenging the status quo would bring.

I think that my issue is that sometimes I feel like I am just insisting on getting my own way; as if it is all about me.  That is clearly wrong.  I need to be willing to meet people halfway; I don't always have to get my way.  I guess what I am learning is that there are some times that it is okay for me to insist on my way; there are times that it is appropriate to take a stand.  Often, I am reluctant in even these cases.  

My grief process is a good example.  In the process of grief, it really is okay to be about me.  There is nobody who has suffered a greater loss when it comes to Christopher's death.  My grief process is uniquely mine; there are no rules, there is no way that it "should be" done.  There is no book.   This is my first life experience that I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy.

I find it odd that so many people tell me that they don't know how they would deal the loss of a child and they are right; nobody knows until they have to experience it.  At the same time, however, I am often left feeling judged for the way that I am dealing with it, as if somehow I am doing it wrong.  I know that they don't mean it that way (and perhaps I am just particularly sensitive in this area since I don't know if I am doing it "right."), but if they listened to themselves, I think that they would be surprised or maybe even embarrassed.  

I have come to believe that this is a process without end.  There will never be a day in my life that I don't wish that Christopher were there; a day when I don't miss him.  This is a good thing because it reflects how much he is loved.  Grief is something that I simply need to learn to live with.  I trust that it will change, that the pain will not be so intense on a daily basis, but it will always be there.

I pity the first person who tells me that it is time to "get over it."

Tuesday, August 26, 2008

Drawn back under

There are charges pending in the accident that took Christopher's life. People have different feelings about this which I won't adress. Today, I got a call from my designated victim advocate, Helene. She is very kind, but the simple act of calling me throws me back to that night in December that forever changed my life.

In today's conversation, she told me that a trial date was set for November 17, adding that it would not be a surprised if it changed. As a matter of fact, there will be an appearance on October 27 at which they will decide if they are ready to go to trial. She also explained that she was waiting to hear from the prosecutor in the case to find out when he would be ready to meet with me.

I had known that once discovery in the case progressed that I would have an opportunity to learn the details from that night, but I didn't realize that they might want to meet with me. Apparently, he would want to hear from me and to get to know me and, through me, I assume, Christopher. I had done this already several months back with another staff member.

I am so ready to move forward, but this legal process pulls me back; pulls me under, when you consider trying to float down a river. I want to keep moving, but I am like a dog with a chain and I was just jerked back. It totally drained me of my energy for the day, which was already lacking.

I am still trying to decide what I want to know about that night. I've thought that I wanted to see pictures, but I have been advised that it is not necessary nor would it be wise. I feel like I might be the kind of person who would go talk to kids about the reality that I discovered: speed kills. I can't do that without pictures. Further, if this goes to trial, there is the chance that pictures could be made public. I would hate to see pictures in the paper that i have not previously seen.

The good thing about the legal process is that I have no control in anything, except that if there is a plea deal, they will ask my thoughts. Alternatively, if it gets to trial and sentencing, they will ask my thoughts. I have no idea what my thoughts might be at that point.
How could I as I don't know my thoughts today.

Sunday, August 24, 2008

Patience

Patience is not one of my strengths and the grief process has been no exception.  I don't know what I am waiting for.  I guess I just know that I don't like my current state and I want it to end.

The problem is that I am being told that this is a good process; a process ordained by God.  Grief reflects the gift of the love that I had for Christopher.  This love is something that certainly exceeded my expectations.  I have said from early on that had I known that I was going to go through this loss, I would have still adopted Christopher.  I'd go through this willingly to not have lost the joy of those thirteen years.

I just admitted to a friend that when I adopted Christopher, I didn't realize that to love came with such big risks.  There is a saying that it is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.  I'd agree with that, but I am not sure that if I really had understood the risk of the overwhelming sorrow that I would have taken the chance.  That is not because of the pain of the loss, but because of the mystery of the love.  As much as I have been overwhelmed by the loss, I have been equally overwhelmed to consider the depth of the love that I experienced through Christopher.

So I guess that I am patiently waiting to see what God will do through this painful process.  I don't know that I am waiting for the process to end as I have been challenged to consider that the end of the sorrow will only come with the end of the love and memory of Christopher; I certainly don't want that to happen.

I have often said that I don't understand how people deal with this without a relationship with God; apart from believing that this experience is in the hands of the God of the universe who loves me and loves Christopher, I don't know that I could deal with it.  I need to know that this is a part of a bigger plan.

