I wonder sometimes, as I live, work and socialize with different people, what types of agonies lurk in the front of their minds as they carry on conversations with me.
As I laugh and joke about mundane things, mention newspaper articles or comment on life,..have my friends been mentally and emotionally sidetracked by horrible memories?
Could my friends be making a valiant attempt to respond to my conversation but deep inside their head, they are mulling an internal pain which would silence me if I knew of it?
That happened to me today.
I excused myself from the crowd so I would not make a scene.
Was I angry?
Nope.
Were they insensitive?
Not really,..they didn't know me "before" so don't fully understand the sharp trajectory change my life has taken.
It's not noticeable to the eye.
I have a deep wound which appears healed, but festers under the surface.
My friends would not know that their topic of discussion began a mental train of thought which could not be stopped.
I could not tell them that as they were talking an joking among themselves that I was replaying a nightmarish scene that played itself out in my front yard of the afternoon of March 18th, 2004.
There are some pains which are never forgotten.
It becomes part of us without us wanting it to be so.
The hurt defies description, yet,.. it's ordinary and normal.
We pray to be separated from it, but it's utterly impossible.
It ebbs and fades at times, but we feel it from a distance knowing it will return.
We all say that "Pain comes to us all", but sleeping, waking and living with it is so,......painful.
It's not crippling by any means, but it is lonely.
Very lonely.
Maybe it's the grief of losing someone who we don't think we can live without.
Maybe it's the loss of love through divorce or rejection.
Violence inflicted upon us by another.
Physical illness and suffering.
A prodigal child.
Addiction.
Whatever it is,..it's is never far from the mind.
I must remember that when I interact with people.
I must remember that about me.
Showing posts with label Angst. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Angst. Show all posts
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Sunday, September 13, 2009
Jae, a Friend and a Song
My friend Mary Beth Chapman told a story recently on her blog which reminded me of one of my own special moments which happened about 16 months after Jae's accident.
One particular summer morning, I pulled a package out of our mailbox and saw it was from a distant friend. This person and I were friendly of course, but she was not someone that I had spoken with except in passing at various sports events. The package held a letter and a CD with a song which she felt I should have.
The following is a thank-you letter I sent to her and I think it will explain the story to you.
********************************************
Dear ________,
Thanks so very much for the CD of the song. Thanks even more for remembering that I am still so incredibly sad. It has been 16 months since the accident, and much to my surprise, I find myself having some good days here and there. I honestly would have not dreamed that good days would be possible for me again.
I wanted to let you know specifically how your song helped me last week.
Casey had been away at church camp for several days and she sent me a text message around 1130 PM. I had already gone to bed but heard the text signal, so I got up to read her message.
I am extremely bad about knowing the details of working my cell phone, and in the course of trying to read Casey’s message, I found a “file” of saved messages on my cell phone which I had never seen before.
Evidently Casey had taken my phone and saved all of Jae’s messages to me from the days and weeks before she was killed. She, of course, thought I knew about the file.
The first saved text message that I pulled up to read evoked one of my most precious memories of Jae Lynn on the morning of her 16th birthday. I recall over the past months wishing that I had somehow saved those messages (especially that particular one) and suddenly, at 1130 PM, I was suddenly and unexpectedly reading them.
It was as if I was, after all I have been through, hearing Jae say those words to me again.
Although I was thrilled with the discovery of Jae’s messages to me, I was overwhelmed and overcome with my loss of her presence.
There was no consoling me.
Alone, at midnight, sobbing in the dark, I remembered your CD which had arrived that very morning. I put it in and pressed “repeat”. I do not know how many times the song played, but I do know that I was able to go back to bed within a couple of hours.
How comforting it is for me to know that God cares about the hard moments of our life! He knew back when this song was written that He would somehow connect
the other mourners in their grief,
the song-writer who was inspired by their loss,
the recording artist,
and you
and me on one of my worst nights.
I am grateful that you went to the effort of sending it my way, 16 months after her death.
It ended up being much more than just a song.
Love,
Becky
One particular summer morning, I pulled a package out of our mailbox and saw it was from a distant friend. This person and I were friendly of course, but she was not someone that I had spoken with except in passing at various sports events. The package held a letter and a CD with a song which she felt I should have.
The following is a thank-you letter I sent to her and I think it will explain the story to you.
********************************************
Dear ________,
Thanks so very much for the CD of the song. Thanks even more for remembering that I am still so incredibly sad. It has been 16 months since the accident, and much to my surprise, I find myself having some good days here and there. I honestly would have not dreamed that good days would be possible for me again.
I wanted to let you know specifically how your song helped me last week.
