This may be kind of hard to understand, but today I will move ahead in time to Hurricane Katrina hitting landfall in New Orleans, Louisiana on or about September 1, 2005.
My husband is a "law enforcement specialist", with military and civilian tactical training under his belt. With this training, a company called on Dave to go over and help secure some facilities in New Orleans two days after the hurricane hit. He had to go. We had sunk all of our money into the bed and breakfast and, as a new business, were barely holding on to the business and this money would be the influx needed to make the business a go. So he went.
C and I stayed in La Paz and lived life as normally as possible. C was going to elementary school for the mornings Monday through Friday, but then home-schooled with me in the afternoons. The agreement for the homeschooling was originally that Dave would be in charge of science and social studies courses, while I would do the math and english courses, both doing what we were best at. When Dave went to New Orleans, that all changed and it was just C and I so we made due.
I was hugely depressed and C was afraid to really talk to me about Danny's death. She didn't tell me that at the time, but only much later. She said "I didn't want to talk to you about Danny because even when someone said his name, you would cry ... and I didn't want to make you cry any more." I felt her pulling away from me, but didn't have the strength to pull her back to me. I questioned everything those 8 months, but mostly condemned myself for "just being a bad mom all the way around". My friends still came and we still spent time together but, let's face it ... NO ONE wants to be around someone who's down and depressed all of the time. It doesn't matter that you can't help how you feel, nor does it matter that you have every right to feel what you do. Some people understand but still keep their distance. It's almost as though people, in general, are afraid that if you open up to them about how you feel and everything, if you even mention the word "death", something would happen to someone that they love. And who, really, is willing to take that chance?
I have heard, my entire life, that "through God all things are possible" and I truly wanted to believe it. But although that's a mostly true statement, it's not 100% true. Let me explain, if I may.
I do not believe it is possible for God to change someone's heart, if they are not ready for the change. If a person doesn't want to see something God is trying to show them, they won't. Down to the last person, it remains in our control and within our free will to determine whether we believe God will move forward in our lives with every change that happens. Some people get angry and say "There can't be a God or this would have never happened." I get that. I disagree but, you see, I understand because I've been there. Others just say "But they were such good parents!" ?? Never have figured out how or why that would affect the outcome of a young person's life.
Really, it all comes down to one single, simple statement. We often look up to God as Christ-followers and say "why me?" .... what we should really be thinking is "why NOT me?" I realize that in this day and age, suffering is viewed quite differently than it was in biblical times. I also realize that because God sent His only Son to cover for my sins, I have no right, not a single iota, to ask God to give me any less than He has had to bear for me.
I love God but perhaps, in the corners of my heart, I loved Danny more. Maybe I loved him too much. Maybe this was God's way of getting my attention. At the very core of my being, sometimes I allow myself to believe satan's lies and believe the last statement to be true. I mean, who better to "blame" than myself for Danny being gone?? After all, I can't blame God, right?? So, it had to be because of me. Only putting that down in writing did I just now see how conceited it would be to believe and how much smaller my faith in God and His plan than I ever recognized until this very second.
Everyone says they want the truth but I am confident that most are not ready for it. You see, raw truth, uncensored, is not a pretty thing. There are so many things that a parent feels at a child's death that most people wouldn't want to put on paper or see in writing. Here are but a few:
Self loathing
Guilt
Faithlessness
Empty heart
Constantly tear-strained face
Anger
All-enveloping sadness
Unworthiness
Depression - mind and heart numbing if you're lucky
Lost and alone
These are just a few of the descriptive words that immediately come to mind when I think back on that time.
Sunday, July 29, 2012
Friday, July 27, 2012
What It Feels Like
I can't tell you how many times I've had people ask me "What does it feel like to loose a child?" and my inability to give a direct and satisfactory answer has always eaten away at me.
Last night I was watching a television show where someone's son was shot and killed. I immediately started to sob and Dave just looked at me and quietly shook his head. I know this is an overreaction to someone "acting the part" of death, but for me, it feels just the same. The line between imaginary and real life are forever blurred when it comes to the death of a loved on, ANY loved one.
Here's my explanation of "how it feels".