As I consider this, I feel like this is not unlike difficult days as Christopher was growing up; in spite of the pain that love brought in the midst of difficult circumstances, I was confident that God would do something big though Christopher's life.  It takes a lot of patience for a parent to believe and wait to see God's plan unfold. 

I am still a parent, living with the pain that reflects my love for my son; a parent who is waiting to see God's plan unfold.  

I suspect that this may require a lifetime of patience.

Weary . . . just come . . .

Yesterday I got the news that my cousin, Linda, had a son killed while riding his 2007 Harley on Thursday night. He was hit by a repeat drunk driver who was talking on his cell phone. Such a waste. Sadly, I felt very comfortable talking to Linda yesterday, knowing that she knew that I understood. As she said when I first got her on the phone, "This is not something that we wanted to have in common."

Interestingly, after my last entry where I complained about what I feel are unrealistic expectations, I have continued to come across scripture that gives me "permission" to be weary. Good thing, because, like I said, it isn't exactly a choice; it is just the way it is right now and for the foreseeable future.
  • "I am weary with my sighing; Every night I make my bed swim, I dissolve my couch with my tears. My eye has wasted away with grief" (Psalm 6:6-7 NASB).
  • "Be merciful to me, LORD, for I am faint; O LORD, heal me, for my bones are in agony. My soul is in anguish. How long, O LORD, how long? Turn, O LORD, and deliver me; save me because of your unfailing love" (Psalm 6:2-4).
Then in Matthew 11:28 Jesus says, "Come to Me, all who are weary and heavy-laden, and I will give you rest." (NASB). Okay, maybe I am a little slow, but I just realized that this verse assumes that some of us are weary. In response to people being weary, Jesus' only command is "come."

I can do that.

Thursday, August 21, 2008

Do I have another choice?

I recently subscribed to a daily e-mail from the GriefShare folks. Today was my first of 365 installments (I wonder if they think that I'll be over it in a year ~ may be a good thing that I waited nine months to start because that gives me a total of 21 months.) This being a Christian organization, they had to include a scripture quote. Today's was, "But those who hope in the LORD will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint" (Isaiah 40:31).

I am not sure how I feel about this verse in this context. I can tell you that I am growing weary and that doesn't meant that my hope isn't in the Lord. As a matter of fact, I kind of resent the implication. I feel like people, especially church-people, expect this truth to be reflected in the lives of beleivers every day, but I have not found that to be the case.

I was talking to my pastor this morning and he was commenting on one of the points from last Sunday's sermon where he cautioned against trying to live in two realities - the faith and the world. I used to do that and the truth is that to reconcile these two, I had to change how I lived in the church. How I lived in the world was much more genuine to who I was than how I "played church."

So now, if anyone asks how I am, they may not like the answer; I am grieving and I don't like it. I have to make a conscious decision to focus on the things that I know to be true rather than my loss. Do these truths make me feel better? Sometimes, but it takes a lot of effort and that is why I have grown weary. I am just tired of the whole thing.

Do I still hope in the Lord? I thankfully can say yes, but I'm still tired and weary. Does this mean that I don't "claim" this verse. No, it doesn't, but I understand it in the context of a much bigger journey.

If I've learned anything about the last 8+ months it is that things are much bigger than I can see and it isn't all about me, today.

Do I want to "run and not grow weary . . . walk and not be faint"? You bet I do, but that is not for me today. Today, I grieve and I am tired and there isn't a darn thing that I can do about it, but wait. . .

I am waiting for God to renew me, reunite me with Christopher, accomplish His purposes through this season. I can't move ahead of Him; I'd be dishonest to deny the depth of my pain. I am sorry to those who are uncomfortable with my reality.

Right now, I don't feel like I have another choice but to wait. I can't fix this.

Wednesday, August 20, 2008

What is normal, anyways?

Yesterday was a very down day. As I wrote to a friend, I was looking for any words of encouragement that he could offer to someone whose son should have started his senior year of high school this week and should be looking forward to his 18th birthday in just three weeks.

As I was talking to another friend about all these feelings, he kept commenting that my way of describing how I felt was "totally normal." I suppose that is supposed to be comforting (and it would be if I let it), but this is one area where I don't want to be normal. There is nothing normal about what I am dealing with.

