On being comforted . . . .

One of my recent thoughts regarding church was my lack of appreciation for people who try to comfort me. After all, what could they, in fact, do that would provide any comfort for the loss of a child. I had come to the conclusion that I prefer to be with people who, instead, just "let me be." That's well and good, especially if they know of my loss. Besides, peoples efforts to comfort, just evoke in me a lot of emotion and I'm pretty much tired of the tears, if you know what I mean.

Then as I roaming a friend's kitchen, while she was sleeping in, I realized that this might well explain my reluctance to spend time with God. I know that God understands the loss of a son (in ways I can only imagine), He loves me (more than I dare to hope), and He knows what He is doing (even when He knows that I am not going to like it). I really know all that stuff to be true, but it doesn't make this all "okay." I think that's it; I am waiting to feel "okay" with the death of Christopher. I just don't foresee that ever happening.

In the meantime, I know all this stuff to be true, but it doesn't change how I feel. I just realized that part of my discomfort with the emotions, especially at church is because, to me, the emotion make it look like I don't believe the truth about God, His love and His plan.

It is hard to be before God or in presence of His people and act like He can't be trusted. It seems to me that if I trusted Him, His love, and His plan, then I should be okay with this and there were no longer be tears.

On Doing Church - Moving on or working through

I need to get back to church, but it is so difficult. When you know the Bible is being taught under the inspiration of a God who loves you, can you expect that He will speak to you. This is good, but when you have wounds still so raw, it is painful. Touching this pain often brings tears. That's okay; I've grown used to tears. What is difficult, other's reactions to the tears.

There are people who totally ignore you and there are people who briefly acknowledge the pain and loss. Those are both just fine. It is the people who try to comfort that drive me crazy, bless their hearts. I know that they are well-intentioned. In some cases, I know that they are people who just can't stand people hurting so deeply. The problem is that when people react in an effort to comfort, I feel like they are trying to get me to move on or past the pain ASAP. People who ignore or simply acknowledge seem to understand that this is something that I need to work through.

I have found this same issue in trying to find a place for worship. I love the church that I was attending before Christopher died. It is a small mission work. I so want to serve through that church, but to do so now, would be in my own strength. Further, there are just a few who know me or know of my loss. Most will never have known of Christopher. Actually, there are just a few total which makes me so very self-conscience about my emotion. To worship there would provide the perfect opportunity to simply move past all this pain and the resulting relational stuff with God. The same is pretty much true of the church that I have visited where I had attended in my young single days. They know me, they know of my loss, but they can't really, because they never knew Christopher.

I visited the Church that I had attended when I adopted Christopher and for many years after. Different building, different staff, but many of the same people. They knew Christopher, they knew Christopher with me. There are enough people that my emotionality will not be an issue (if I am strategic about my seating!). There is just the issue of hugging.

The weekend that Christopher died, let's be honest, should have been all about me, his only immediate family member. I have never hugged and been hugged so much in one weekend in my life. It got so "bad" that I had to explain to friends how to help me manage this. There were those hanger-on-ers who didn't seem to understand that when I put my hands down, we were finished with the hug. I asked (in jest . . . . sort of) for friends to keep an eye out for these people and to peal them off of me. Even when we went to the cemetery, I sat in front of the casket much sooner than I would have liked because I knew that if I didn't that they would all start hugging me again! Even my brother, Jim, commented that he had never seen so much hugging!

Hugging issues aside, I need to get back to church; I need to be exposed to the people and teaching of God in community. I need to see that, relationally, with both God and his people, I an move forward. My loss of Christopher has been a betrayal in these relationships. I need to work through it, with all the emotion the there is, and not simply move on or past it, which feels like it would be so much easier.

Truthfully, I miss God's people. I hate to say it, but I need them. Sometimes, the betrayed needs to take the first step to heal the relationship. This appears to be the case for me. I know God is waiting, patiently and lovingly.

Deep breath.

Fear of Church

2009 has been a year where my church attendance has been spotty, at best. I think that I have been 3 times since the beginning of June, and that includes Christmas Eve! Prior to that, I "happened" to attend a church on the day after what would have been Christopher's high school graduation. The small church recognizing their graduates was so very painful that I decided that I wouldn't take that chance again for a while.

There are other risks in church attendance. Yesterday, was a good example. I am out of town, visiting a friend who works at a church; makes for kind of a "must go" situation. Truthfully, I didn't have to go, but it would have been awkward to not go. Anyway, all was fine. The sermon title was, "A Buzz in Bethlehem" which seemed benign enough. As it turned out, it was all about being comforted in your situation and examples of refusing to be comforted. Tears just rolled down my face. Fortunately my dear friend knows me well and just left me alone. She said nothing and she didn't offer comfort and she didn't hug me!

I was caught off guard by the sermon; I was once again, not in control and I didn't like it. The pastor's points were true, based in Scripture (maybe with one exception, but that's not the point). He was emphasizing that there is comfort in knowing that God has a plan and that we are part of a bigger eternal plan. Knowing this can provide comfort. I agreed wholeheartedly, but he left out one detail, the detail that is my ongoing battle.

I am so thankful that over these past two years, I have never doubted the love of God. I have never doubted that in Christ, I am his beloved child. From the beginning, I have believed that God spared Christopher a difficult life (aren't all lives difficult) and was good to Christopher in taking him home early. I believe all the big truths. My struggle is that I don't like how this all played out for me. No matter how this all is supposed to fit into God's grand plan, I am convinced that there was another way for Him to accomplish his purposes. He didn't have to take Christopher and leave me here to try to get through another thirty, forty, or God forbid, fifty hears. No matter what "good" comes from this, it is not enough to offset this pain that I have been left with. There is no justice that I will feel is sufficient.

Now, I know it is not really all about me, but, you lose a son, and tell me that it doesn't feel all about you.

The need for control, or so I thought

I am so far behind on documenting my reflections through this process. Doctoral work will do that to you, I suppose. December 7-8 marked two years since the accident and Christopher's death. Last year, the first year, I was able to totally manage the day by taking a personal retreat at a camp up in Pelham, GA. It was a glorious weekend. This year, however, these days fell on a Monday and Tuesday, the last week of the Fall Semester. I had significant papers due Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday of that week.

Because I don't have a lot of practice marking such things, I had been quite stressed as to how this was going to all work out. I had great intentions of finishing my school work early just in case I found myself not functional. As I said, I had no idea what to expect. I had conversations with professors and even one of Associate Deans. One thing that I knew, however, is that there would be no excuse in turning anything in late because the due dates of the assignments were known well ahead of time. There was no excuse.

Is I should have expected, I got nothing turned in early, but that was the greatest blessing. Monday, I didn't have class so I worked on my paper. I did get to work for the afternoon. I made it the full time, but I could feel myself falling, emotionally, as the hour of the accident approached. I had plans that night for dinner with Christopher's best friend, my amazing Daniel (he had sent me a text about midnight the night before suggesting that we do dinner; he might have save my life.) I gave him an out because I wouldn't be good company, but her persisted and, together, we got through those difficult hours.

It was a hard night all around. As the hours passed, I could recall exactly where I was, unknowingly, in the process of losing Christopher. Eventually, I slept.

Tuesday, the actually date of his death, was not as significant somehow. I suppose it is because he died shortly after midnight and, for me the day had not yet ended until I left the hospital. This day passed without much anxiety. I was busy with papers, had an appointment with my academic advisor (which is a whole other story of unexpected blessing), working, and picking up a dear friend from the airport, a "favor" that morphed into a wonderful blessing. Betty, you see, had been in the judges chambers when Christopher's adoption was finalized. She and the folks in my "life group" at the time had thrown a shower for Christopher and me. Betty knew the son I lost and those people continue to provide the greatest comfort to me.