The first feeling I remember is a numbness starting in my chest, the area where my heart used to be, and spreading throughout my body, my mind and my brain. I feel as though I could have been shot with a bullet straight through my heart and I wouldn't have felt a thing. I feel empty ... hollow ... like the shell of a person I used to know and perhaps even someone I used to be. I cry ... a lot ... like every time I think of my son's face. I am afraid a little more each day that there will come a day where I will not remember what he looked like. How his smile used to light up his eyes and brighten my heart and quicken my step. Danny was my first love. He was an extension of me, like I was the electrical outlet and he was the lamp you would plug into the outlet to get the light you needed to see you through your day. A sob catches in my throat even as I write about my dear, sweet, gentle Danny.
How can I explain to you the unexplainable?? What do you do with your basket of regrets, those things you wish you'd done differently, after the person is gone? Dead?? I do not walk or run away from those regrets. Instead, I use them to help me do better with the children who remain behind, here on earth, with their dad and I. I accept them as a part of my life, among the rest of my self-inflicted wounds, and allow them to sharpen the vision and intensify the hope of the Great Day that is coming, when we will all see on another again, and I can then say "I'm sorry" to my son.
Nothing new can happen between Danny and I now. Everything that was to have happened, will never happen. The things that I waited for I will never get to see. Danny will never get married, nor will I ever have grandchildren by him. Danny will not be present at either of his sister's weddings, but neither will he be present when we bury his grandparents. For all that I believe, I believe this truly and wholly: the death of a child is wrong. We were not meant to outlive our children, but our children were designed and meant to outlive us.
"There's a hole in the world now. In the place where he was, there's just nothing. A center, like no other, of memory and hope and love and affection which once inhabited the world is gone. Only a gap remains. There's nobody now who saw just what he saw, knows what he knew, remembers what he remembered or loved what he loved. A person, a irreplaceable person, is gone. The world is emptier. Only a hole remains, a gap, never to be filled." Nicholas Wolterstorff in "Lament For A Son"
This best explains how I feel about Danny's death. Each person has an "inscape", a specific shape and core being that belongs to only them. Once that person is gone, no one will ever again fill that "inscape" exactly. Oh, someone may come along who fills the little toe and perhaps the space where the elbow would be, but will not fill the rest of that person's inscape. Another may come along who fills the entire foot space and maybe even a leg, but will never fill the entire inscape of the person who is gone and whom we long for.
Danny is dead. I still cry frequently and ask God to forgive me for my tears. Do I really need forgiveness for declaring a pain so openly that God allowed to happen in my life? Probably not. I will say that I feel immeasurably better when I feel God's hand on my life and when I allow God's loving hand to pump my heart until it can begin to beat again on it's own.
I miss Danny. Not just sometimes and not always in big ways. I miss him every day. I miss his contagious laugh. I miss his beautiful eyes that always crinkled up when he smiled. I miss his heart-searching discussions with me on every topic conceivable. I miss him. I am ok with that. Now I just need to continue "living life" and trying to find my new normal. As does my family. For that is what it, in fact, is. A new normal that does NOT include Danny in it. And that makes me, mostly, incredibly, undeniably sad.
Last night I was watching a television show where someone's son was shot and killed. I immediately started to sob and Dave just looked at me and quietly shook his head. I know this is an overreaction to someone "acting the part" of death, but for me, it feels just the same. The line between imaginary and real life are forever blurred when it comes to the death of a loved on, ANY loved one.
Here's my explanation of "how it feels".
The first feeling I remember is a numbness starting in my chest, the area where my heart used to be, and spreading throughout my body, my mind and my brain. I feel as though I could have been shot with a bullet straight through my heart and I wouldn't have felt a thing. I feel empty ... hollow ... like the shell of a person I used to know and perhaps even someone I used to be. I cry ... a lot ... like every time I think of my son's face. I am afraid a little more each day that there will come a day where I will not remember what he looked like. How his smile used to light up his eyes and brighten my heart and quicken my step. Danny was my first love. He was an extension of me, like I was the electrical outlet and he was the lamp you would plug into the outlet to get the light you needed to see you through your day. A sob catches in my throat even as I write about my dear, sweet, gentle Danny.