I guess, the real issue is that there is nothing natural about losing a child. It simply isn't supposed to be this way. I am so surprised that there is still (almost nine months after his death) a part of me that simply can't believe that Christopher has died; it almost surprises me every time that I hear the words. I'm told that this is normal. When I catch myself having fun and not thinking about the loss, I realize a fear that I will someday live like he was never here. I'm told that this is normal. As time passes, the whole memory of Christopher and I together almost feels surreal, as if it was just an illusion of some sort (although, I have to admit that there were a lot of people in on it!). This too, I'm told is normal.

I guess I am stuck on how my reaction to something so unnatural could ever be normal.

Thursday, August 7, 2008

My What a Different Hope Makes


Today, I went and visited a friend of mine (from work) whose 4-year-old daughter died on July 11 in a fire at her day care. I had anticipated a very emotional time, but, oh, what a difference hope makes. Let me explain.

About a month after Christopher's accident, another teenage boy from Tallahassee died in a motorcycle accident. I suspect that he know Christopher as they were in the same Thursday night car club. After this boy's death, I wrote a note to his parents and offered anything that I might be able to do. They called the night that they received my note asking me to come over to their home. As invited, I went to their home on the following Sunday morning. I ended up spending 5 hours with them and came away totally drained. It was hard for me as they seemed to have so many regrets and really had no hope in the midst of their grief.

Today, less than a month after her daughter's death, I visited another grieving mother. She and I spoke of the possibilities of our children knowing each other in heaven. Kind of a cool thought. We spoke of the reality that they aren't wishing that they were here. We talked about her daughter watching her soon-to-be-born brother growing up (she was so excited by her brother who is due to enter this world in September).

Soon after Christopher's death, dear friends had recommended the book by Randy Alcorn, Heaven. They even gave it to me, but I haven't read it. Today, this mom and I talked about encouraging each other by reading it and getting together to respond. How exciting that in the midst of our grief, we can share hope as well.

I pray that God will bless our time together that we can be filled with the hope of the reality of all we have in Christ!

Monday, August 4, 2008

Another Lesson From my Dog


As I was sitting reading this morning, I need to reach for my laptop (not to write this blog as the inspiration hadn't yet come). I told her that I knew that this would scare her - there were cords and wires and mice, so of which needed to be detached. I was trying to do it in the least disruptive manner. Then, unexpectedly, an empty yogurt container (just from this morning so don't get carried away with the visual) dropped down to the floor, making a (apparently) terrible noise. Next thing I know, Teddi is scurrying behind me to the other arm of the chair which was occupied by Grizzly. You would have thought that an entire bookcase was about to fall down on her and she had to run for cover since we know I wouldn't protect her.

To put this in context, I had just red Hebrews 1-2 (The Message) in which, speaking of Jesus, it says, "You're God, and on the throne for good; your rule makes everything right. You love it when things are right; you hate it when things are wrong . . . "

(You should see the look of great concern - aka, terror - on Teddi's face as I try to manage the laptop and my Bible!)

Teddi has been with us for almost 12 years; she was Christopher's 6th birthday present. Except for the first day we got her, when Christopher accidentally dropped her on the concrete, she has had a really good life and I have always protected her. By now you would think that she would know that on her behalf, I "love it when things are right; hate it when things are wrong.", but she doesn't remember it when she sees things another way.

That is my problem with Christopher's death. I know that God loves me and that He loved Christopher more than I ever could. I believed that when I adopted him and when I though I wouldn't be able to adopt him. I believe it today. The problem is that I don't often (of late especially) look like I believe it because as far as I am concerned it falls in the the category of "things are wrong" and Jesus is supposed to hate that. I know that Jesus is on the throne for my good, but I am not yet convinced (nor at this point do I think that I will ever be) that this the best way to handle whatever it was that God is accomplishing through Christopher's death.

Several years ago, Christopher painted two walls of his room deep red. (the deal was that he would repaint it before he moved out; he didn't keep that promise so friends repainted while I was in South Africa) In the process, he spilled a bunch of paint on the relatively new carpet. Concerned about how I would respond (that's a nice way to say it), he sought out his own solution and proceeded to clean it up with bleach. Needless to say, this was not the best solution.

When I discovered this, must to both of our surprise, I didn't react out of anger. I told him that this is a good example of where he could have told me about his problem (red paint on the carpet, in this case) and perhaps I could have helped him come up with a different/better solution.