Lessons learned: I don't have to control everything in order to survive it. I tried to control this and wasn't able to keep with the plan and survived. I learned that December 7th, the date of the accident, and not the 8th is the troublesome day; that is the day that everything changed. I was reminded that I am certainly not the first to go through this kind of loss, but I am the one-and-only who has lost my Christopher, making my experience totally unique.

It is odd. I would love to forget that night, have it removed my my experience, but at the same time, I want to now every detail. I've asked friends who were aware of what was going on that night to write what they recall. I don't want to read it now, but I have a safe place where all the details of the accident and Christopher's death are being held for if and when the day comes that I want to know. I fear that by the time that comes, the information won't be available.

From the beginning, I have cited so many examples of ways that I can see that God was preparing the way for me to lose Christopher; I take comfort in that. I was totally out of control through the whole thing; there is nothing that I could have/should have/would have done differently that would have changed the the outcome. As this second year passed, I was reminded that I can't control everything, but I will survive. God is more than able and willing to prepare the way for me to survive as I move forward.

Very odd day and not in a good way.

Today, I had been dreading a conversation that I was to have with my boss, but that wasn't the difficult part of my day (that actually went quite well). The difficulties started when I was watching Regis and Kelly. They did a make over of a women in anticipation of her being reunited with her family for the holidays. Regis and Kelly by bring her son, Christopher to her as a surprise. Oh, to be that woman. I so want to be reunited with my son . . . sooner than later.

Then tonight, I was out to dinner with a fellow Marching Chief (nice time, I must say) and we were approached by our waiter, who was wearing a neck brace. When he introduced himself as "Chris", I was instantly concerned for him. As it turned out, six weeks ago, he was in a car accident from which he survived with a broken neck and broken ribs. I told him that I was so glad that he was up and okay, having lost my son, Christopher two years ago as a result of a car accident. He described a very painful six weeks, but he is up and appears to be doing well. Oh, I so wanted that to have been my Christopher's experience.

During dinner, my mom called. My 15+ year old Golden Retriever was having some type of convulsion. We know that her days are numbered, but neither of us are ready to say goodbye again. You see, I got Abby the same year that Christopher came to live with me. Since his death, I have recounted an episode of Home Improvement where Tim is talking to his wife, Jill, about the death of his beloved boss. He is explaining that, as a result of his dad's death when Tim was just a child, he didn't handle death well. He goes on to say, "that's why we have kids instead of dogs; They last longer."

Of course, in my case, my dog, Abby, outlived my son. Further proof that this is not the way it is supposed to be. Abby was our family dog as Christopher was growing up. Even when we got the little dogs, Abby was always the dog. Teddi and Grizzley were always kind of fake (being toy poodles). It is hard to consider saying goodbye to Abby. It feels like saying goodbye again to another piece of the the life that I so enjoyed.

People are so, so different . . .

. . . and I don't know which I prefer.

I was in Publix this evening. I ran in to two sets of friends that I haven't seen since Christopher's death. The first two, a mother and grown daughter, were so sweet. Denise, the daughter, just before we parted told me how sad she was for my loss. When I saw her mom, Linda, she just had that look in her eyes that communicated her pain on my behalf. These are both people who just knew Christopher in passing from years ago when we all went to the same church.

The other friends are the parents of an only son who played baseball on the same team back when the boys were in 3rd or 4th grade. We exchanged pleasantries and I asked about Kevin. I was excited for them to hear that he was a freshman at UCF as an aspiring engineer. They asked nothing about Christopher so I am certain that they knew of his death and, yet, they said absolutely nothing about it.

I wasn't upset about either encounter; I was just struck by the contrast. I am not sure that I would have noticed either extreme had it not been for the two different types of encounters within minutes.

A friend recently told me that she thought that people's reactions often reflect their need to believe that this could never happen to them. I guess I saw that with Kevin's parents.

I'd never want to think that this could happen to Christopher . . . even though it did.

And so it continues

This has been a very difficult week. I no doubt that the struggle began on Monday. There is an ongoing legal process as charges were filed related to the accident that took Christopher's life. Technically, the outcome of this trial has no bearing on my life, but it is a painful process non the less as I have been told that I will be expected to appear which keeps me "reminiscing" about that terrible night. There was yet another continuance. Once again, I was reminded that I am totally out of control as I have been since December 7, 2007. There is no part of this process that considers me or how I feel or what I've lost. That is so very frustrating.

It is quite a conflict to be put in a position to continue to have to re-live the night that forever changed my life and my recurring disbelief. It is odd to spend time recalling something that I simply can't believe has happened. Even when I tell people, I find myself wondering when I will be caught in this lie. Certainly, I'l be proven wrong and find that this really didn't happen.

Add to all this, I am in the first semester of a doctoral program which is very overwhelming most of the time. I am working part-time. This week, my mom innocently commented on how my life has changed. My response was that it all changed in one night. This came with the realization that there is nothing about my life that is as it would be had Christopher not died.

This is yet another source of internal conflict. I have much for which to be thankful, but it is hard to appreciate something that came at such a high price. I'd give it all up to go back and have the life that I had planned for, the life that should of, could of, would of been.

But that's not my choice, it's not an option. None of this has been my choice and so it continues. It makes it tough to be thankful. I didn't want this life. I wanted to see my son grow up and enjoy his life. I don't know how I will ever be able to enjoy my life because, no matter how wonderful things are or become, they will never been enough to offset for what I lost that night. I don't know how to reconcile this and allow myself to be happy. I want my old life back.

Endless

Today, we had a guest speaker in one of my classes. We got to talking about the fact that we use medical language to talk about helping people through difficult transitions. The example was the word, healing. He commented that it implies that we will get done with the process. The he added closure and asked, "what is that anyways?" He knows of what he speaks; his son, Christopher, died in a car accident almost 4 years ago.

Another friend who has walked me though this hideous process recently told me, "Grieving the loss of a child may not have an end as you know." This is not what I wanted to hear and yet people keep telling me the same thing.

I just don't understand how they expect me to go forward with no hope of relief this side of heaven.

The trouble with groups . . .

The trouble with group gatherings is that there are just too many people! I have to be honest, I have never liked parties or other types of group gatherings. I've always dreaded them, but forced myself to go, knowing that I'd have a good time.

Last night, I had a wonderful opportunity to get to know my new classmates and the faculty from my doctoral program. It was a very casual pot-luck dinner. . . . just my speed. I had prepared my contribution, but, as usual, I was dreading it. It was fine, just as always, but on the way home, I was overwhelmed with sadness. It was very similar to what I experience when I leave church.

I finally figured it out! I don't like to be around a lot of people who may not have know about Christopher's death. It bothers me (makes me sad) to work so hard to be happy and they have no clue. I've had several gatherings at my house since Christopher's passing, but all the attendees knew of my loss. That somehow made having a good time okay. With these people last night, I felt so dishonest; I allowed them to believe that I am just looking forward to what is ahead of me.

Same with church. I feel like I'm just faking it, playing church, looking as if I am just all full of unwavering faith. That couldn't be farther from the truth. So, again, I feel like I am being dishonest.

And yet, nobody really wants to know or deal with this. Nobody really can say or do anything to help. I just can't pretend; it doesn't work for me.

Sad in the most unexpected places

I think that one of the things that has surprised me is the unexpected places at which sad sneaks up on me. Last night, I was watching a movie called Mrs. Washington Goes to Smith (cute title huh?). It is about a woman, probably in her fifties who returned to college (hence, my curiosity). At the end, when she graduates, her daughter tells her how proud she is.

I graduate on Saturday and, while I know that Christopher would complain about going to commencement, he would be there, and I believe that he would be proud of me. Even on Friday, there is a reception put on by the College of Social Work for graduates and their families. I would have so enjoyed having Christopher there with me and I know he would have made an appearance; that's is just who he was.

