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.