I look at God lately and find myself wanting to tell Him the same thing. "I don't know what you were trying to accomplish when you thought that Christopher needed to die, but if you had asked me, I am sure that we could have worked together to come up with a better solution."

That's not the way it works, nor would I want it to be, but it is still my honest reaction. There just has to have been a better way.

Sunday, August 3, 2008

The Need for Balance

I don't remember who said it, but I once heard that if anybody appears balanced, they are probably on their way from one side to another. I am not sure that I have stopped at "balanced" in the last eight months. I keep running the extremes; I want so much to be done with this process and yet I want to let myself feel it as I go.

I've decided that nobody should have to go through this. It is just a terrible experience. A friend has said that there is no bigger loss. I can't speak to that, but I can said that I have never had a bigger loss nor can imagine anything that presents a risk for a bigger loss.

I am sure that I have commented about this before, but I just don't understand how the mind processes such a loss. (I guess to say it that way presumes that my mind is representative of "the" mind.) I was at the hospital that night when the doctors told me that Christopher had died; I worked with the guy at the funeral home to make plans; I attended the visitation, ever so briefly seeing Christopher's body is the casket; I greeted a lot of people who seemed to know that Christopher had died; I attended the memorial service as did many people, all of whom knew why we were there; I left a casket at the cemetery to be buried and now there is a marker with Christopher D. Hefren at that same spot. I know that he has died, but I am always kind of surprised when I think about the fact that I won't see him again this side of heaven. I mean, there is a reasonable chance that I won't see Christopher in the next 40 years!

Today was my first Sunday back at church since my trip (yes, I took last Sunday off). I generally do some scripture reading during the service. Pastor Joe and I just make eye contact to make sure that I'm ready to read that Sunday and we are good to go. (There were several Sunday's in the past eight months where I could not be relied upon to be at church or I was in no condition to try to read during the service.) Today's readings included the following:

Psalm 126:5-6 - Those who sow in tears will reap with songs of joy. He who goes out weeping, carrying see to sow, will return with songs of joy, carrying sheaves with him

John 16:20, 22 - I tell you the truth, you will weep and mourn while the world rejoices. You will grieve, but your grief will turn to joy. . . . Now is your time of grief, but I will see you again and you will rejoice and no one will take away your joy.

I fully understand that this verse in John is Jesus talking about the fact that "in a little while" the disciples "will see me no more and then after a little while you will see me." He is talking about the crucifixion and the resurrection. I know that Christopher isn't Jesus and this isn't the same thing. Having said that, God spoke to me through this passage.

I have wept (and will no doubt weep some more) and I do mourn while the world goes on around me. I do grieve but it will turn to joy as I am reunited with Christopher in heaven. Now is my time of grief, but I will see Christopher again and I will rejoice and at that point, no one can touch my joy.

I can't wait to have untouchable joy - that is the kind of balance I long for.

No more pendulum swing.

Wednesday, July 30, 2008

Conflicting Emotions

I attended a going away lunch in honor of Jackie Barksdale who is leaving Florida Baptist Children's Homes after 23 years. There have been changes recently that resulted in Jackie's need to leave, but she wishes things were such that she could have stayed.

Conflicting emotions.

As part of the luncheon, they showed a video of pictures of many of the children and families whose lives have been touched by Jackie through the years. Jackie was the person at Florida Baptist who first believed in the possibility of Christopher and I becoming a family. As a result, there were several pictures of Christopher in the presentation. It was touching, but very painful.

Conflicting emotions.

Afterwards, Mileya (who had prepared the video) asked if it was okay . . . the way she included Christopher was okay; she had considered leaving him out thinking it would be too difficult to see, just (nearly) eight months after his death. It was so touching to see how a presentation that reflected how precious he was to Jackie (and the FBCH family), but it was so very sad.

Conflicting emotions.

I was pleased with how I handled it. I was very honest with how painful it was, but quickly reminded people that pain isn't bad. Yes, I was very sad, but sad isn't bad either. Pain and sad just are realities after the death of a child. I've decided that they can't be avoided. The problem is that people would rather not think about the pain and sadness that is my reality. In the book Shattered Dreams, Larry Crabb recounts a story of a man whose wife had recently died overheard his friends talking about how he is doing. They commented that he was doing "great". He felt that he had to always be doing great because that is what he has to tell people so that they can be comfortable. He said that he is tired of doing "great".

