Slow and Steady

My former boss tells this story:

There once was a strong young man who challenged an old man to a contest of chopping wood.  The young man was confident he would win because of his muscles and youth.  The old man accepted the challenge so the contest began. The young man chopped the wood as fast as he could but he noticed the old man taking frequent breaks between his chopping.  When the contest was over the old man won! 

"How did you win?" asked the young man for he was very tired and confused.
The old man replied, "With each break, I sharpened my axe."

In my experience with grief I find myself taking breaks to sharpen my axe.  I sleep more.  Some days I eat more - or less - depending on how I'm feeling.  I try to extend grace to myself when I have to cancel an engagement.  I have to redefine what "normal" is now that these people are no longer in my here and now.

I've been reading that grief is one of the ways God helps us heal slowly and may I add, intentionally.  He wants us to slow down and grieve.  Don't rush through it.  Don't try to tell yourself it's not real.  Don't hide your feelings from those who want to help.  Be real with yourself and others.  Do it slow and steady, as God wants you to.

Some people, myself included, want to run through the grief like there's no weight on their shoulders.  On the contrary, I feel so weighed down that it's often hard to accomplish any task or relationship during the day, sometimes during the week.  I've been slowed down by something that isn't logical.  I don't understand all the intricacies of grief.  It baffles me that grief has such an effect on my physical energy and emotional steadiness.  I think it's supposed to.

Jesus wept. 
Nowadays, so do I.

It's the Little Things

Ryan, Joe, Aaron, Amy, Jon, Hope, Samantha & Alicia

 

'08

For Christmas 2009, the day was a little hectic so a photo of me with the kids wasn't doable.  This is the last photo I have of all of us.  It's one of those pictures that will be less one child in 2010.

It's the little things...
Aaron's hand on my arm.
Him saying, "Hi Aunt Amy!!"
Shopping for his gifts.
Wrapping his gifts.
Putting his name on gifts.
Watching his eyes as he opens his presents.
Exchanging looks.
Giving hugs.
Hearing his voice.

The little things. 
They are much larger, now that he is gone. 
I wish he was here so I could give him...
More little things.

A kiss on the cheek.
A smile from across the room.
A conversation just between us.
Sharing laughs in the car.
Playing games with he and his brothers.
Watching them play hard nose football.
Movies, stories and Jesus.

I miss you, Aaron.  I always will.
Love Aunt Amy

The Days After

  
"Whether we meet our grief with a determined avoidance of tears or a seeming overabundance of them, one thing is sure, our lives have been changed irrevocably."    (Page 48 of Grieving the Loss of Someone You Love)

What do you do when the funeral is over, the attention is gone and you're left with no one but yourself to cope with the grief and loss that is effecting everything in your life?  I talked to family members when I could, went to therapy when I could, went to AA meetings when I could but didn't cry until later.

Surprising, isn't it?  Not really.  I've been told shock is one of the first things the body goes into when it's overwhelmed by emotional circumstances or events.  I can attest to that logic.  My entity went into shock for many months up until now.  Now I can reach out.  Now I can write.  Now I can talk.  Now I can cry.

Facing the loss of someone you loved and will never have a chance to see again is sad.  It's unchangeable, it shakes you up, it destroys what little serenity you were clinging to.  It interrupts normalcy and demands you be taken hostage in its grips.  But then what?


I don't know.  Today I am numb to the pain of it all.  I see Aaron's photo frame, Cathy's memorial card, Maryla's picture, Bill and Sharon, and a series of pictures of my Dad and I.  It's called the memory wall.  It holds pictures of people who have died who have touched my life in someway.  Karen is up there, too, but her loss was many years ago.

It's healing to see pictures after the death of a loved one.  It brings them back into real time even though my heart and mind know differently.  I suppose that's one way to unpack the pain.  Bring it out of the shadows and watch it as it gives light to a whole new understanding of death.

Dear God, please make me an instrument of your peace so that all who see You will come to You, be saved by Your Grace and worship Your Name for you are a Holy God.

Give Sorrow Words???

I've never written about the week Aaron died.  From Monday through Friday all sorts of things were happening.  I think if I were to try and recount it, I would fall to the floor and weep.

