He’s still here…

It was one of the darkest nights since he left.  Rain had been falling all day.  The need to escape the confines of my home were desperately calling to me.  The deep pain was relentlessly throbbing in my heart.  Earlier in the day I found myself looking for our son, calling out his name as if he would appear.  The rain softly soaked my clothes as I walked in no particular direction.  I called out his name again and again as if he would answer.  Lightening lit up the sky.  A park bench was where I chose to sit and sob, silently longing for the connection of electric and metal.  

The jungle of grief shows no mercy to those in its grips.  The vines are loose and suddenly squeeze life, until you are gasping for air.  It’s deep and dark.  You look up for light not knowing if you will find it in that moment, that day or week. 

Grief is an automatic response to loss.  We have all felt this pain.  The multitude of emotions is exhausting.  I was adamant, demanding of myself to feel loss fully, so as not to wake up one day and seriously lose it.  I kept living life, nearly to the point of exhaustion.  

“Get busy living or get busy dying” is a quote from an inspiring movie, “The Shawshank Redemption.”  It’s about a man wrongly put in jail and his diligence to be free.  Experiencing the death of a loved one can feel like a prison.  A place you are trapped.  A cell with no windows, a hard floor and bars.  You want to be free from this burden.  You can see happy people just outside of your cell.  You long to be with them, but how?  The energy, thought and strength you once had is gone.  It departed with your loved one.  In it’s place came questions of why, how, what could I have done differently, I should have been there, could I have saved him?  Thoughts that you never got to say goodbye, crash down heavily.  You truly need a way out of that cell.

You begin to notice there are others imprisoned along side you.  How did you not notice this before?  The cellmates nearby share their story of blinding grief that brought them there.  Suddenly you realize a light is beginning to shine through a crack in the ceiling.  The more you share your story, the brighter the light becomes.  Allowing yourself to breakdown, seems to make you stronger.  This glimmer of light gives you hope.  The hole in your chest begins to fill with love, that you believed was lost.

I’ve been told, the best way to change others, is to change yourself.  Easier said than done.  I sought joy, peace and happiness with full force.  I was certain that grief was something I needed to “get through.”  It was simply a season in life.  I told myself daily that I COULD do it!  My mindset was that “I” could heal.  I could not and did not…heal.  I prayed often.  Lord, please change my broken heart;  bring healing to this life.  The fact is, that we will never be who we were before.  It’s not possible.

Once I accepted this unwelcome change, I began to see signs I’d never noticed before.  Reminders of loved ones are suddenly everywhere.  They bring peace.  The connection we have in life, remains in death.  Love does not vanish. It is simply no longer where we can see it.

Last Fall, a child in our family asked me if I thought our son’s purpose in this world had been fulfilled.  The thought never crossed my mind.  I was stuck in the fact that he was taken to soon.  His life was cut short.  He had so much to live for!  Oh, how much I needed him!  This question stayed in the forefront of my mind.  It was a different way of thinking.  What if his purpose WAS fulfilled?  None of us know how long our time on earth will be.  He brought such joy to those who loved him.  Selfishly, I longed for more time.  

When our family was younger and growing, getting us all in the same place on time, became a challenge.  Our good friends joked about being on “our time,” NOT “on time.”  So what if people DO leave this world “on time.”  Who’s to say when that is?  Our son was born two hours onto his due date.  He was prompt on his entry, perhaps he was on his exit as well.  We all have choices on how we see loss.  

Hope is a genuine, wonderful, four letter word.  It can bring peace and gratitude.  Each person I know that has lost a child has a similar fear.  These words cut right to the heart of the matter, “I could NOT make it through losing another child!”  Reasonable?  Indeed!   

Shortly after our son’s death, my daughter and I went on a mission trip. It had been planned for months before we received that dreadful phone call.  During our trip there was opportunity to speak to those receiving medical care from our brigade.  I was encouraged to speak the good news of Christ, to the people coming in for treatment.  We were not only there to give physical medicine, but spiritual as well.  God saw fit to place in front of me, parent after parent that had lost not one, but two, or three or more children!  Through tears and a translator I was humbled.  How was I in a third world country, learning from parents that had endured my worst fear?  They were living and breathing proof that life goes on. 

As they spoke to me of their children, a translator was not necessary.  I could see the parents grateful hearts through their eyes.  Love was still present within them.  Truly and deeply they spoke of the gift of their children.  They understood tomorrow is not guaranteed for anyone.  In awe, I comprehended.  If our son had not died, I would have been oblivious to their pain and magnitude of strength.  I was where God wanted me.  Tears were shed.  Together we prayed.

When my pregnant, swollen belly was contracting just minutes before our son was born, I cried out to my husband that I certainly could NOT do this…I cried out in the same manner the day our son left.  People are our gift for a short time here on this earth.  Find peace in knowing they were YOUR gift.  God loved you SO much that He gifted you the people you love AND His one and only Son that HE loved.

I was once asked why I continue to celebrate our son’s life.  The question…should I respond or react?  Always choose the light.  I will forever have a relationship with our son.  His body is no longer present, yet I feel his love, smile and light in my heart each day.  No one can take that away.  Love is alive and eternal.  Be thankful for your gifts.  Life is short.  Live it fully.  Say no to the darkness.  Choose to shine.  

Peace be with you!

MamaC

Evening, morning and noon , I cry out in distress and He hears my voice.  Psalm 55:17