I'm not as kind as that man. I am not doing great and I won't tell you that I am. The best I'll give you is that "all things considered, I'm doing okay." Today, I told people that I was sad and that it was painful. They just have to deal with it. After all, I don't have a choice; why should they?

Of course I am just kidding myself to think that I could hide it if I tried. The tears were flowing freely. This is kind of new for me. I've done a good job at not letting people see my tears. No more. I have to deal with it; those around me will just have to deal with it. After all, I don't have a choice, why should they? I don't want people to see me hurting, but I would be doing a disservice to myself and to Christopher if I was able to "act" like this is an overwhelmingly sad and painful time.

Conflicting emotions.

Monday, July 28, 2008

The Letdown

Okay - I am back in Tallahassee after the adventure of going to South Africa. I first learned about and started to consider this trip just a week after Christopher died. So now, after 7+ months of anticipation and looking forward to it, it is now in the past. What does that leave me with; a lot of great memories for which I am very thankful, but now what.

A song by Steven Curtis Chapman says,

But there's more to this life than living and dying,
More than just trying to make it through the day;
More to this life, more than these eyes alone can see,
And there's more than this life alone can be.

I know that is true. I know that is true for Christopher and I know that is true for me. It is just a little more clear for Christopher right now than it feels for me.

I am applying my "you can't steer a parked car" right now. I just keep moving and we'll see where God directs me. I don't like this feeling right now; I don't like being so obviously out of control. Truth be told, if I have learned anything in the last almost 8 months it is that I was never really in control; it was only ever an illusion.

Over the last three weeks I read Larry Crabb's Shattered Dreams and although I could identify with almost everything, it made me very uncomfortable. I don't like the fact that this implies that Christopher died so that I would find a deeper relationship with God. Wasn't there a different way? Did Christopher have to die? There must have been another way? If there wasn't another way, what does that say about me? Was I so hard-hearted that the only option was to take my son?

Then I have to remind myself that Christopher didn't lose in all this. He is not in heaven thinking, "Darn, I don't get to go to prom!" He is more than satisfied with the outcome. It is me that is challenged by the whole thing, because my perspective is so limited.

It doesn't, however, change the pain. For that understanding, I appreciated Crabb's book. Permission to hurt in today's Christian culture is rare. I hurt and that means nothing other than I am in the reality of Shattered Dreams

Thursday, July 24, 2008

What next?

I had a very odd experience last night, wonderfully odd. Let me explain.

I have always been fully aware that had it not been for Christopher's death, I would not have been on this trip as I would have planned and totally enjoyed a vacation with him in lieu of this trip. I believe in a sovereign God who is very much into the details of our lives.

1. Christopher died
2. I came to South Africa
3. As part of my class, we visited McCords Hospital where I met Dr. Jay Mannie
4. Dr. Mannie prayed a blessing for our meal - I knew he was a Christian
5. I asked about a church to which he inquired about my preferences and then invited me to his church
6. I visited church Sunday
7. It was the birthday of a boy named Matthew and they had planned to celebrate it with the children of an orphanage
8. We joined them for the trip out to the rural area
9. Andy invited us to a cell group on Wednesday; I went and we talked about the needs of the orphanage.

I have so many thoughts of how perhaps I could be used to help address the very real needs of these children. I look at this opportunity and know that I would not been available had Christopher not died. I am not sure that I understand this (as a matter of fact, I now that I don't).

It is so conflicting in my heart. I am honored to possibly be a part of this work, but I'd rather have Christopher - I know that God could certainly raise up anyone to work on behalf of these children, but nothing will replace Christopher.

I don't know how I feel about this new vision and purpose. I loved my old life, the vision of a daughter-in-law and grandchildren . . . or simply the hope of seeing Christopher becoming that man I believed God would make him.

i don't know that this opportunity with the orphanage will materialize, but I can tell that it is a sign that God has something for me. He will give me a new vision, a new direction, a new hope. But more than anything, He will continue to give me Himself. I have found Him in new ways in South Africa. I had always believed that He gave me Christopher and now I wait to see what he has next for me. I pray that I would find Him alone to be enough.