Casey had been away at church camp for several days and she sent me a text message around 1130 PM. I had already gone to bed but heard the text signal, so I got up to read her message.
I am extremely bad about knowing the details of working my cell phone, and in the course of trying to read Casey’s message, I found a “file” of saved messages on my cell phone which I had never seen before.
Evidently Casey had taken my phone and saved all of Jae’s messages to me from the days and weeks before she was killed. She, of course, thought I knew about the file.
The first saved text message that I pulled up to read evoked one of my most precious memories of Jae Lynn on the morning of her 16th birthday. I recall over the past months wishing that I had somehow saved those messages (especially that particular one) and suddenly, at 1130 PM, I was suddenly and unexpectedly reading them.
It was as if I was, after all I have been through, hearing Jae say those words to me again.
Although I was thrilled with the discovery of Jae’s messages to me, I was overwhelmed and overcome with my loss of her presence.
There was no consoling me.
Alone, at midnight, sobbing in the dark, I remembered your CD which had arrived that very morning. I put it in and pressed “repeat”. I do not know how many times the song played, but I do know that I was able to go back to bed within a couple of hours.
How comforting it is for me to know that God cares about the hard moments of our life! He knew back when this song was written that He would somehow connect
the other mourners in their grief,
the song-writer who was inspired by their loss,
the recording artist,
and you
and me on one of my worst nights.
I am grateful that you went to the effort of sending it my way, 16 months after her death.
It ended up being much more than just a song.
Love,
Becky
Sunday, August 2, 2009
Sleepless
Insomnia again last night.
Ya know, when I can't sleep, it is usually because I have something on my mind.
Maybe something I've been dealing with in life like kids, church or our scholarship project in Jae's memory.
Maybe it's something which I absolutely should not be worried about such as my farm animals or leaks in my RV when it rains.
And then it is just apt to be something bizarre like "why are my feet cold? OH NO! My circulation must be bad and both feet will have to be amputated in just a few years!"
Usually at 2:00 am, I am determined that I will get up first thing and call Dr. Fendley and get me a sleeping pill. However, then I forget about it until the next time I am awake at 2:00 am.
Last night was different however.
Last night, I was missing Jae Lynn like I have not done in a while.
I recalled the horrific nights where I could not sleep for crying for her.
I recalled the demonic nightmares which tortured me for a while.
I recalled the amazing outpouring of love and friendship which sustained me then and continues to sustain me now.
As I lay there, I recounted the numerous times she appeared at my bedside in the middle of the night.
The longing for her continued throughout the day and I found myself rifling through pictures this afternoon so I could see her face, her smile and her expressions.
Sometimes, seeing her face in pictures brings me comfort.
Today however, they bring a deeper longing for Heaven.
Signing off now,..the moon is bright and I need to go stare at the night sky.
Ya know, when I can't sleep, it is usually because I have something on my mind.
Maybe something I've been dealing with in life like kids, church or our scholarship project in Jae's memory.
Maybe it's something which I absolutely should not be worried about such as my farm animals or leaks in my RV when it rains.
And then it is just apt to be something bizarre like "why are my feet cold? OH NO! My circulation must be bad and both feet will have to be amputated in just a few years!"
Usually at 2:00 am, I am determined that I will get up first thing and call Dr. Fendley and get me a sleeping pill. However, then I forget about it until the next time I am awake at 2:00 am.
Last night was different however.
Last night, I was missing Jae Lynn like I have not done in a while.
I recalled the horrific nights where I could not sleep for crying for her.
I recalled the demonic nightmares which tortured me for a while.
I recalled the amazing outpouring of love and friendship which sustained me then and continues to sustain me now.
As I lay there, I recounted the numerous times she appeared at my bedside in the middle of the night.
The longing for her continued throughout the day and I found myself rifling through pictures this afternoon so I could see her face, her smile and her expressions.
I stare at those photographs and recall those moments when those pictures were taken. What would I have thought had I known how I would soon be looking at them?
Incredibly,...today,... 5 years after....I am filled with disbelief that I had her in our home, in our life, at my bedside and now she is gone.
I've been doing that "shaking my head No" thing again.
Sometimes, seeing her face in pictures brings me comfort.
Today however, they bring a deeper longing for Heaven.
I would not have you ignorant brothers concerning those who are asleep.
You believe in God, believe also in Me.
In My Father's house are many mansions.
If it were not so, I would tell you.
I go to prepare a place for you
so that where I am, there you will be also.
(Becky version)
Signing off now,..the moon is bright and I need to go stare at the night sky.
Sunday, February 1, 2009
Graveyards At Night
My friend Beth asked me from a recent post "What makes you go to the cemetery at night?
You are a good friend to me Beth and have sought to understand me from the beginning of my grief walk.