How can I explain to you the unexplainable?? What do you do with your basket of regrets, those things you wish you'd done differently, after the person is gone? Dead?? I do not walk or run away from those regrets. Instead, I use them to help me do better with the children who remain behind, here on earth, with their dad and I. I accept them as a part of my life, among the rest of my self-inflicted wounds, and allow them to sharpen the vision and intensify the hope of the Great Day that is coming, when we will all see on another again, and I can then say "I'm sorry" to my son.
Nothing new can happen between Danny and I now. Everything that was to have happened, will never happen. The things that I waited for I will never get to see. Danny will never get married, nor will I ever have grandchildren by him. Danny will not be present at either of his sister's weddings, but neither will he be present when we bury his grandparents. For all that I believe, I believe this truly and wholly: the death of a child is wrong. We were not meant to outlive our children, but our children were designed and meant to outlive us.
"There's a hole in the world now. In the place where he was, there's just nothing. A center, like no other, of memory and hope and love and affection which once inhabited the world is gone. Only a gap remains. There's nobody now who saw just what he saw, knows what he knew, remembers what he remembered or loved what he loved. A person, a irreplaceable person, is gone. The world is emptier. Only a hole remains, a gap, never to be filled." Nicholas Wolterstorff in "Lament For A Son"
This best explains how I feel about Danny's death. Each person has an "inscape", a specific shape and core being that belongs to only them. Once that person is gone, no one will ever again fill that "inscape" exactly. Oh, someone may come along who fills the little toe and perhaps the space where the elbow would be, but will not fill the rest of that person's inscape. Another may come along who fills the entire foot space and maybe even a leg, but will never fill the entire inscape of the person who is gone and whom we long for.
Danny is dead. I still cry frequently and ask God to forgive me for my tears. Do I really need forgiveness for declaring a pain so openly that God allowed to happen in my life? Probably not. I will say that I feel immeasurably better when I feel God's hand on my life and when I allow God's loving hand to pump my heart until it can begin to beat again on it's own.
I miss Danny. Not just sometimes and not always in big ways. I miss him every day. I miss his contagious laugh. I miss his beautiful eyes that always crinkled up when he smiled. I miss his heart-searching discussions with me on every topic conceivable. I miss him. I am ok with that. Now I just need to continue "living life" and trying to find my new normal. As does my family. For that is what it, in fact, is. A new normal that does NOT include Danny in it. And that makes me, mostly, incredibly, undeniably sad.
Thursday, July 19, 2012
I'm Too Young
I find that, today, I am having a harder time writing than previously. Sharing this intensely personal experience has been, in some ways, cathartic but it also means that I am reliving the pain and freshness of the broken heart that comes with losing a child. Please bear with me if I ramble a bit as I try to formulate my thoughts into coherent sentences and paragraphs that make sense.
going back in time to September 22, 1983
It is September of 1983 and I have just given birth to a wonderfully healthy baby boy. I am single and know that I am not ready to raise a child on my own. I am alone and find that the support I thought I had really was conditional and that saddened me. It also made it easier for me to make the decision that I made ... to give the precious little man up for adoption.
Now, I realize that in this day and age it seems to be all the rage to blame others for the decisions that we, personally, make regarding our lives. I will not do that here. I have never blamed my parents or other family members for my decision to give this little life to someone else to raise. I take full responsibility for the decision I made all of those years ago and continue to hold this baby (young man now!) and his adoptive family up in my prayers on a daily basis.
now back to May 2005
So along with everything else that I am feeling, there is guilt. I am totally convinced, at that time, that God allowed my Danny to be taken because I didn't take responsibility for my first little baby and didn't raise him myself. I beat myself up for a very long time after Danny's death, holding myself responsible for several reasons. "It must be God's way of telling me that He's unhappy with me" or "God didn't like that I didn't raise the first baby myself, so He's chosen to take away the light of my life" and "GOD, WHAT DID I EVER DO TO YOU THAT YOU WOULD HATE ME THIS MUCH?" were all things that frequently crossed my mind. At the time, I didn't even realize that satan's way of getting into our lives, our hearts and our souls is through deception. After all, satan IS the master of lies. I believed these things until it didn't make sense to me any more. None of it made sense. I was constantly torn between believing that God was real yet believing that no "God of love and mercy" would allow this to happen to one of His children. How can I figure this out? How can I make my heart stop hurting without making it stop beating? I would cry all night long, silent tears of loss, shame and guilt covering my cheeks and falling quietly onto my pillow.