Wednesday, July 23, 2008

Allowed to be Sad

I am just sad today. I don't want to be, but I am. I feel like I shouldn't be, but I am. I don't know why I am, but I am. I think that reality is so odd or the way my mind can't fully grasp it. Yes, I am talking about Christopher's death. I just don't think that I fully get it yet. I think that is probably good because if I tried to grasp my loss all at one time, I certainly would have been overwhelmed. I really am even at such a slow pace of understanding.

I just read that the services will be on Saturday for little Gracie Chen. I simply ache for Lili.

Tuesday, July 22, 2008

Rough Days

Yesterday (Monday) as a rough day. Don't really know why except that I am getting worn out - physically as well as emotionally. There is so much desperate need here that I can hardly take it all in. Add to that, being asked how my son is doing . . . he's fine, but he has died, was response. I am sure more awkward from the inquirer than for myself.

I am reading the book Shattered Dreams by Larry Crabb. His premise is that God will do whatever it takes to arouse our desire for Him; His primary purpose is not for us to feel good, so that should not be our goal when responding to "Shattered Dreams." I don't disagree, but I don't know how to live it out either. There are few people who really want to know of my daily struggle; they want to hear that I am doing well. I don't even know what that means anymore. I am getting up every day and getting about the business at hand, but if I stop long enough to consider the events of December 7-8, the pain is overwhelming. . . . and the tears will come.

Last night I had a wonderful dinner with some terrific people. it was a great time. Then I realized that the conversation had moved to the joy of the first grandchild, now almost two. How wonderful it is to be a grand and how it is so very different . . . they spoke of something that I most likely lost that night. The tears came; I excused myself from the table but it was too late.

I felt like it was so unfair of me to detract from their joy with my pain; that wasn't certainly my intention. I'd prefer to retreat for some time, but that is not an option. I must make people comfortable by "doing good" . . . or maybe not. I don't know.

Monday, July 21, 2008

The Body

I am still in South Africa, but not as homesick. We was able to attend a worship service yesterday that put a lot into perspective. God is here.

Earlier in the week during a site visit to a local Christian hospital I met a Dr. Mannie. He had a totally different perspective from what we had previously been exposed to and then he prayed and I understood. Afterwards, I went to him and asked about a local Christian Church. He asked about my preferences and then suggested the church where he worships. Five of us attended and were so very blessed.

After the service, Dr. Mannie took us to an "orphanage" where a woman had opened her home to 32 children who generally were not safe at their own homes. The church is reaching out to her to help her meet this overwhelming need in her community. Both on the way up and back, Dr. Mannie asked questions in an effort to really know and understand each of us.

I was able to share about Christopher and this process

All this to say, I am not as homesick anymore. I have been welcomed into a local community of believers, a relationship that I pray will be lasting. I am at home in the body of Christ, wherever it manifests itself.

Saturday, July 19, 2008

The Process Continues

I am in South Africa and I am homesick. I think that it has a lot do with the fact that I know that this weekend my dear friends will be finishing the process of “undoing” Christopher’s room. I don’t know how I am going to feel when I return to my house and Christopher's room is gone. This is an important step in moving forward. Christopher would want me to move forward, to be sure.

When i return, I have two classmates who are going to be staying with me for 2 weeks in August until the dormitories on campus open. His room will be a room to one of these girls. I am thankful to be able to help them in this way. Christopher would be glad as well, to be sure.

I am highly motivated by knowing that Christopher would have been angry with me if I let his death “ruin” my life. That would be giving him way too much power, to be sure.

I sit here trying to realize that Christopher is not longer with me in this world. I still can’t believe it. I have never liked the word denial as I believe that to say that I was in denial about the fact that Christopher died would make me look foolish. I have preferred to use the word disbelief. I think that now I am ignorant to the reality of Christopher’s death. Not to the fact of his death, but to the implications of his death.

I have lost so much more than a son; I have lost the hope of a daughter-in-law, grandchildren, enjoying seeing that man that Christopher was to become, the way that I know that he would be used in the lives of many. I have lost so much more than a son, but I have found something that I never imagined. Over the last seven-plus months, I have been in awe of the power of God to sustain me. I had no idea of what God in my life really meant.

I so want more of Him.

Friday, July 18, 2008

Shared Grief; Reopened Wounds

Yesterday, I learned of the death of Gracie Chen, the precious daughter of Lili and Ping. I can remember back to when I had a party the Christmas after Gracie was born. Lili and Ping came with Gracie in her little car seat. She just made a peep and then ran to rescue her. So loved.