It's a question that several people have asked me during the last 5 years so can I assume that others may want to know as well?
Maybe so.
Maybe not.
As most people know, mention a graveyard around a group of people where one person has experienced loss and you will immediately have a new insight on the phrase "conversation stopper".
Everybody squirms.
Most people will never discuss or bring the subject up.
Here's my thoughts on Jae's burial place.
They may not be very understandable.
Some may think them macabre.
Some may think "scandalous!"
Many will see me as not coping well in this area.
However,..the very definition of "cope" means to contend with difficulties.
I think I am contending just fine.
I count my hours spent at the cemetery as some of the most sacred times of my life. Sitting besides the earthly body of the oldest daughter whom I still love so deeply, but am unable to see or hold is agonizing.
Yet,.... a thousand horses will not keep me away.
Today, almost 5 years after her death,...it is there that I feel closest to her.
I can sit right up next to her beautiful black headstone and know that I am mere inches away from her beautiful blond hair.
I can stretch out beside the grave and recall the times we lay in a similar fashion on our beds, the beach or in the grass of our front yard.
I can sit on the bench at her feet and feel as if I am looking almost directly into her sweet little face.
Some people "talk" to their loved one in the grave, but I never do.
The conversations I have there are with God, not Jae.
As I lay on my blanket there beside her grave and look into the starry sky, I make an attempt to connect the two realms,...Heaven where she is and Earth,..where she is no more.
Those are both big subjects to ponder, and they have stretched my brain and heart beyond what I thought I could do.
The things I've learned in my cemetery pondering moments are things that can not be found in books.
I can't tell how many times I have stood beside the grave and looked up into Heaven and pointed down to her grave asking God "Do you see this catastrophe? Are you looking at this?"
Knowing that He does,..fills me with confusion and yet,...gives me comfort.
I often approach her grave and sink with despair onto the very piece of ground which covers and holds one of the most "alive" person I have ever known. Then other times, I quickly drop by to "check on things" and leave filled with peace and gratitude that she was mine for 16 years.
I marvel that it's possible to feel that way.
I hate it is in the middle of town. Surrounded by storage units, a dry cleaner and auto parts store. Then other times, I love that she is in the middle of town. People go by often to be near her.
I sit beside her grave and gaze at the thousand other graves which hold people who are no longer missed or mourned. For that reason, I get encouraged when people go by her grave and leave her mementos. It makes me know that she is not forgotten.
Rainy, icy cold weather causes my stomach to knot up. I hate that she is out there in it.
I'm a patient girl. But I just may get a little bit snippy with anyone who tries to tell me that "she's not there. She is in Heaven."
No one knows that as well as I do.
But few people say that to me.
I am blessed with friends who allow me, encourage me and would go there with me to the grave if I asked them to.
I think that giving attention to Jae's grave is scriptural. "Burial places" are mentioned throughout the Bible. Many of my favorite Bible character stories end with the phrase,
"....and then he/she died and was buried."
God could have said that they just "died".
Someday Jae, her grandparents, her aunts and uncles, her friend Lauren who is just a few feet away and others will come out of their graves. I believe they will literally "come out" of that grave which I love/hate.
John 5:28 says:
The time is coming when everyone who is dead and buried will hear His voice and walk out into a resurrected Life.
I have trouble comprehending and understanding that,..but I try to imagine it anyway.
It is my hope.
It is my hope.
You are a good friend to me Beth and have sought to understand me from the beginning of my grief walk.
It's a question that several people have asked me during the last 5 years so can I assume that others may want to know as well?
Maybe so.
Maybe not.
As most people know, mention a graveyard around a group of people where one person has experienced loss and you will immediately have a new insight on the phrase "conversation stopper".
Everybody squirms.
Most people will never discuss or bring the subject up.
Here's my thoughts on Jae's burial place.
They may not be very understandable.
Some may think them macabre.
Some may think "scandalous!"
Many will see me as not coping well in this area.
However,..the very definition of "cope" means to contend with difficulties.
I think I am contending just fine.
I count my hours spent at the cemetery as some of the most sacred times of my life. Sitting besides the earthly body of the oldest daughter whom I still love so deeply, but am unable to see or hold is agonizing.
Yet,.... a thousand horses will not keep me away.
Today, almost 5 years after her death,...it is there that I feel closest to her.
I can sit right up next to her beautiful black headstone and know that I am mere inches away from her beautiful blond hair.
I can stretch out beside the grave and recall the times we lay in a similar fashion on our beds, the beach or in the grass of our front yard.
I can sit on the bench at her feet and feel as if I am looking almost directly into her sweet little face.
Some people "talk" to their loved one in the grave, but I never do.