So, a dumb movie on the Hallmark Channel has a scene that reminds me of yet another aspect of my loss that I had not considered. Not what I expected; but, then again, sad is never is really much of a surprise at this point

The truth? It's all about relationship

I have been struggling with a lot of emotion lately, not a surprise to many, but certainly I am growing tired of it. I see the same thing in my cousin. My latest issue is dealing with my anger, but there is always the unpredictable sadness, overwhelming loneliness, and the unexpected tears.

There is a large part of me that knows that this is all understandable; there is probably nobody who would say to me that I need to get over it (although that is not to say that they don't think it, but I can't worry about that.) So why have I withdrawn; why is my cousin hesitant to go out with groups of friends that he has gone out with since high school? I can't speak for her, but I think that for me, I don't have confidence in relationship to be able to trust that they will tolerate these emotions. I didn't worry about this in the beginning, but I am losing patience with the process, so I figure that those around me are as well. This is a big part of my current decision to forgo church these days; caring people just evoke too much emotion and what if they can't handle it or won't tolerate it?

Add to that, I am so conflicted. I loved being known as Christopher's mom! Now, that privilege comes with the unending reality that I will always be the parent of a child who died too young. While I love talking about Christopher, inevitably, the "rest of the story" will come up. This makes new relationship difficult; this is a great concern as I start the doctoral program in fall.

As far as God is concerned, I put Him in the group that I assume is growing tired of hearing the same stories, hurts and frustrations. Add to that, the confusion that comes from the reality that "His prints are all over this one." As I mentioned before, I have taken great comfort in the reality that the crash and Christopher's death were not out of God's control . . . It was not arbitrary. Even as comforting as it is, it comes with a lot of complications in my heart. I have no problem with it, when it comes to Christopher; I know that he is not missing this world. The problem is how God reconciles this to His love for me. I haven't gotten there, and yet I know that His plan is perfect.

When I know that my emotions are not consistent with what I know and believe to be true, my first assessment tells me that my emotions are wrong. If I have invalid emotions, then why would I take them to the person, God in this case, at whom they are directed? It feels like something that I just need to work through. That's where I am stuck. I have come to this point many times in my relationship with God, where I know that I am wrong and I don't know what more He can do for me to get my feelings in like with His truth.

In the meantime, I need to try to trust my friends and just let them deal with it. Those who can't or don't want to will certainly move on and that needs to be fine.

On being angry . . .

Since Christopher died, I would never have said that I was angry. I have been devastated, in great pain and in total disbelief, but not angry. I have tried to be a comfort to those involved in and around the accident, not a vessel of anger. I have tried to use my experience to comfort those who have lost children, not letting anger be a part of my equation.

This is a situation where I don't know where angry fits in. Am I angry that Christopher died? I suppose. Am I angry that there are some who haven't responded as I might have hoped? Probably. And where does God fit into all of this? Am I angry with God that Christopher died? I don't think so (but there are some who would argue with me on this one).

I think that I am mainly confused about God in all of this. Those who knew me before Christopher came into my life would testify to the fact that I never dreamed that I could love and be loved as I was in my relationship with Christopher. And it is true. For me, allowing myself to hope and believe that love was possible for me was a huge step. And, by God's grace, I took it. Then 13 years later, the whole "experiment" came crashing down. I don't know what to make of this. Do I feel betrayed? Yes I do. God certainly gave me more in Christopher than I had ever hoped, but then to take him away. I don't understand that. But angry?

Doesn't anger need an object? I am trying to figure out at what am I angry. I am not angry at Christopher - he was just a passenger in a car that night. I don't think that I am angry with the drivers of the cars that night, although I think that there was a lot of poor decisions made that night. Who do you vent to or yell at if you are made at an event? Maybe I am angry with God. Afterall, He is sovereign and certainly could have prevented it.

I am so conflicted. From that first night in December 2007, I have taken great comfort in the fact that Christopher's death was not an "accident" in the sense that it was out of God's control. That has given me great comfort, but there has been a heavy sense of betrayal in having Christopher snatched from me that night. How can you be express anger with God?

I need to be made a something specific. I need to be able to yell at something - hit something/someone. I need to take this out on someone before it eats me from the inside out. I need to be angry at someone who will yell back and challenge me to deal with it, who will provoke me to get it all out. Otherwise it just has to stay inside and fester.

I am a person that needs to get things out. That is one of the things that made Christopher and good match for me; he was more than willing to engage with me. In contrast, I had a college roommate who was the nicest girl that you would even want to meet. She was too nice. I can remember getting ready to have a hard talk with her about something important (like closet space) and as soon as I brought it up, she'd apologize. She didn't let me get it out. I'd just retreat in a neighbor dorm room and sleep until I stuffed it back in.

That is what makes this so hard. I feel like everybody I talk to just says, its okay to be angry. It is like they apologize too quickly. Don't people understand? I need an argument to get it out. Processing it hasn't worked for 19 months and I don't suspect that it will work anytime soon. There are events coming that might provoke me to get it out, but that will neither be the time nor the place.

I have to deal with this now. And I don't know how.

No Happy Endings

My cousin, Linda, had a son, Kevin, who was killed last August (2008) while riding his motorcycle. The man who was driving the car that hit and killed Kevin has been acquitted of vehicular homicide while driving under the influence. He was, however, found guilty of two DUI-related counts, along with recklessly endangering another person. I think that I've decided that at this point, it really doesn't matter. There is no verdict that would have made anything better for Linda and her family.

What would justice look like in the case of a drunk man who killed your son? I don't think that there is or even can be justice in this type of situation. Justice is something that you just can't look for or expect. There is nothing just about a child's (no matter the age) death as a result of someone's recklessness.

A child - Kevin was 30. Another friend of min had a child die this past fall of cystic fibrosis. Shaun was 28. Christopher was just 17. Non of these young men were "children," but they were the child of a loving mother. There is no age limit on the definition of an untimely loss of a child. Anytime a child dies before their parent, it is untimely; it is just not right. It is not "just" whatever that is.

Justice - the first definition of justice on dictionary.com is "the quality of being just; righteousness, equitableness, or moral rightness." Would somebody tell me what is morally right about a man, with a previous DUI, killing Kevin? Even if this man had gone to jail for a bazillion years, would that make this situation meet the definition? Would that have made the situation equitable? Would that have made this situation fair? Of course not!

So where does that leave Linda; where does it leave me? I think that the bottom line is that Linda and I need to accept the reality that there is nothing that can ever happen that is going to make our situations fair; there will be no justice. The price we have paid is far to great.

If we can't get justice, what is the answer? I fear that the answer is forgiveness. I hate even saying this as it sounds so "good". Trust me, I am not that good, nor do I think that this is easy. Linda is closer to forgiveness than I am because she is closer to angry than I am. I don't want to be angry. Angry takes a lot of energy and I don't have any energy to spare. It is all I can do to get through each day. I don't want to be angry and honestly, I don't think that I am willing to be angry.

I guess I am just hoping that angry is not a necessary part of this process.

Companionship needed . . .

Among the many things I lost that night was my friend, my companion. Now, I know that it was going to lose Christopher as a daily companion ultimately and it would be sooner than I would have liked, but I always figured it would be gradual. Besides, even when he moved out, we would still be in touch and he would still be available if I had a real need. Last Fall semester, I had a wonderful roommate and this week, a friend from work is staying pending a final move to Oklahoma.

I think that when I have people around, I realize that I don't like who I've become since this whole thing began. I don't like being around me, never sure what I am doing to do or say or feel. There is nothing that is safe anymore, nothing comfortable. Everything is an effort; I have to keep it under control.

I am beginning to understand why my cousin doesn't go out much since her son died. People are not safe because people cause you to let yourself feel again and feeling is not fun any more. Behind everything I do or say, is a pain that might get out if I open the doors of my heart again. My heart can no longer be trusted; it is a scary place.