It brought my whole experience right back to the forefront; reopened a never-to-be-fully-healed wound.

I know something of the pain that Lili and Ping are feeling, but even I don't know exactly what they are feeling; if there is anything that I heave learned in the past 7 months is that this is a uniquely personal experience. I have been so astonished how no two parents respond the same. I had a long talk with Pat Lager last night and it was so helpful. I am a talker; not much is repressed in my world. That is a good thing, at least for me. I don't know how everybody else feels about it, but they seem to tolerate it okay. I has been good to be with a group of social workers - especially the ones who who have actually worked in the field.

It has been a blessing to once again see my friends in this process. They appear to have collectively agreed that it would be best if I didn't find out about Gracie. I did find out because of the wonders of technology and the internet. I am glad that I did. I would not have wanted to find out about this upon my return - too much emotion at one time.

There is an expression that the devil is in the details. In this case as well as many other in the past few months, I have seen that my God is in the details and for that I am thankful. His timing really is so much better than mine; is perspective is so much for clear than mine.

I am the child of an amazing God!

Saturday, July 12, 2008

The Best Laid Plans . . .

Today is July 12, the first day of my reservation at Casa Del Mar, at Ormond Beach, FL, where Christopher and I had vacationed for years. He loved that place. Two years ago, we were able to take his buddy, Jeremiah Elliott, and they had such a great time (although you can't tell it from the picture)!

When we started going to Ormond, we used a timeshare the my brother owned for years and never really used. We used it two years in a row and then I traded it in to upgrade to a points-based time share so that we had more options and could go to a larger room (this was a fixed week, fixed unit situation and he was clearly growing out of sleeping with mom!) The next two years we stayed at Casa Del Mar. Then I tried to get adventuresome and switch accomadations; Christopher was not happy. He had found what he liked and there was no reason to change it, but, having no choice, he went along with me.

It was a disaster. I spoke to the people and they agreed to move us back to the Casa Mel Mar, putting us in a room better than we had ever had! Needless to say, we returned there every year thereafter and I never lived it down!

Just two years ago, I acquired additional points that enabled us to get a huge two bedroom unit on the top floor. So last summer, we enjoyed that he he was living large! Ms Lisa (as Christopher always called Husley), joined us last year and we experienced some new things in the area, most notable, we climbed to the top of a lighthouse at the end of the island. It was so fun to share this with Lisa so that we can enjoy this fond memory of a great young man.

So here I am sitting in Cape Town South Africa, and I'd give anything to be with Christopher in the same town, at the same condo, doing the same things that we have done the previous seven or eight years - just the way he liked it.

Who'd have thunk it. . . .

Friday, July 11, 2008

You Can't Steer a Parked Car

I have used this expression for years. Generally in terms of making changes in processes at work. The idea is that if we know we need to make changes, we just need to start. If we overcorrect, then we’ll adjust. My new application of this principle is related to following God. The whole point is that it changes the focus from working to follow Him to allowing Him to lead. Let me explain.

Since Christopher’s death, I have felt a need to re-examine everything. I’ve been counseled that you don’t make any big decisions in the first year and I don’t plan to. What I do plan to do is to start moving in a new direction. First of all, I have decided to apply for the PhD program at FSU in Social Work. If accepted, would hope to start that in Fall 2009. In order to make that happen, I am putting the word out that I am interested in a part-time job. The idea is that being part time at the University will keep me in my state retirement (I have 7 years to go) and allow me to move on in the PhD program. In addition, it will make my schedule more flexible to do some more at Door of Hope, which is why I believe that God has me doing all of this.

In addition, I plan to pursue a certificate in “Social Entrepreneurialism” from the University of Tampa. The idea is to figure out who to make it worthwhile to get people to invest in solutions to social problems.

I have no idea if this will work out and I am not really too terribly concerned about it. I plan to keep moving in this direction until or unless the Lord shows me another way. I am the moving car and I am trusting that God will guide me in the direction that I am to go. I just need to keep my heart open to him.

Does that make sense?

Tuesday, July 8, 2008

On Being Needy

I hate being needy, but I am.  I am in South Africa, away from those who I know love me.  I love them too, but this is about their love for me.  

Today marks 8 months since Christopher passed on to arms of the Father.  As I look at my computer clock, it was 8 months and 15 minutes ago, that I received that news from the doctors at TMH.