What did I do in those five days?

Did I tell Aaron how much I loved him, how much I wanted him to fight for his life knowing he was dying anyway?  Did I stand by my sister and brother in law as they watched his son hooked up to machines that made all sorts of noises?  Did I bring comfort to their pain as they watched Aaron struggle for life?  What about Aaron's mom?  Did I show her the love of Christ in those moments, setting aside all dissension?  I believe I did all these things and much more.

Yes, if I were to piece together all the words of sorrow I felt I would fall on my face and weep.

And maybe it's as simple as that - weep.

A Time To Mourn

On September 6th when our family tried to figure out how and what to do for Aaron's birthday one little girl noticed something was wrong.


My niece Alicia, all of six, said, "This is the saddest birthday party I've ever been to."
"Yeah," was all I could say as we sat together in front of his urn and flowers.
Then she asked, "Where's Aaron?  Isn't he coming?"
 "No honey, he's not here."
"Where is he?"
"He's in Heaven."
"When do I get to go to Heaven?"
"When God comes to get you."
"Oh, I wish He'd make it soon.  I miss Aaron and Cathy and Maryla.  I told Aaron to watch for Smudge so she won't be alone and he can take care of her."
"Thanks, honey.  I miss him, too."

The powerful innocence of one so young.  Our talk grabbed my gut in a whole new way.  I, too, was wishing Aaron was here or I was with him in Heaven.  It is not well with my soul that he's away from us.  Don't get me wrong, I'm glad he's in Heaven and not in Hell.  The separation from him is at times unbearable.

I pray for the day when we will meet again.  When his blue eyes will greet me with sparkling joy.  And he'll run to me and I to him with God saying, "Welcome home."  I miss him so much...

More Process

Upon reflection of the past few days, I have concluded I cannot make and should not make any major decisions due to the unpredictability of grief.  Unfortunately I almost made the choice to fire my therapist, cut myself and runaway from the pain.  I thought about hospitalization.  Then I was reminded to try and get through this tough time with the help of my therapist and friends.  So, here I am.

Samuel Clemons wrote, "It is one of the mysteries of our nature that a man, all unprepared, can receive a thunder-stroke like that and live.  There is but one reasonable explanation of it.  The intellect is stunned by the shock and by groping gathers the meaning of the words.  The power to realize their full import is mercifully wanting.  The mind has a dumb sense of vast loss - that is all.  It will take mind and memory months and possibly years to gather the details and thus learn and know the whole extent of the loss."

I think my bereavement has waited for my mind to be clearly conscious before it entered into all the loss I have suffered since October 2006.  That's when my physical/emotional self started having memories of childhood sexual abuse.  I believe God knew I was ready for a wake up call - one that is not dialed easily nor is it a short conversation.  Two years later I had the first of many months of seizures.  My physical body was now in torment and my mental status went right along with it.  I grabbed at booze and cutting to ease my pain but neither worked.  I pleaded and attempted suicide but that didn't work either.  The Holy Spirit kept whispering hopeful and challenging words to me so I would increase good behavior or immediately stop self-destructive behavior. 

I isolated, I ran emotionally, I hid my pain, I denounced close friendships.  I felt unworthy of any kindness, understanding, love or compassion.  I was a mess and didn't want to spill it on anyone else.  What I didn't know then that I know now is they had a towel and were prepared to help me. 

Now the feelings flood out of me.  I have days I'm in bed depressed but not suicidal.  I have days where I don't shower or wash my hair.  I have days when I talk to no one.  I have days my eyes are so swollen I fall asleep and awake with the same condition.

I am processing grieving.  This is what it's like...for me.

Questions

T  

"The thing that destroys a good many of us as Christians is our inability to relate to each other in a warm, honest, compassionate sort of way.  Even with those to whom I was so close, I failed in this endeavor.  I was so busy being a "doing" Christian that I'd forgotten what God called me to be."