Many night I would wake up from the night terrors in a sweat, yet shaking because I was freezing. Dave would simply hold me against him, smooth back my hair and whisper "Everything will be ok my love. I promise that we will get through this." Eventually, I would fall back asleep. My nights were full of vibrant memories of Danny and I, but always the negative ones. One night I would dream that we were screaming at each other and all of a sudden he was gone. Another night I would dream that he told me he hated me for letting him die and I would wake up trembling because I would believe that I HAD, I HAD "let him die". I didn't know what to do. I forgot that I could pray and simply talked to God whenever these things happened.
I didn't want to pray because, quite frankly, I was afraid of the answers I would get, or just as likely, afraid that I wouldn't like the answers that I DIDN'T get.
I delved into my church life and new church family in La Paz. I became an active member of the worship team and loved singing praises to God. All the while, I was struggling in my heart to give God the throne and the heart of my life. I was afraid that once I did that, there would be no turning back and my life truly would be His. I wasn't ready to give up the sorrow and heart-wrenching grief that I felt. I decided, consciously, that I wasn't quite ready to "feel better" yet and that, somehow, it would desecrate Danny's death if I allowed my precious Father to heal me and allowed myself to "get on with life". That somehow, showing God's love, faithfulness and mercy through all of this would make Danny less of a person by showing God to be more. Even now it is hard to explain, but hopefully (prayerfully) those who are meant to understand this statement will and, by the grace of God, will come back to His love.
going back in time to September 22, 1983
It is September of 1983 and I have just given birth to a wonderfully healthy baby boy. I am single and know that I am not ready to raise a child on my own. I am alone and find that the support I thought I had really was conditional and that saddened me. It also made it easier for me to make the decision that I made ... to give the precious little man up for adoption.
Now, I realize that in this day and age it seems to be all the rage to blame others for the decisions that we, personally, make regarding our lives. I will not do that here. I have never blamed my parents or other family members for my decision to give this little life to someone else to raise. I take full responsibility for the decision I made all of those years ago and continue to hold this baby (young man now!) and his adoptive family up in my prayers on a daily basis.
now back to May 2005
So along with everything else that I am feeling, there is guilt. I am totally convinced, at that time, that God allowed my Danny to be taken because I didn't take responsibility for my first little baby and didn't raise him myself. I beat myself up for a very long time after Danny's death, holding myself responsible for several reasons. "It must be God's way of telling me that He's unhappy with me" or "God didn't like that I didn't raise the first baby myself, so He's chosen to take away the light of my life" and "GOD, WHAT DID I EVER DO TO YOU THAT YOU WOULD HATE ME THIS MUCH?" were all things that frequently crossed my mind. At the time, I didn't even realize that satan's way of getting into our lives, our hearts and our souls is through deception. After all, satan IS the master of lies. I believed these things until it didn't make sense to me any more. None of it made sense. I was constantly torn between believing that God was real yet believing that no "God of love and mercy" would allow this to happen to one of His children. How can I figure this out? How can I make my heart stop hurting without making it stop beating? I would cry all night long, silent tears of loss, shame and guilt covering my cheeks and falling quietly onto my pillow.
Many night I would wake up from the night terrors in a sweat, yet shaking because I was freezing. Dave would simply hold me against him, smooth back my hair and whisper "Everything will be ok my love. I promise that we will get through this." Eventually, I would fall back asleep. My nights were full of vibrant memories of Danny and I, but always the negative ones. One night I would dream that we were screaming at each other and all of a sudden he was gone. Another night I would dream that he told me he hated me for letting him die and I would wake up trembling because I would believe that I HAD, I HAD "let him die". I didn't know what to do. I forgot that I could pray and simply talked to God whenever these things happened.
I didn't want to pray because, quite frankly, I was afraid of the answers I would get, or just as likely, afraid that I wouldn't like the answers that I DIDN'T get.