The conversations I have there are with God, not Jae.
As I lay on my blanket there beside her grave and look into the starry sky, I make an attempt to connect the two realms,...Heaven where she is and Earth,..where she is no more.
Those are both big subjects to ponder, and they have stretched my brain and heart beyond what I thought I could do.
The things I've learned in my cemetery pondering moments are things that can not be found in books.
I can't tell how many times I have stood beside the grave and looked up into Heaven and pointed down to her grave asking God "Do you see this catastrophe? Are you looking at this?"
Knowing that He does,..fills me with confusion and yet,...gives me comfort.
I often approach her grave and sink with despair onto the very piece of ground which covers and holds one of the most "alive" person I have ever known. Then other times, I quickly drop by to "check on things" and leave filled with peace and gratitude that she was mine for 16 years.
I marvel that it's possible to feel that way.
I hate it is in the middle of town. Surrounded by storage units, a dry cleaner and auto parts store. Then other times, I love that she is in the middle of town. People go by often to be near her.
I sit beside her grave and gaze at the thousand other graves which hold people who are no longer missed or mourned. For that reason, I get encouraged when people go by her grave and leave her mementos. It makes me know that she is not forgotten.
Rainy, icy cold weather causes my stomach to knot up. I hate that she is out there in it.
I'm a patient girl. But I just may get a little bit snippy with anyone who tries to tell me that "she's not there. She is in Heaven."
No one knows that as well as I do.
But few people say that to me.
I am blessed with friends who allow me, encourage me and would go there with me to the grave if I asked them to.
I think that giving attention to Jae's grave is scriptural. "Burial places" are mentioned throughout the Bible. Many of my favorite Bible character stories end with the phrase,
"....and then he/she died and was buried."
God could have said that they just "died".
Someday Jae, her grandparents, her aunts and uncles, her friend Lauren who is just a few feet away and others will come out of their graves. I believe they will literally "come out" of that grave which I love/hate.
John 5:28 says:
The time is coming when everyone who is dead and buried will hear His voice and walk out into a resurrected Life.
I have trouble comprehending and understanding that,..but I try to imagine it anyway.
It is my hope.
It is my hope.
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
Something Is Missing
Last night was the Bereaved Parents annual candlelight remembrance of our children. A mom (or dad) can not come out of a gathering like that with her emotions intact. Mine were pretty much in tatters.
I tend to look all fine on the outside,...but my insides are not always in such good shape. It's not that I always try to hide things. I have no intention to masquerade, it's just the way I am.
I worked today, chatted with patients, answered phone calls, did my usual job.
But something was very different today.
Something is wrong.
Something is missing.
I woke up feeling that way.
Clocked in, wondering if today was the day. (for what?)
All day I checked my cell for missed calls and I anticipated every phone call at work was for me.
Wished I was home.
Lots of ideas about lots of things, but no energy to do more than "think" of them.
I am feeling powerless and and disconnected from my responsibilities.
Today I spoke with the kind woman who "cared" for Jae at the funeral home. This sweet lady cried today as she recalled crying over her small body that day.
My boss asked me today to apply for a job which would increase my work load by about 1100%. The absurdity of the request was only exceeded by my consideration of doing what he asked. Apply for a job which I don't give a hoot about?
Who does things like that?
Sunday, Ralph was up in the attic looking for something and decided to bring down all our Christmas decorations. He knows I've not been into those since before losing Jae, but men don't always think of those things. Had myself a quiet little freak out moment when they slid down the attic ladder, but I tried not to show it. (Casey was holding her breath, I could tell)
The decorations have sat in the hallway ever since. Unopened. We are walking all around them.
He has offered to put them back up. But I'm not sure,....
Why do I make this a big deal?
What's the rules for something like this?
I know there are families of four all over the place. It's good for them. But it just isn't satisfactory for us. Ralph, Casey, Abby and I enjoy each other immensely, but the Ralph Russell family is a family of 5.
We will always wonder "What if Jae were here,.."
Always wishing things were different.
Tonight I drove home slow. In the rain. Radio silent. Brow all furrowed up.
Thinking of Jae.
Her presence.
Her absence.
Our life as it used to be and as it is now.
Her life as it used to be and wondering what it is now.
Something is missing all right.
I tend to look all fine on the outside,...but my insides are not always in such good shape. It's not that I always try to hide things. I have no intention to masquerade, it's just the way I am.
I worked today, chatted with patients, answered phone calls, did my usual job.
But something was very different today.
Something is wrong.
Something is missing.
I woke up feeling that way.
Clocked in, wondering if today was the day. (for what?)
All day I checked my cell for missed calls and I anticipated every phone call at work was for me.
Wished I was home.