That is why God doesn't work for me right now. God requires my heart; He requires honesty. I am afraid of what all comes with that. I can't take the chance anymore of what He might require in relationship. I am also not sure that I trust Him. How do you trust someone who allowed you to be hurt so very deeply.

God didn't cause Christopher to die, but if you believe that He is sovereign (and I do), then I don't know how to take Him out of the equation of what happened that night. He didn't cause it, but He was there; He could of stopped it, but He didn't.

I know He loves Christopher; this has never really be about Christopher as I know that he is in a better place, relieved of having to endure this life. I know He loves me, but I don't know if I like this kind of love. I simply can't reconcile it to any kind of love that I understand. Yes, His ways are not my ways, but that doesn't seem to bring me any comfort.

I don't like what this has done to me; I don't like being shut off from emotions that I just learned how to let myself feel. That was Christopher's greatest gift to me, allowing me to love and be loved, and I think I may have lost it the night that I lost him. I am sliding back to a posture that life is about staying busy until you die. I don't know if I can live like this, just going through the motions, not able to feel because it is once again not safe. Unlike my life before Chrisotpher, I know what I am missing and I don't want to live without it.

This time, it is not because I don't feel, but because I feel so very deeply and that scares me.

Yet another Catch 22

Okay - I really should have read the book, but the phrase "Catch 22" applies in so many ways to this terrible process of grieving the loss of a child. And I am not alone in this observation.

Last night, I was talking to my cousin, Linda, whose son was riding a motorcycle when he was killed by a drunk drive last August. We don't see everything the same, but there are more things in common than not. One thing is that it has grown difficult to be around people who care. It is much easier to be with strangers who don't look at you, knowingly. Both she and I have found church difficult even thought it has been a part of our lives for years (hers more than mine). She is much more cynical than I. I don't like to be around to people who care because I hear sincerity when they ask how I am doing. She, on the other hand, knows that they care, but she doesn't thing that they really want to know. After all, who really wants to know how painful all of this is.

And yet, we complain about how lonely this process is. I am coming to realize that is it lonely because all this feeling wears you out and with every question, the heart is torn open and it takes an enormous amount of energy to keep it together while trying to figure out how to answer in a way that is not devastating to either one.

At the same time, my biggest fear is that people will forget Christopher. People deal with this fear in many different ways. I know people who have had decals or bumper stickers made memorializing their child. I know of people who have gotten tattoos in memory of their child. I don't want it to be such an effort for people to remember Christopher. I am certain that is why I speak so freely of him.

I know that there are people who were touching by having known Christopher and if he comes to mind, they think fondly of him. At the same time, I feel certain that I am the only person in the world who thinks of him every single day.

That (and many other things) makes me very sad.

Honest to God . . . Not so easy

During the past almost 19 months, I have been thankful that I haven't had a lot of friends who tried to console me with spiritual platitudes. You know the sayings, "God has a plan", "God needed another angel", "God is in control", and all sorts of things that I would say that I believe (maybe with the exception of the angel comments), but which provide no comfort in times like these.

Having said that, I have been found to say things that I truly believe, but I am not speaking from my heart, just my head, effectively making these my own little platitudes. The problem is that these were words based on past experience of relationship with God, not at all based on current assurances received from Him.

As time has passed, I have unrealistically expected that this would get easier. When it did, I would reunite with my God. It hasn't gotten any better and now I don't know when I'll be able to be honest with God.

There is a real catch-22 situation when you know you don't have what it takes to deal with the pain apart from God, but you have distanced yourself from Him because of so many unanswered questions.

On one hand, the questions are unanswered because they have been unasked, but how do you ask without feeling like you are questioning the God of the universe about, "What could You have possibly been thinking when You let this happened?" And yet, that is the only question that matters to me right now.

There is no good answer - maybe there is a good answer, but not one that I expect will find satisfactory. Then what am I to do?

So I just don't ask . . . denying myself relationship with the only One who can bring relief.

What Rules My Heart?

Good question . . . I am not sure these days. I just confided to a friend that I am carrying some deep resentments and her response? "it's understandable...but just don't let it 'rule your heart.'" Good advice, hard to control.

Rule my heart . . . I can't decide if my heart is numb or in overdrive. It is either a boat that won't start or one that is in the water spinning wildly out of control as if it has nobody at the helm.

Maybe that is it. My heart is a boat in the water that I used to think I had well under control. Then on December 7th, I hit a crushing wave that threw me away from the controls and now the boat is spinning totally out of control and I can't seem to get back to my feet to regain control of the vessel.

I think that I've stopped trying to get back up; there is no use in trying. I am just hoping to run out of gas

Some things can't be redeemed . . . at least not in this life.

The hardest thing about this grief process (besides it sucks!) is that is has recently dawned on me that this is my new reality and there is no changing it; I can't go back.

I realized that there are a lot of things that can go wrong in life from which you can recover. If I dropped out of school, making me a drop-out, I could always go back and finish and I'd no longer be a drop-out. I could marry and divorce and feel as though I had failed at marriage. I could still re-marry and feel like a successful life-partner. Even if Christopher had gone down the wrong path, he could have turned around and made a great impact on the lives of many. Death is different.

Losing a child, however, cannot be overcome; it cannot be undone. That has been a harsh reality these past few months. I've described it as a kind of unbelief. It isn't that I didn't from day one know that this was permanent, but that reality continues to set in in new an unexpected ways. I will always be a mom of a son who died. There is no way to change this, now, fact.

No matter what I learn about this reality, I don't like anything about it.

My friends of great faith would probably be disturbed at my words, that this situation can't be redeemed at least in this life. As I told a friend today, it feels like this life is all that matters. He was kind to acknowledge that the this life is all that matters right now.

I see these friends post statuses on Facebook that would make the great men of faith proud and I am glad for them, but I think that they would be offended to hear me say that those spiritual platitudes don't work for me anymore even if I still believed every word of them. They are just too simplistic to address a pain as big as the one that I have known for the past eighteen months and continue to experience in new and equally horrific ways.

Anyone dare to argue with me?

The Tenacity of Disbelief

Tenacious is an adjective, "holding fast; characterized by keeping a firm hold."  

Disbelief is a noun, "the inability or refusal to believe or to accept something as true."

In my case, I would say that my inability to believe that my reality is that my son died is holding firm.  I don't refuse to believe, but I don't seem to be able to grasp as fact that this is the way that it is going to be forever.  I just can't seem to believe it.  

Where does that leave me?  

I have no idea.

A friend, whose perspective I appreciate a lot, said that he is not sure that it will ever be believable in this lifetime.  My response?  That is not the right answer.  I just don't know how a person can go though potentially 40+ years of living not able to accept their personal reality.  I have struggled through 18 months so far and have not enjoyed a whole lot of it.

I totally can see me moving forward . . . after all, I am starting a doctoral program in just under three months.  Ready or not, the future is coming.  What I need to figure out is what to do with this part of my reality.  I think that the issue is that it feels very all or nothing; either I am moving forward or I am living in the reality of my disbelief.  It is like I have two worlds and I can't seem to have a foot in both at the same time.

I know that this isn't making much sense, but this whole experience doesn't make much sense, if you ask me.  

I just don't know what to do with all this emotion . . . it is either on or off; it seems like there should be a medium.  

I hate this.

The Graduation Night that Wasn't

Tonight is the graduation for Tallahassee's Lincoln High School.  Christopher should have been there tonight, although he was not a student there when he died.

Christopher had been attending an alternative high school in Tallahassee, the Academy for Academics and Technology.  Due to budget constraints, that school was closed at the end of the 2007-2008 academic year.  Truth be told, Christopher really wanted to finish out his high school career at Lincoln.

So hear I am at home, rather than at the graduation that should have been, but wasn't to be.  Know that I know that Christopher is not in heaven wishing to be at the Tallahassee Leon County Civic Center for a too-long ceremony.  He is where he'd rather be, I know that, but it doesn't change the fact that I miss him so much and would so prefer to have him here.   Call me selfish; I won't argue.