I can relate to a lot of that statement.  Since 2006 I've been feeling a lot of emotional pain coupled by seizures then major back surgery which added physical pain.  Today I am grieving emotionally and hurting physically.  How does one do the balancing act when both parts of your psyche are entrenched in bullets shooting at you with no relief in sight?  When sneezing or coughing send shock waves throughout your body as does bumping any part of your body against a solid object?  This I am trying to find out.

What do you do when you schedule a two hour session per your therapist's request then upon arriving find out she's cut the last hour so she can get paperwork done?  What do you do when you've been crying for a couple of days and counting on that time to undo the mess you're feeling inside?  How do you react to such news that kicks you in the stomach and knocks the wind out of you?  This I am trying to figure out.

Do I just move on and forget about the hurt, loss and anger I'm feeling?  As a Christian do I approach the therapist with truth?  As a pain sufferer do I let others know how I'm really doing or do I keep it to myself because it's getting old to talk about?  How do I blend all of this together but not let it overcome my thoughts and become obsessed with the answer?  This I am trying to let go of.  

I've had many offers of help from those I would call close friends.  I try to let them in but sometimes I don't because I'm afraid of what I'm letting them into.  Into areas I don't even understand or haven't processed yet.  I don't want to do this all alone.  I've done that too often.  I've hurt those I love by making that decision.  I don't want to do that again.  

Integrating.  Vulnerability.  Intimacy.  Feeling like a bother.  Weighed down.  Crying.  Sobbing.  Weeping.  Legitimate pain.  Legitimate concerns.  Legitimate needs.

I am needy and it's very uncomfortable.  I'd rather cut.

I Will Follow Him

When a grieving heart is contrite and broken how does it know what to follow? How does it know who to trust? How can anything bring about healing and joy? These are the things I ponder.

Jeremiah 29:11 says, "For I know the plans I have for you," declares the Lord, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. Then you will call upon me and come and pray to me, and I will listen to you. You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart."

When I become overwhelmed by the depth of sadness I'm feeling suicide pops into my vulnerable head as an alternative to the pain I'm in. The darkness of no more light is tempting - that's the way Satan wants it. I'm reminded to turn those dark moments toward the face of God who is Light. The pain I feel is real and should never be shoved aside.  The suicidal thoughts I have are real, too, and must not be shoved aside.

When professional help backfires it's important to remember the friends I have who are praying for me. I'm not responsible for another person's broken decision that directly effects me. Instead I have to stay on the path God has purposed for me at this time in my life. How I feel is not a surprise to Him like it is to me. He's been there and understands.

I reached out to my best friend over the weekend. We will share some time tomorrow where I can talk openly and candidly with her about how I'm feeling. I trust her implicitly knowing she'll take my broken heart and hold it gently in her hands. I'm safe in her presence.

I will follow God all the days of my life, praying for submission to His will and plans for my life.

Processing Loss

Smudge's grave and Aaron's Urn

I had vivid weird dreams last night. I think I was processing the day. Not being able to stay for the hour with my therapist, crying hard most of the day then sleeping deeply during the day and at night. The dream was intense as are my feelings.

My stomach is sour, my head aches, I'm tired and I'm still teary. In a little bit the dam will burst again and the hurt will pour out. It's messy, it's wet and it's understandable. Or so I've been told.

From the book "Necessary Losses", is this quote:
"Teach me how to know death and go on with life."

"To know death is to know these things are normal: feelings of immense sadness, helplessness, hopelessness, fear, emptiness, irritability, anger, guilt, restlessness and isolation. We may experience a change in appetite, sleep patterns or sex drive. We can expect to spend some time feeling enormous fatigue. You will heal more quickly and fully if you accept all of these facets of grief as part of your healing process. God created humans with a natural ability to heal, so rest assured, healing will happen. In fact, it's happening right now" (taken from Grieving the Loss of Someone You Love).

A feeling of warmth just swept over me. I'm committed to taking the time I need to heal. It will probably be a long time but that's okay. I don't seem to be worse off for all the crying. In fact I think it's helping me cleanse a lot of loss.

Aaron's death pushed me over the edge. Now it's time to be alone and also bring people along side me. I'm doing the best I can (which is progress) in bringing my top three people along with me on this journey. I still get scared at the depth of the sadness. Sharing that with someone is awfully intimate.