Lots of ideas about lots of things, but no energy to do more than "think" of them.
I am feeling powerless and and disconnected from my responsibilities.
Today I spoke with the kind woman who "cared" for Jae at the funeral home. This sweet lady cried today as she recalled crying over her small body that day.
My boss asked me today to apply for a job which would increase my work load by about 1100%. The absurdity of the request was only exceeded by my consideration of doing what he asked. Apply for a job which I don't give a hoot about?
Who does things like that?
Sunday, Ralph was up in the attic looking for something and decided to bring down all our Christmas decorations. He knows I've not been into those since before losing Jae, but men don't always think of those things. Had myself a quiet little freak out moment when they slid down the attic ladder, but I tried not to show it. (Casey was holding her breath, I could tell)
The decorations have sat in the hallway ever since. Unopened. We are walking all around them.
He has offered to put them back up. But I'm not sure,....
Why do I make this a big deal?
What's the rules for something like this?
I know there are families of four all over the place. It's good for them. But it just isn't satisfactory for us. Ralph, Casey, Abby and I enjoy each other immensely, but the Ralph Russell family is a family of 5.
We will always wonder "What if Jae were here,.."
Always wishing things were different.
Tonight I drove home slow. In the rain. Radio silent. Brow all furrowed up.
Thinking of Jae.
Her presence.
Her absence.
Our life as it used to be and as it is now.
Her life as it used to be and wondering what it is now.
Something is missing all right.
Friday, October 3, 2008
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
Letters to the Unseen
Dear Peace,
I have read all my life in Philippians that you will guard my heart and mind. It's true that when you are there, you do indeed surpass all understanding, but this morning I have a question:
Where are you?
It appears that you have left your post. You have left me vulnerable and unprotected.
Dear Death,
My question for you is:
Who are you?
You are obviously under God's power because He uses you for a wide variety of reasons in scripture. Most are unpleasant.
To me, you are the most destructive weapon of my most feared enemy. The wound you have inflicted on me is staggering.
But then,....God Himself rejoices when you bring one of us to Him.
I don't understand you death.
Are you Satan?
Are you an angel?
The Apostle Paul taunted you in I Corinthians 15, but I will not.
Dear Hope and Joy,
What a blessing the two of you have been to me. Neither of you have left my side, even when I was at my lowest place. You both are the reason I can get up each morning. It is an indescribable encouragement to know that you are steady in spite of emotions. I have not always felt you in my circumstances, but I have known in my head you were there. When "peace" takes a break, and my heart begins to fail me, you stay in my mind.
I don't always understand you, I can occasionally explain you, but I am always grateful for you.
Dear Jae,
I would give anything and everything I own this morning to hold you, look into your eyes and hear your voice.
I have been unable to stop myself lately from looking through our pictures so I could see you more. Your absence in this home may not be discussed every moment, but is a steady thread of pain that is woven into all we do. We may laugh at a good or funny memory, but as the laughter goes away, and we each draw back into ourselves, we walk away from the moment with the bitter reminder of what we no longer have.
We are still learning to keep the family car on the road with one wheel off, but every once in a while, I just have to pull over and get out to survey the damage. I shake my head in amazement that the car still runs.
Our family of 5 still lives, you there, and us here.
You now have understanding, and we have none.
Until death (whoever he is) brings me there, with you, I will do my best to hold onto the God who loves us both so very much. Trying to understand God exhausts me, but my hope in Him is my spiritual, emotional and mental salvation.
I have no idea what Heaven will be like when I first get there, but surely,....surely,....God will let me find you.
Be looking.
I have read all my life in Philippians that you will guard my heart and mind. It's true that when you are there, you do indeed surpass all understanding, but this morning I have a question:
Where are you?
It appears that you have left your post. You have left me vulnerable and unprotected.
Dear Death,
My question for you is:
Who are you?
You are obviously under God's power because He uses you for a wide variety of reasons in scripture. Most are unpleasant.
To me, you are the most destructive weapon of my most feared enemy. The wound you have inflicted on me is staggering.
But then,....God Himself rejoices when you bring one of us to Him.
I don't understand you death.
Are you Satan?
Are you an angel?
The Apostle Paul taunted you in I Corinthians 15, but I will not.
Dear Hope and Joy,
What a blessing the two of you have been to me. Neither of you have left my side, even when I was at my lowest place. You both are the reason I can get up each morning. It is an indescribable encouragement to know that you are steady in spite of emotions. I have not always felt you in my circumstances, but I have known in my head you were there. When "peace" takes a break, and my heart begins to fail me, you stay in my mind.
I don't always understand you, I can occasionally explain you, but I am always grateful for you.