You know, when you have a child, it is like instantly that you begin to envision the future milestones, high school graduation just being one of many.  You never imagine that these things won't come to pass; you just assume that everything will progress according to the "normal" script.  

I have found that there is no script for the life that you have left after the death of a child.  I have met people who try to tell me when I will "turn the corner" on this grief.  They don't know squat.  

Truthfully, I don't know squat; I just take it a day at a time.  

I have no choice.

Unrealistic Expectations

I have to admit, I have a lot of unrealistic expectations of the people around me.  I have found that people in a similar situation have similar such unrealistic expectations.  Actually, I saw this in myself after talking to my cousin.  It is so easy to recognize in others; I had to look at myself to see if the same thing were in me and it was.  Let me explain.

I hold it against people when they don't understand something that there is absolutely no way that they could understand.  The grief of losing a child who has grown into a person that you know and really like.  I enjoyed who Christopher had become.  Of course, I loved him, but I was so very thankful that I liked him and really enjoyed him.  

People don't know what to say to me, what to do for me.  A neighborhood family, with whom I have not been very close in recent years, sent me an graduation announcement for their daughter who is finishing high school this year.  At the same time, Christopher would have/should have been graduating.  I see such an invitation, sent without any apparent realization that I am grieving not being able to celebrate with my child, and I want to just scream, "Are you freakin' crazy?"

When I step back and pause before crying out, I realize that their lives are going on.  And they should as they haven't lost what I've lost.  There is no way that they can know the pain that I know.  It is unrealistic to think that they would.  I've often said that this is probably the only experience in my life that I honestly wouldn't wish on my worst enemy.

I am so very sensitive to people who, even in jest, complain about their kids . . . about them coming home from college with all their stuff . . . about anything.  I want to scream out, "Do you know how fortunate you are to have your kids?"  Truth is they don't; I didn't as much as I would now.  

I've always heard that you don't know what you have until you have lost it.  I think that is true.  One thing that I have been thankful for is that I almost lost Christopher around his 16th birthday; we really struggled as a family.  But what that difficult time did was give me an appreciation for the last 15 months that I had Christopher here.  I enjoyed that time with him in a way that I couldn't have had we not been estranged for a brief period of time.  I knew what it was to not have an enjoyable relationship and I was so very thankful for the good times we were enjoying.

People can't understand and they don't know what to say.  Truth is, they will never say the right thing, as far as I am concerned.  I need to extend them grace.  I don't want them to understand.  Nobody should have to understand.  

And another thing I have to realize is that just be cause my world has changed and as a result, I have changed, doesn't mean that anybody else is going to change or has changed.  People who didn't know how to deal with emotions before aren't going to magically  be sensitive and insightful and yet I am disappointed when they don't "get it."  I was disappointment with there were family and friends who I think "should have known" and didn't even as much as acknowledge the difficulty of special days such as Adoption Day or Mother's Day.

I need to let go of these unrealistic expectations.  It is hard as I keep finding them.  They are all over the place, successfully pulling me down.  I need to take the power back and mange the expectations so that I don't have to manage more pain.  I have enough pain to deal with, thank you very much.

Surprised by Grief

I have gotten pretty good at anticipating "sad."  Like today, for example.  I knew that I'd be attending the dedication of a bench on campus in memory of one of my Social Work classmates who died in a car accident last March.  I know that I found such events to be full of mixed emotions because on one hand, it is reassuring to see the love of family and friends, but the reality is that the whole event is the result of a tragic loss.  So, I knew that to attend such an event would evoke sadness as I could empathize with this family's loss.

But, later after that event, I attended the FSU College of Social Work's Convocation.  I did this purely out of support for my many friends who are graduating with their MSW tomorrow.  As I was taking a picture of my dear friend, Jessica, I enjoyed a sense of pride and excitement on her behalf.  After I sat back down, I realized that this was just a glimpse of the joy that I should be experiencing this month when Christopher should have been graduating from Lincoln High School.  

This severe grief was a surprise.  I expected to feel this way near Lincoln's commencement activities, but not when I was watching my peers graduate.

I think that I just need to accept that there are going to be sad time, some which can be anticipated like our adoption day and Christopher's birthday, but that there will there will be others than remind me what could have been or what I think should have been.  

I told a friend of mine today that this entire process is so very surreal; there are times that I just can't believe that this is my life.  I will forever be a parent whose child died.  This event doesn't define me, but it certainly will always be a big part of who I am and to some extent who become.  

This whole thing really stinks.

Miracle of Adoption

This past Sunday, I "celebrated" the 14th anniversary of Christopher and I becoming a family through adoption.  Have you thought about what that means?  Fifteen years ago, Christopher and I were virtual strangers.  Today, I know that we will be connected through eternity.  Isn't that amazing?

Nobody every thinks twice about referring to the miracle of birth, but what about the miracle of adoption.  I have met a lot of children throughout my life, many of whom have not had parents who were willing and/or able to parent well.  Christopher is the only child that I felt the love for from the day I met him.  I can recall going to work the following morning declaring my love for this child I had met the previous evening.  He wasn't even the child I was going to meet, but he "happened" to be there.

I guess the miracle in my life as it relates to Christopher is not really about me or my connection to him.  For me it is about the reality that it was a God-ordained relationship from the very first day.  This reality was confirmed throughout the process that led to Christopher being placed with me 5 months later.  Christopher had been presented to several seemingly more suitable families, but they weren't the parents chosen for Christopher.  I was that parent.

During our prayer time in Church on Sunday, I realized that as special as Christopher's adoption is to me, I have been adopted by the God of the Universe.  It amazes me that He might remember the day that He brought me in to His family with the same joy and delight I feel about the day that Christopher and I became a family.

Christopher is with Him even now.  That is the miracle of the hope and reality of the salvation, adoption into the family of God, that is offered through faith in Christ.  

That, my friends, is a miracle.

Good friends, good memories . . . bittersweet . . .

I am in N. Georgia, heading back home today.  I spent the last two days with the two girl friends who were connected to Christopher.  Probably it is more accurate to say that he was most connected to them.  One has the same love of music that Christopher had and the other has the same kind of whit.  It has been a good weekend with lots of fun memories, but it is bittersweet with a heavy dose of sad.

This coming Sunday is the 14th anniversary of Christopher and I becoming a family.  It is our adoption anniversary.  I remember that day like it was yesterday and I wouldn't trade it for anything, even if I had known then what I know now.  

But I am so glad that I didn't know then what I know now.  It would have been such a distraction to enjoying the ride.  When we celebrated Christopher's adoption, the theme was "We're Under Weigh"  I didn't know how appropriate that theme was!  Parenting is much like a boat ride - there are smooth seas mixed with a lot of choppy waters.  In our case, we hit an ice burg on December 7, 2007.  By early December 8, I was the only survivor on board.  As bad as that sounds, it works for me.

The ship that launched 14 years ago, is still operational.  The family that Christopher and I built goes on, maybe not in this world, visibly, but it goes on.  First of all, Christopher is alive and well with his Savior in heaven; we have been separated for a time, but I have certainty that we will be reunited when I get done here.  Secondly, the mom that I officially became that day lives on.  There is no way that I could, even if I wanted to, go back to who I was before Christopher came into my life.  That person doesn't exist anymore and for that, I am thankful.

But the person that Christopher enabled me to become is missing a piece now.  There is a void where he is supposed to be.  I miss his presence in my life.  I miss the person that he was and the relationships that I enjoyed sharing with him.  

That is what has been hard this weekend.  Not only I am incomplete without his presence, but he is missing in my relationships.  He bought so much to so many that made us all better and I miss seeing that, watching it, enjoying it.  I miss the person that Christopher was and the man I believed he would become.  I just miss him.