This may come as a surprise to you, but I am a talker.  Rather, I need to talk.  I have often joked with people that it is so busy in my head (and it is), but when I don't have a venue to express it, it is like steam building up in a pot - I feel like I am going to explode!  Being out of Tallahassee for 4 days and too far to call folks, the pressure has been building.  Finally, last night, my professor asked me what was going on with the legal proceedings.  Whew, I could let out steam, not in a negative way, more like a whistling tea kettle, but I had a lot of whistling to do.  I am so thankful for Dina and Kim for listening.

I can't help but to wonder if this isn't what God wants to be for me. I suppose that I am to need Him more than I need people.  I'm not going to dwell on that now as I am just so thankful to let it out.

This being needy, is funny to me because one of the themes throughout my life has been that I don't want to be a burden! I often feel that my need to talk (and be heard) is a burden on those around me.  This is a persistent feeling despite the fact that people tell me otherwise.  I need to let this go.

That is why I miss those who love me.  Generally I don't feel the burden of being a burden with them when I talk to them.  I feel loved.

Thanks be to God!

Monday, July 7, 2008

Responses to Consequences

I am in South Africa and have a lot of time to reflect.  Pray that I use it well and not in a destructive manner which I am prone to do.  Tough turning off the brain and my ways to shut down aren't always good.

This week, I've been thinking a about consequences and what they mean.  I think that I've decided that they don't "mean" much except that they happen.  Often times, we wish they didn't, but once a deed is set into motion, consequences just happen.  The key is to not let the consequences take the focus off the choices that we made.

I have to smile when I think about Christopher's speeding ticket.  This came less than a week after a fender bender for which he was cited.  I remember him asking why, if he does the same things his friends do, does he always get caught.  I gently (or not so) explained that that he made choices and there are consequences.  Why other's avoided these, I didn't know, but they are the ones who should be surprised.  In his case, I told him, God was trying to keep him safe and apparently he was a slow learner! 

Isn't that an interesting thought? How many of us are surprised when we avoid consequences for our choices.  Not the usual response.  Rather, we tend to only be surprised when we are subjected to consequences for bad choices.  We try to rationalize why we shouldn't be.  In a situation close to me, I've heard that someone was "good" and from a "good family".  Consequences are about the choice, not the person.  They clearly impact the person and hopeful will be used to change behaviors - that is the point of consequences.

In Christopher's case, I think that not sparing Christopher of consequences was an act of love.  The Bible talks about God only disciplining those He loves.  The purpose of discipline is to teach which is the purpose of consequences.

I would pray that we would see consequences as being allowed by God and not try to be surprised.  I pray that we would turn to Him whether we are spared consequences or have to face them.  For those of us who have a personal relationship with God, through Jesus, we know that either way, it is of God.

Whew - that takes the pressure off to have to figure out what these consequences mean!

Sunday, June 29, 2008

The Ever-present Cloud

This coming Friday, I leave for a three week trip to South Africa.  I am going as part of an International Social Work class.  I am (understandably) very excited.  But, then I remember . . .

The only reason that I am going is because Christopher died nearly 7 months ago.  People asked if I am looking forward to it, but they don't realize that before this trip was planned, I had reservations for our favorite unit at our favorite condo on Ormond Beach, Florida.  Our reservation was July 12-19.  I'd much rather be going to the "same old place" with Christopher than to be taking this adventure.


Friday, June 27, 2008

Let's Make it a Wrap

From the beginning, I have hated the word denial as I think it would appear stupid to deny the accident or that Christopher died.  So, for a long time, I preferred the word disbelief, because I just couldn't believe it really happened.  Now, I have decided that I feel like I am playing a part in a movie.

When Heath Ledger died, I had heard stories about how playing the dark Joker in the Batman movie had a powerful impact on him.  I think that this role as the grieving mother who has lost her son is having a unreal impact on me; an impact I could have never imagined nor will ever fully understand.  I just want to cry out that the movies is good enough - we can call it a wrap and be done with it.  Then I could adjust back to the "normal" that I so miss.  Christopher would be back with me and I would be frustrated with his 17 year old-ness, but I would love him and he would know that.

Please, let's make it a wrap!  Please let this end or tell me when it is expected to end.  I just need to know that I will bet back to my life at some point, the life I so enjoyed, but certainly didn't adequately appreciate.