Dear Jae,
I would give anything and everything I own this morning to hold you, look into your eyes and hear your voice.
I have been unable to stop myself lately from looking through our pictures so I could see you more. Your absence in this home may not be discussed every moment, but is a steady thread of pain that is woven into all we do. We may laugh at a good or funny memory, but as the laughter goes away, and we each draw back into ourselves, we walk away from the moment with the bitter reminder of what we no longer have.
We are still learning to keep the family car on the road with one wheel off, but every once in a while, I just have to pull over and get out to survey the damage. I shake my head in amazement that the car still runs.
Our family of 5 still lives, you there, and us here.
You now have understanding, and we have none.
Until death (whoever he is) brings me there, with you, I will do my best to hold onto the God who loves us both so very much. Trying to understand God exhausts me, but my hope in Him is my spiritual, emotional and mental salvation.
I have no idea what Heaven will be like when I first get there, but surely,....surely,....God will let me find you.
Be looking.
Sunday, January 6, 2008
Sleeping in Jae's bed
It has been a long time since I slept in her bed. I used to go there often, nightly in fact, in the days and weeks after her accident. I felt closer to her there, and it was filled with so many of the physical things which she held dear. I still feel close to here there in that purple and green room.
When I spoke last summer at the Bereaved Parent National Gathering,..I recall visiting with another one of the presenters. This wonderful man had been a regular speaker with the organization for years, and is highly educated and esteemed. In our conversation, I mentioned in passing that I had not done anything to Jae's room since her accident. He let me finish what I was saying, but then her drew me back to my earlier statement. I can not recall his exact words, but he basically asked if I knew that "not re-decorating a child's room is a sign of poor coping? It often means that you are not moving on".
Do tell.
Really?
Well I have a word for him and the rest of "those people" who say I am not coping well with the death of my oldest child.
Shut up.
I can lay in her bed at night and see the fluorescent stick-on stars that we applied to the ceiling.
I laid there last night and recalled the made-up bedtime stories about a mouse named Coco who lived under our barn. (Coco was almost a part of our family. He used to hop aboard the bumper of our Dodge Caravan and go everywhere we went.)
I laid there and recalled the time she had taken us through an emotional eventful night of getting our car stuck in the mud behind the church, then covering her daddy in mud as he tried to get it out of the mud, then him making her wash the car at 10:00 at night because IT was covered in mud, and then her making peace with him about it all. She had messed up, gotten in trouble, and had then experienced the wonderful feeling of grace and forgiveness. It was one of mine and her most tender tuck-in times.
16 years old.
I laid there and recalled the bedtime when she was 10. We had watched an episode of "Boy Meets World", and this particular episode had been pretty frank about sex. As I tucked her in that night, she asked me a question about it. I began to explain some things to her and she pulled the covers over her head and squeaked "No! No! I don't want to talk about this!!"
Sounds of her bedroom used to include the noisy doorknob, her eye-glasses clinking as she took them off, her warbly singing, her cell phone "Rumba" ring, her dresser drawers going out and in, her headboard which is loose and bangs against the wall, and, of course, the sounds of a cheerleader practicing her stunts.
Then there was the time she began to talk about her grades in Algebra and began to hyperventilate. I had to get a bag for her to breathe in and everything.
I laid on her bed last night and recalled 100 more memories than what I have written here.
Right there in the dark,..me, blankey and mousey, stared at those ceiling stars and missed her with a quiet longing that I have grown accustomed to.
I imagine it may be like enjoying the beauty and sound of this world, but then becoming irreversibly blind and deaf. I don't know.
Her room is always clean now.
Her junk drawer, to my great comfort, still smells like her.
Her clothes are in the closet and her shoes are by the door. If someone goes in there and moves things around, it is no big deal.
The room is not a shrine.
It is my oldest daughter's bedroom.
When I spoke last summer at the Bereaved Parent National Gathering,..I recall visiting with another one of the presenters. This wonderful man had been a regular speaker with the organization for years, and is highly educated and esteemed. In our conversation, I mentioned in passing that I had not done anything to Jae's room since her accident. He let me finish what I was saying, but then her drew me back to my earlier statement. I can not recall his exact words, but he basically asked if I knew that "not re-decorating a child's room is a sign of poor coping? It often means that you are not moving on".
Do tell.
Really?
Well I have a word for him and the rest of "those people" who say I am not coping well with the death of my oldest child.
Shut up.
I can lay in her bed at night and see the fluorescent stick-on stars that we applied to the ceiling.
I laid there last night and recalled the made-up bedtime stories about a mouse named Coco who lived under our barn. (Coco was almost a part of our family. He used to hop aboard the bumper of our Dodge Caravan and go everywhere we went.)