But, he doesn't miss me the same way.  He is not in heaven wishing he was here.  He is very satisfied there.  He has a perspective that I can only imagine.  That is what keeps me going, "I know that I know that I know that that I know that my Redeemer lives" and therefore, I will see Christopher again and our family continues on.

I have much for which to be to be thankful, but it is okay to be sad.  It doesn't mean that I don't believe all that I know.  It is just my reality.  They can go together.  If Jesus was sad when his friend died, and he knew much more deeply than I can even imagine, then I'm okay.

As a friend said, "I don't worry about you.  I know you and I know God."  

More importantly, I know God and so did Christopher.

How could I forget . . . . even for a moment?

I was at a sporting event tonight when one of the participants was hurt and laying out on the floor.  As it turned out, I was sitting next to the injured woman's parents.  As I talked to the mom, I learned that her daughter had always been involved in sports, but had never been injured beyond needing stitches.  At this point, we were concerned that she may have broken her leg.

Trying to be empathetic, I indicated that I couldn't imagine who hard it must be to watch this from a distance and that I had never been in her situation.  Then it dawned on me; I saw my son in the hospital unconscious.  Within five hours, I was told he had died.  I saw him laid out in a casket and then we had a funeral.  

In retrospect, I was astonished that for a brief moment I didn't remember that trauma; I couldn't imagine her pain in seeing her daughter her, not knowing the outcome.  But I do know that.  I hate that I know that, but I do.

That is my reality and I'll never escape being a mom who has buried a child.  No pain is worse - at least I can't imagine anything worse.

My cousin, whose 30 year old son was killed by a drunk driver just last August described the pain well.  She had always been very close to her parents, never living further away than next door.  Both of her parents have passed away.  She was trying to describe to her friend  the pain of losing her child.  She said to her friend, "you know how hard it was for me when my parents each died.  On a scale of 1 to 10 . . . . no, that won't work.  On a scale of 1 to 100, losing my parents was a 1; losing Kevin was 100."

I, fortunately, haven't lost anybody else who is very close to me.  Let me tell you however, that if it can be worse than this, I don't have a chance. 

God's better than Dr. Phil

I have found myself, for lack of better options, with Dr. Phil on the TV in the afternoon.  He fascinates me because there is nothing particular special about what he says; he states the obvious.  What I like about him, though, are two things.  First of all, he appears to deeply care about the children.  He all but tells the parents that he is not there for him, but he cares about the kids.  I like that.  The other thing he does that I like, is that he rarely seems to try to make people feel stupid.  When he gets them to admit what they are doing that doesn't make sense, rather than calling them out, he says, "So, how's that working for you."  Of course, it isn't and they know it, but he lets them say it.

Yesterday, he had on three families with obese children.  I mean we are talking 117 pounds at 5 years; 80 at 3 years and; 185 at 10 years of age.  As he talked to the parents, his whole point was they needed to be the parent and get rid of stuff from the home so that it was not an issue.  They had to be willing to take on the tantrums for the sake of their children.  He didn't care about them - they were the parents - and had to suffer the pain to save their child.

Which brings me to God.  Today is Good Friday; the day that Jesus was crucified.  God suffered the pain of watching His Son die and I can tell you from my experience, there is no greater pain.  He did it to save you and me.  He was willing to suffer (as was Jesus, Himself) for our sake.  I don't understand it, but I am so thankful for it.

I hear people say that they could live the Christian life if God would just do such-n-such.  I don't get it.  Surely, I go to Him in prayer and tell him my desires, but I am not going to withhold myself from Him, waiting for Him to prove his love.  He already gave me Jesus; how much more do I need?

But we have needs and God knows it.  I have come to see if Dr. Phil can care about these children who are not related to him, who are total strangers, why would I doubt that God cares about me.  I am his child.  He cares about me more than any parent on this planet; He cares about me more than Dr. Phil.  Imagine that.

The "problem" comes when I have to reconcile some hard truths.  "Jesus loves me, this I know."  Jesus is the greatest evidence I could ask for of God the Father's love for me.  I don't yet know quite how to put the loss of Christopher into the contest of all that love.  I see it from Christopher's side, but from my view, it doesn't work so well.

I supposed that really, as a parent, if I really believe that Christopher is better off, then that is enough for me.  I need to be willing to suffer for the sake of my child.  God is my perfect example.  

It is an issue of focus.  When I focus on my loss, I get very down.  If at that point, Dr. Phil asked, "so how's it working for you?", I'd have to say not so good.  If I can focus on the reality of heaven for Christopher even now and the certainty that his early departure is just an interruption in our relationship and I will see him again, then things are much better.

It is hard, though.  April 26, just 2+ weeks away marks the 14th anniversary of Christopher's adoption.  I need to try to turn that into a day of focusing on "right stuff."

I covet your prayers.

What I used to REALLY think . . .

In Isaiah 39 Hezekiah was warned that there were bad times coming when he would lose his possessions; there would be nothing left.  Even his sons would be taken into exile.  To this news,  "⁸Hezekiah replied to Isaiah, 'Good. If God says so, it's good.'" I have found that in response of Christopher death that there are people who would say what Hezekiah said, "Good.  If God says so, it's good."  I would have to confess that I might have felt that way, but I am here to testify that when it is you that is in the midst of the reality of losing that which you hold most dear, you find that the view is significantly different.

That is when we discover that we really believe.  Isaiah 29:8 goes on to tell us what Hezekiah really believed when it says, "Within himself he was thinking, 'But surely nothing bad will happen in my lifetime. I'll enjoy peace and stability as long as I live.'" 

As parents we know that our children are just gifts to us; we often say that they are on loan because they belong to God.  That is true.  I really thought that I believed.  But words are easy.  When the reality of letting go comes, the view is totally different.

A dear friend, who I have know since she was a little girl promoted me yesterday.  She no longer thinks of me as a family friend of someone she knows from church, but I am a friend.  What a precious gift.  The truth is that with any gift, there is risk.  I will someday, perhaps, lose her, but I will enjoy her friendship to until that time may come.

I think that we need to consciously remind ourselves of this reality each and every day.  We don't ever know if we believe it until we are faced with the implications and God, in his loving sovereignty, decides to take back that which we knew all along was his.  That is when the rubber meets the road.

Throughout the grieving process I have had to confess.  Don't get me wrong, I enjoyed Christopher far more than most parents enjoyed their children; I have no regrets on that front.  What I have realized, is that I took him for granted.  Not him, as much as the God who gave him to me.  I thought he was mine and I missed the gift of the Giver who shared him with me.

I pray people will consider this and learn from me.  Enjoy the gift, but always, always be reminded of the love of the Giver who shared a precious child of His with you.

Amen.

Mixed Emotions

This has been a good week.  I feel like back on spring break, I made significant progress in moving forward (sorry, can't put those details here).  People noticed a change and I feel so much better.  Last night, I was even silly at bridget lessons in a way that I have not felt like since Christopher died.  It was just an overall good week.

Then, before I went to bed last night, I thought and prayed about how unreal it is that Christopher is no longer with me.  I miss him so very much.

I slept a full night, thanks to medications, but I woke up totally drained.  Later, I realized that all night I was dreaming about Christopher.  It has made for a long day.  I even overslept for my evening class, sleeping through about 30 minutes of my cell phone's alarm.

I can move forward and I will.  I can enjoy life (and I think that Christopher expects me to) and I will, but I don't think that I'll ever get over this.  There is always something that is going to be missing.  I love Christopher.  I enjoyed him.  I looked forward to seeing him grow into an amazing, Godly man who would certainly have had a family of his own.  I would have so enjoyed watching him be who I believe he would have been.