Am I ready?
I'm getting there.

No More Celebrations

On the day of his birthday, Aaron wasn't there. He didn't drive up, honking his horn, announcing his arrival for his 19th birthday. Instead there was an eerie silence on a beautiful late summer day. He's gone.

Celebrations stop abruptly when someone you love dies. There are no more recent snapshots of the one you love. The pictures you have are the ones you'll have forever - nothing new. No new memories, no new joys, no new anything. Death steals any hope of your loved one returning.

It's not like Aaron called and said he'd be late. Heaven called and said he came home. It's been five months since Aaron died. The pain feels worse than it did on that day. Deeper somehow. How does that happen?

He's no longer lost. I can't seem to find my way out of waves of tears and sadness. I keep crying until I've exhausted myself only to wake up with swollen eyes and another tidal wave of tears and crying. Crying from the depths of grief where I've never cried before.

Cathy, Dad, Maryla, Aaron, Smudge, Disability, Loss of job, Physical Limitations. When does it stop? When will I no longer feel the punch in the gut or having the wind knocked out of me? When does grief finish or is it a lifetime curse until I'm in the Presence of the One I love?

A lonely day.
A sad day.

A Grieving Heart, A Healing Heart

My heart aches in disbelief, shock and numbness.
Where did the young boy who was so full of life disappear to?
Who is this young man in the hospital room?
He's brain dead, blind, deaf, paralyzed, unable to breathe on his own.

His name is Aaron and he's my nephew.

He was a lost child trying to live through enormous amounts of pain.
His coping mechanism was huffing propane to stuff the deep hurt.
His affect was cheerful and happy; inside he was dying.
Dying a slow death of unhappiness and emotional wounds.
He never asked for help no matter how many times it was offered.

Today would be Aaron's 19th birthday.
For me, it's the five month anniversary of his death and his birthday.
A sad day, for all of us.
Our family is coming together at Dale and Tina's this afternoon.
I need to be with them to share my grief, support my family and honor Dale and Tina.

Aaron's death will never be easy to handle.
It will become easier to cope and maybe, easier to talk about.
His death leaves a hole in my heart.

I wish he would join us today - in person - so we could help him.
I want to talk to him and get those secrets out that hurt him so badly.
My nephew must have been in so much turmoil that he had to find a way to stop it.
He did - permanently.

God welcomed Aaron home with outstretched arms and an embrace that healed Aaron right at that moment.

When Words Are Empty and Friends Are Few

It's mid-morning on February 12, 2008. I'm at work. The phone rings. It's Tracy. She asks me if I'm sitting down. There's a tone in her voice that indicates something serious has happened. She tells me Cathy died in a car accident that morning. Death number one.

It's mid-morning on February 21, 2008. I'm at work. The phone rings. It's Tracy. She asks me if I'm sitting down. Her tone is different this time - something happened again but this time it's in our family. "Please God, not one of the kids." She tells me my Dad died that morning. Death number two.

It's midday on November 6, 2008. I'm at home. The phone rings. It's Tina. There's something wrong. Maryla has been hospitalized and is in a coma. She's not expected to live much longer. Basia is flying in tomorrow. We're getting together to say our good-byes. On November 11, 2008 Maryla passes away. Death number three.

It's the beginning of August 2009.  The phone rings.  It's Tracy.  There's something wrong.  It's her sponsor, Sharon.  The cancer is aggressive and it's only a matter of time.  She's not suffering much.  Hospice is called in.  Only Tracy and Sharon's family are allowed to be there during the final hours.  She dies August 20th.  Death number four.

It's later in the afternoon on April 12th, 2010. I'm at home. The phone rings. It's my Mom. She asks me if I'm sitting down. There's a tone in her voice that says something serious has happened. "Please God, not one of my sisters." She tells me Aaron is in the hospital unconscious - they don't know if he's going to make it. Four days later, Aaron dies. Death number five.

Five people in twenty-six months. That averages one death every 5.2 months. Significant loss. Deep hurt. Unconsolable grief. The more times death happens the closer I pull into myself and the more I distance myself from friends. Nothing can prepare you for this kind of loss.

Nothing should have to.