I laid there and recalled the time she had taken us through an emotional eventful night of getting our car stuck in the mud behind the church, then covering her daddy in mud as he tried to get it out of the mud, then him making her wash the car at 10:00 at night because IT was covered in mud, and then her making peace with him about it all. She had messed up, gotten in trouble, and had then experienced the wonderful feeling of grace and forgiveness. It was one of mine and her most tender tuck-in times.
16 years old.
I laid there and recalled the bedtime when she was 10. We had watched an episode of "Boy Meets World", and this particular episode had been pretty frank about sex. As I tucked her in that night, she asked me a question about it. I began to explain some things to her and she pulled the covers over her head and squeaked "No! No! I don't want to talk about this!!"
Sounds of her bedroom used to include the noisy doorknob, her eye-glasses clinking as she took them off, her warbly singing, her cell phone "Rumba" ring, her dresser drawers going out and in, her headboard which is loose and bangs against the wall, and, of course, the sounds of a cheerleader practicing her stunts.
Then there was the time she began to talk about her grades in Algebra and began to hyperventilate. I had to get a bag for her to breathe in and everything.
I laid on her bed last night and recalled 100 more memories than what I have written here.
Right there in the dark,..me, blankey and mousey, stared at those ceiling stars and missed her with a quiet longing that I have grown accustomed to.
I imagine it may be like enjoying the beauty and sound of this world, but then becoming irreversibly blind and deaf. I don't know.
Her room is always clean now.
Her junk drawer, to my great comfort, still smells like her.
Her clothes are in the closet and her shoes are by the door. If someone goes in there and moves things around, it is no big deal.
The room is not a shrine.
It is my oldest daughter's bedroom.
Sunday, December 16, 2007
Questions
I think that I may stay for awhile on this subject of "becoming stronger or becoming bitter".
I have pondered for months as to what makes some of us pull towards God in pain and some of us pull away from Him.
Are there any books out there which spell out the spiritual direction we will go?
We all have emotional and physical devastations,..but we all respond differently.
I know personally that practicing what I preach is much harder than I thought it would be. I can just hear the phrase (sing-song voice here) "we are to trust in God in the good times as well as the bad". Altho I can not recall any times specifically, I am sure that I said that phrase to people who were hurting.
I was clueless.
I am sorry that I said that to anyone.
I very well may say it to someone again, but now,...now,..I will know what I am talking about.
Is it our upbringing?
Is it our genetic temperament?
People endure similar losses, but have polar opposite reactions. Why?
To me, the fact that God will make sense of my loss is the only thing that makes sense. Nothing else will hold muster. Somewhere, sometime, in Heaven I guess, I will see that losing Jae Lynn had a purpose. To say otherwise would enrage me. Of course, her death was not pointless!
My frustration is that I have not been allowed to know the point. The purpose is hidden from me. Me. Her mother. God makes me an intelligent woman and then keeps me in the dark about such stuff.
What in the world can He be thinking?
Isaiah 55 reminds me that "For My thoughts are not your thoughts, Nor are your ways My ways. As far as the Heavens are higher than the Earth, so are My ways higher than your ways, and My thoughts higher than your thoughts".
In spite of knowing this verse, and truly believing it,..I suspect I will continue to grapple with wanting answers.
Then, when I get worn slap dab out from grappling, I "rest" in the knowledge that He has a really good explanation. I don't "rest" there because I have come to terms with anything, it's just that I am too worn out to think anymore. Then, before I know it, I pick up all the pain again and once again ask God: "What are you thinking?"
No answers here tonight.
I have pondered for months as to what makes some of us pull towards God in pain and some of us pull away from Him.
Are there any books out there which spell out the spiritual direction we will go?
We all have emotional and physical devastations,..but we all respond differently.
I know personally that practicing what I preach is much harder than I thought it would be. I can just hear the phrase (sing-song voice here) "we are to trust in God in the good times as well as the bad". Altho I can not recall any times specifically, I am sure that I said that phrase to people who were hurting.
I was clueless.
I am sorry that I said that to anyone.
I very well may say it to someone again, but now,...now,..I will know what I am talking about.
Is it our upbringing?
Is it our genetic temperament?
People endure similar losses, but have polar opposite reactions. Why?
To me, the fact that God will make sense of my loss is the only thing that makes sense. Nothing else will hold muster. Somewhere, sometime, in Heaven I guess, I will see that losing Jae Lynn had a purpose. To say otherwise would enrage me. Of course, her death was not pointless!
My frustration is that I have not been allowed to know the point. The purpose is hidden from me. Me. Her mother. God makes me an intelligent woman and then keeps me in the dark about such stuff.
What in the world can He be thinking?