I miss him so very much, but I believe that Christopher would want me to be happy.  He loved me so very much.  I miss being loved.  I know that I wouldn't have always been first in his life - truthfully, I probably already wasn't - but I was mom; he loved me and knew that I loved him.  I miss that.  I miss that nobody checks in with me to let me know what they are doing and ask me about my day.  I miss being an integral part of someone's life.

Christopher wasn't perfect, but he was special and I really liked him.  I really miss him and yet, I am going to move forward.  I am going to have a full life and let myself enjoy what all is ahead of me.

But I'll always miss him and that's okay.

I've got to be me, but how?

I am struggling with all I've lost. December 7/8, 2007, I lost my entire family~not my family of origin, but my family. I really liked who I was with Christopher; he brought out a lot of the best in me.

It had to have been in me for Christopher have brought it out of me, right? It must still be there, but I don't know how to get at that part of me all alone. I miss who I was with Christopher and I want her back. I've never been that person alone. I see glimpses of her when I am with other people, but when I am home alone, she seems miles away.

That really bothers me, but I don't know what to do about it. I am not really sure that before Christopher, I was ever really happy with myself and now that he is gone, I don't know how to be the me that Chrsitopher brought out.

Beginning Again

I Tim. 6:12 - Fight the good fight of the faith. Take hold of the eternal life to which you were called when you made your good confession in the presence of many witnesses.

I am so ready to take hold of the eternal life to which I have been called.  I don't think that this is something that everybody can do simply because we are eternal beings.  I believe that this is part of the promises that those who are in Christ can enjoy.  It is for today because "the old has gone, the new has come!" is the promise found in 2 Cor. 5:17.

I have a lot of "old" of which I need to let go and there is a lot of "new" that I have yet to discover.  I pray that God would give me the strength to pursue the "new" so that I, through Him, have strength to resist the tug back to that which, though painful, is comfortable.  There is a long time adage that says that old habits die hard.  For me, the hardest habits to kick have been of thought processes rather than actions.

My experience is that thought patterns are much more difficult to deal with because they are so easily concealed.  You've heard of closet alcoholics, but we must know about them to have labeled them.  Ultimately, there is evidence to be found of such damaging habits.  I believe this to be true of the habits that I have within my mind.  You may never see them directly, but lately I have had a lot of true friends point out how damaging this way of thinking has become.

I am holding myself back from being who God has called me to be; who He has created me to be.  I got a taste of the potential in Christ in my years with Christopher.  Since his death, I have allowed myself to be vaulted back to some old "stinkin' thinkin'"  Dear friends have told me that they missed the Judy that they had seen for many years now.  I realized that I was allowing who Christopher helped me to allow myself to be lost in the wave of my grief.  

This would be so disappointing to Christopher and even more so, very dishonoring to God.  It is God that has done the good work in my life; He may have used Christopher, but it was His work.  I need to let him do that work again, getting out of his way.  My over-thinking, self-centered thinking, has taken my attention away from the future that God has for me.

Father, I confess that I have not believed who you have declared me to be;  I pray that you would continue to help me see and feel Your love, making it impossible to be overtaken by my wayward ways of thinking.  I need You and I thank You that You are my refuge.  May I find rest in You and You alone.

Amen.

The Real Issue . . . . Trust . . . . Faith

In ways that I have tended to minimize, I have fallen victim to people who were in positions where they were supposed to care for me and help me through the turmoil of growing up.  Some of those people failed me; they violated my trust.  That reality, that I once minimized, I now realize has impacted my how outlook.

And now, there is a part of me who is facing the same violation of trust, this time, however, I am struggling with God.  I put my faith in Christ as my Savior and Lord over 25 years ago.  I am found God to be totally trustworthy (as if I needed to experience it to make it true).  I would never even have mentioned it because this was a given in my heart of faith.

And then, Christopher died.  I am having a hard time imagining a restored relationship with my Heavenly Father who allowed my son to die.  I really thought that I had trusted him all along and this has been a huge violation of that trust.

Life has taught me that insanity is to continue to do the same thing, expecting different results.  What does that say about trusting people or a God who appears to have proven themselves to be not trustworthy.  Of course I realize that this may be a reliable mode of operation when it comes to people, but what about God.

The problem here is that I believe all I know about God.  I know that He loves me and that this is all for His Glory and my good.  I even believe that in my head, but my heart is lagging behind in this process.  Trust is not an issue of the intellect, it is an issue of the heart.  I don't trust God right now and I can't seem to convince myself to trust Him.  This makes it an issue of faith.  Faith, too, is a heart issue.  Faith is also a gift from God, not something that I can manufacture.

Some have supposed that this has been more of a challenge for me because I am generally a very competent and independent person.  I can work through things on my own, generally with much success.  I like being autonomous.  The lose of Christopher is not something that I have been able to resolve to my satisfaction;  I understand it, but I can't fix my heart.  The pain is bigger than what I can work through alone.

I have been so blessed by so very many friends who have been supportive through this process, but I have avoided the One who has the power to restore my faith.  I am certain it is because I can't trust Him and therefore am not sure that I want my faith restored.  I am not sure He can be trusted

The problem here is that I believe in the Gospel; I am confident and secure in my destination based on the finished work of Christ.  I know that I will see Christopher once again.  It is the years between now and then that worry me.  I can't live with this pain, but I don't feel like I can trust God and He is the only One who can bring healing.

This is a Big Deal - Still.

One of my biggest challenges with this grief process is that I don't like it and think that it should be over.  I think that the issue is that I tend to be apologetic for what I perceive to be a prolonged process.  I think that my biggest fear is that I'll let someone in on my grief who will tell me that it is time to get over it; like I often tell myself.

The reality is that I am not sure that I am still able to fully appreciate the magnitude of my loss.  I instinctively discount it because I am afraid that my feelings aren't valid.  Stupid, I know, because the truth is there is no reason for me to care what "you" think.  If someone wants to tell me that they could handle this better than me, I say, in spite of your arrogance, this is my one life experience that I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy.

Unless you have walked in my shoes, you speak from ignorance.  Because I know that, I forgive you.  Now I just need to forgive myself.  I know that this is a big deal, but I won't let me be where I am.  I just want to escape the rest of this process.  I know that this is a big deal . . . still.  

Still.  It has just been over 14 months and it feels like an eternity and it feels like it could have been last weekend.  I worry about people thinking that I have let this carry on long enough and the enemy is really me.  I just want relief.

I've been told that I beat myself up.  I probably do, but I am justified.  I want what I know about God and my status as His child to invade my life in such a way that I can let this go.

I don't think that there is necessarily a connection between my faith and my pain.  Pain does not reflect a lack of faith, it reflects the reality of a love that was G0d-breathed.  I believe God and I hurt.  I need to let those two things co-exist.

At the same time, I need to remind myself that the pain does not define me; my loss doesn't define me.  It has changed me forever, but it doesn't have to define me.  God has changed me forever; He defines me.

This isn't just about the grief and pain; it is about so much more.  I just need to remind myself on a daily basis that I am am beloved child of God.  He has adopted me willingly, just as I did Christopher.  I know how much I wanted Christopher to accept is position in my life.  I believe that God wants the same for me.

We're just talking about believing the truth.  If God gave me faith unto salvation 26 years ago, he can certainly give me faith to move forward, with or without pain.  I believe that He forgives and understands my struggle to believe.

Thanks be to God, my Father.

When will this feel real?

A week ago today, the son of a neighbor in my old neighborhood (where my mom lives now) died after a 28 year fight against cystic fybrosis. He was a remarkable young man as I knew him. I have to confess that I have failed to really stay in touch after we moved, but I have been able to stay remotely connected through friends.

Thursday, I stopped by to see Mary as I was not going to be able to attend the memorial service that night. After the usual greetings (we had already talked earlier in the week), we sat down. The first thing I remember her saying was, "When will this feel real, Judy?" To which I responded, "I'll let you know."

I think that has been one of the more difficult aspects for me about Christopher's death. Of course, the biggest challenge has been the deep, deep pain of missing him on a daily basis; I was really able to enjoy who he was and who I saw him becoming. After that, however, the challenge for me has been to understand and endure this process. I have always been very analytical and logic. What I have found so frustrating is that this horific grief process defies any logic at all.

Of course, I know that Christopher has left this world, but I still look at his pictures in utter and total disbelief. I know that he would want me to live life fully, not letting his passing have any negative effect. I know that God is good and that He loves me; He has more than proven that through Jesus. I know . . . I know . . . I know and yet, it doesn't feel real. None of it feels real. That he is gone doesn't feel real. That I can go one and live a fullfilled life doesn't seem possible. That God loves me and that this is the best for me is simply unfathomable.


A friend told me that "words really don't work, it is really all about the heart and mind." The trouble is that this defies the logic of my mind and I have no clue of how to reach my heart except through my understanding.

I think I'm in trouble.

I want MY family back.

To a great extent, Christopher's death has had the effect of throwing me back to a life I haven't known for nearly 15 years, maybe more if you consider the time I spent as a foster parent.  A friend described my love for Christopher as a force that pulled me into another world.  When he died, like a stretched rubber band that breaks, I was catapulted back into an old, now unfamiliar world.

You would think that having spent almost as much of my adult life in this world, it would be familiar.  The problem is that I am not the same person that I was 15 years ago.  Having loved and been loved changed all that.  The before Christopher world is longer appealing, but it feels like what I am stuck with.  But is it?

I feel like an alien in my own life these days.  I know all the people around me, but my purpose of functioning in their midst has changed.  Until 14 months ago, it was all about helping Christopher grown into a self-sufficient, independent, yet caring man.  I used to say that I was determined to raise him to be the man I never found;  I earnestly expected my daughter-in-law to thank me.  That was a lofty goal, admittedly, but it was my motivation.

Then the rubber band broke and I have been thrust back into this life the purpose of which does not feel familiar.  I realize that from a Christian's perspective nothing has changed (if I was doing the Christian thing right then and now), but let's be honest here.  Regardless of what we know to be our greater purpose or calling, we all get wrapped up in the day-to-day, personal story which is our little piece of His-tory.  Ultimately, it is all about God's purposes, but on any given day, it was all about seeing to Christopher's needs.  That is the way His-story manifested itself in my life.

Now there feels to be a gap.  My story doesn't seem to fulfill any meaningful part in His-story.  I don't see from where my legacy will now come.  I envisioned a daughter-in-law and grandchildren through which I would have a legacy for Christ.  This world is not designed to bestow meaning on the individual.  And I agree that the family is the most important sphere of influence.  And, when I had my family, I took my responsibility very seriously.

You see, children are what make family.  So with the loss of Christopher, I lost my family.  Yes, I still had my family of origin and, though, I love them, they are not where I fit anymore.  I had the privilege of spending 14 years in a different family and as they say, you can't go home.

I have found this to be so true.  I care deeply for and about my family, but having been in a different family for 14 years, they simply don't know me as I was known by my Christopher.  Children know so much more than we realize and it was becoming quite fun to hear his insights to that which I thought he was unaware.  He had amazing insight.

I miss being loved and known as only Christopher has ever loved and known me.  I so looked forward to watching him become the earthly head of a family.  He knew what real love is and gave freely of himself.

I miss him desperately.

I need rules

My son died just 13 months ago.  Even as I say that, I can't believe it is true.  I don't know how I am supposed to get through this.  There are no rules.  I like rules.  That way, I have a way to know if I am doing okay; no way to know if I am doing it right.

There is no one who will ever understand this even those who have been through it.  They didn't lose Christopher.  I am sure that whoever they lost was special to them, but it wasn't my Christopher.  

People say that I am doing so well.  I don't know what that means.  I am dying inside trying to do "good".  I do believe that God is sovereign and that He knows what is best, but I hate this pain.  I hate missing Christopher so very much.  I never knew that I had the capacity to love like this and now I never knew I had the capacity to hurt like this.  I have no idea how long I can endure this.

Add to that that I have no idea what "relief" would look like since I am totally aware of the fact that Christopher isn't coming back.  I don't now how you ever get "over" this and go forward.  I don't know what that even means.  I am not going to get over this.  I don't want to get over it, because to me that means that I have to stop loving him.  To love him and not be able to watch him live his life is so very painful. 

I can't see this pain ever ending because the love I never hoped to have will never end.

Accountability

The other night in class, in a kind of ice breaker (remember, these are social work classes), one of the questions presented to the group (there are only 8 of us in the class) was to whom did we feel accountable.  I gave the usual Christian response - God - and then added, "to my son's memory."  Not surprisingly, this is the part of my answer about which I was questioned.

When asked to explain what I meant, I realized that I feel a great obligation to Christopher and as a result, very accountable to his memory.  Christopher brought so much to my life.  I feel like I owe it to him to ensure that is his most significant contribution to my life is his life, and not his death.  

I feel compelled to do something with my life that reflects the wonder of all he added to my life.  To let his death detract from that would be to do a disservice to who Christopher was in my life.  I simply cannot let his death detract from all be brought to my life.

I believe this with my whole heart, but there are obstacles.  It is a very difficult balance.  I am so determined to keep on in spite of losing Christopher; I owe it to him.  At the same time, there is a part of me that feels that to live fully having lost him risks people thinking that I am over it.  

People just don't understand that I will never be over it.  I will never be the same; how could I be.  If I am able to move forward in "exciting" new directions it is in spite of his death, not because of it.  

I don't want to live a new life, I have to.  I have no choice in that, but I do have a choice as to what that new life is.  I could choose to live the life of a woman who has lost her primary purpose in life just 13 months ago.  Alternatively, I am choosing to look ahead and believe that God has something for me.

I'll leave that for another day.

My Purpose.

On the way back from Gainesville, GA, I stopped to spend some time with a friend in Pelham, GA. He and I are able to talk very openly and honestly. He has been special to me because he doesn't give me any of the spiritual platitudes and often reminds me that he knows nothing of what I must be going through.

We were talking about the void left from Christopher passing. I described it as if my purpose were a pie, I have lost about three quarters of it. Now, Christopher was still living at home and as such, was more of a focus than he would have been down the road. I feel the need clarify that I don't think that this means that he was ahead of God~who gave me Christopher to care for. This was my calling for the season that he was at home with me.

Trying to fill that void has been my challenge. Not so my a challenge, but an obsession. As I told Craig, there has to be something really significant that will fill the purpose I felt in being Christopher's mom.

I subscribe to an e-mail devotional that is put out by the Navigators. Some days just reading the short devotional is the best I can do. Today, I actually read the scripture (it was short!). Exodus 9:13-16 is one of those places where God tells Moses to go to Pharaoh and tells Moses exactly what to say. I felt as though God sent the Holy Spirit to me with these words:

• This time I am going to strike you and your servants and your people with the full force of my power so you'll get it into your head that there's no one like me anywhere in all the Earth. . . . But for one reason only I've kept you on your feet: To make you recognize my power so that my reputation spreads in all the Earth.

This is the big purpose that I as looking for: to spread God's reputation in all the earth. Before I can do that, however, I need to get it into my own head that there is no one like God anywhere in all the earth. And I need to recognized His power. The reason that I need to know God and his power is so that I will rely on Him. That is the only way that I can have a role in ensuring His reputation spreads in all the earth.

I particularly appreciate this passage this day because much of the last week has been spent talking out my vision with my dear friend Lisa. I feel called to work with meeting the felt needs of people who live in the community my church is called to serve. I don't feel particularly called to "evangelize", but rather to serve. For me, living and serving like Jesus would do will spread God's reputation. He can take it from there!

Thanks be to God that it is His job to convert the lost. I am just called to love - thereby spreading His reputation.