Isaiah 55 reminds me that "For My thoughts are not your thoughts, Nor are your ways My ways. As far as the Heavens are higher than the Earth, so are My ways higher than your ways, and My thoughts higher than your thoughts".
In spite of knowing this verse, and truly believing it,..I suspect I will continue to grapple with wanting answers.
Then, when I get worn slap dab out from grappling, I "rest" in the knowledge that He has a really good explanation. I don't "rest" there because I have come to terms with anything, it's just that I am too worn out to think anymore. Then, before I know it, I pick up all the pain again and once again ask God: "What are you thinking?"
No answers here tonight.
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
Headlights and Hankies, part II
The surprise on my way home occured in my car as I began to process the emotions I have been experiencing in the past few days. Nothing to do with the headlight incident. Really.
It is a good thing that I work with a hilarious group of individuals or I just might be a bitter person. Their good nature rubs off on me every day I am around them, but occasionally even they can not improve my mood. That's how it was Monday night. I zoomed through the end of the days tasks at work, because I was felt as if I were going to cry at any moment. And I did not want to do it in front of them. Didn't want to be a baby. After all, this is my fourth Christmas without her.
I decided on the way home that I needed to go to Jae's grave. She needs a new flag on her flag stand. And her place has been bare lately, without a lot of trinkets and mementos. What she needed was an Angel for her grave or her headstone. As I went up and down the Wal-Mart aisles of decorations and ornament's, I began to cry.
There were no angels beautiful enough for her grave.
Carols playing overhead.
Mothers pushing their daughters around in shopping carts.
Dozens of people looking for cute ornaments for their tree.
No one knowing why I was there beside them.
Joy everywhere.
Joy. Joy. Joy.
I wanted to scream.
I asked the worker about angels. She said they had none.
"Flags?"
nope.
"Kleenex? Do you have Kleenex?" I asked.
Nope. Just a brown paper towel.
Have you ever tried to blow your nose with a brown paper towel? It has to be similar to using aluminum foil.
After buying a few other things which I needed, and passing friends whom I held away with a wave, I finally reached my car. Out of control. Right there in the parking lot. It had been building all week,...maybe all month, but it came out right there in my car, in the dark, in the Wal-Mart parking lot.
(Did you hear me?)
I never knew people could have a nervous breakdown just from walking through a store. But from now on, when I go into the parking lots at Christmas time, I am going to look for those people like me. I know they are there.
Four Christmases later, I find that I am used to feeling of grief. It is very familiar to me. However, the intensity still sometimes catches me by surprise.
I can truly enjoy some aspects of the holidays, while others test my sanity.
Today, I am much better. Better at hiding it? No. Just better than I was. I don't try to figure it out. It's just the way it is. I am simply better today.
.
It is a good thing that I work with a hilarious group of individuals or I just might be a bitter person. Their good nature rubs off on me every day I am around them, but occasionally even they can not improve my mood. That's how it was Monday night. I zoomed through the end of the days tasks at work, because I was felt as if I were going to cry at any moment. And I did not want to do it in front of them. Didn't want to be a baby. After all, this is my fourth Christmas without her.
I decided on the way home that I needed to go to Jae's grave. She needs a new flag on her flag stand. And her place has been bare lately, without a lot of trinkets and mementos. What she needed was an Angel for her grave or her headstone. As I went up and down the Wal-Mart aisles of decorations and ornament's, I began to cry.
There were no angels beautiful enough for her grave.
Carols playing overhead.
Mothers pushing their daughters around in shopping carts.
Dozens of people looking for cute ornaments for their tree.
No one knowing why I was there beside them.
Joy everywhere.
Joy. Joy. Joy.
I wanted to scream.
I asked the worker about angels. She said they had none.
"Flags?"
nope.
"Kleenex? Do you have Kleenex?" I asked.
Nope. Just a brown paper towel.
Have you ever tried to blow your nose with a brown paper towel? It has to be similar to using aluminum foil.
After buying a few other things which I needed, and passing friends whom I held away with a wave, I finally reached my car. Out of control. Right there in the parking lot. It had been building all week,...maybe all month, but it came out right there in my car, in the dark, in the Wal-Mart parking lot.
(Did you hear me?)
I never knew people could have a nervous breakdown just from walking through a store. But from now on, when I go into the parking lots at Christmas time, I am going to look for those people like me. I know they are there.
Four Christmases later, I find that I am used to feeling of grief. It is very familiar to me. However, the intensity still sometimes catches me by surprise.
I can truly enjoy some aspects of the holidays, while others test my sanity.
Today, I am much better. Better at hiding it? No. Just better than I was. I don't try to figure it out. It's just the way it is. I am simply better today.
.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)