I delved into my church life and new church family in La Paz. I became an active member of the worship team and loved singing praises to God. All the while, I was struggling in my heart to give God the throne and the heart of my life. I was afraid that once I did that, there would be no turning back and my life truly would be His. I wasn't ready to give up the sorrow and heart-wrenching grief that I felt. I decided, consciously, that I wasn't quite ready to "feel better" yet and that, somehow, it would desecrate Danny's death if I allowed my precious Father to heal me and allowed myself to "get on with life". That somehow, showing God's love, faithfulness and mercy through all of this would make Danny less of a person by showing God to be more. Even now it is hard to explain, but hopefully (prayerfully) those who are meant to understand this statement will and, by the grace of God, will come back to His love.
Tuesday, July 17, 2012
Mother's Day 2005
I don't remember the exact calendar date, and if I cared enough I suppose I could look it up, but for the purpose of this blog, the exactness of the date simply doesn't matter. It is Mother's Day and that is all that really matters.
I do know it's a Sunday and I do know that my heart is vaguely hollow-feeling on this, the first of many Mother's Days to take place without my Danny. The thing that sticks out the most in my mind is the message that morning. I remember vividly the crudely carved cross, made out of cactus wood, and just as vividly I remember the bright, dark purple silk draping from it. This is the time of remembering who Jesus is and what He did for us. I sit silently, listening to the message that the pastor is sharing. "Who are we to think that we will not be subject to pain and hurt? Didn't Jesus go through all of these things and experience them in His humanity as well?"
"Jesus paid for our sins, all at one time, for every single human being on this earth. He did it because He loved us and loves us still. He did it so we could have a relationship and walk with His Father. When you feel alone, don't you think Jesus knew how that felt? When you lose a person you love, remember that God loved His Son so you could know Him."
After the pastor shared those words, the tears fell like a torrential downpouring that I couldn't stop, and wouldn't have even if I could have. I felt the salt in the tears burning my eyes, but still I couldn't stop thinking about my precious Jesus hanging on a tree. In my heart I realized, right then, that my heart must be feeling just a fraction of what God had felt when He sent Jesus to die. And I couldn't get past that. My brain could not begin to understand how much worse, even, that must have felt to my dear Heavenly Father. I mean, He knew with certainty that His Son would die. He knew that without that sacrifice, I would never be able to know Him. And yet, I couldn't quit crying.
When the pastor asked if there was anyone who felt lost and alone, and invited them to come to the foot of the cross and lay their burdens down, I didn't hesitate. My feet felt like lead, tears continued to stream down my cheeks, my eyes burned and my heart felt as though it had been taken out of my chest and was now being stomped on, but I couldn't just sit there pretending that I wasn't feeling this ... pain, tortuous yet releasing pain. I went, quite noisily I'm afraid, and sat on the concrete floor in front of the cross. I couldn't quit sobbing and it didn't even matter to me who was around. It could have been no one or it could have been the entire city of La Paz, it would have registered the same with me at that time.
A dear woman at our church came and sat with me. I rested my head on her shoulder and she let me cry ... and cry ... and .... well, suffice it to say I didn't really stop crying, but sort of eased into a non-crying state. We then went and sat down and I sat with my head on her shoulder while the pastor concluded the service.
Honestly, I don't remember a lot else about that day. If memory serves, we probably had a potluck (our church community did that a LOT in La Paz!) and then sang songs, swam, who knows what. I only remember feeling that maybe, just maybe, I was on the road to healing. Maybe, some day, I would really arrive. That day I had a reprieve from the emotions that were warring for a spot in my heart and head, and we had a day to glorify God and worship Him.
When we got home that evening, I remember turning to Dave and saying "I am done for now. I am going to lay down and if you need me, feel free to come get me." Almost immediately, when my head hit the pillow, the tears started flowing once again and I thought to myself "will I never get over this?? will I never have a good night's rest again now that Danny is gone?" I do know that I frequently fell asleep with this record playing in my mind, and I remember it was playing rather loudly on this night.
I do know it's a Sunday and I do know that my heart is vaguely hollow-feeling on this, the first of many Mother's Days to take place without my Danny. The thing that sticks out the most in my mind is the message that morning. I remember vividly the crudely carved cross, made out of cactus wood, and just as vividly I remember the bright, dark purple silk draping from it. This is the time of remembering who Jesus is and what He did for us. I sit silently, listening to the message that the pastor is sharing. "Who are we to think that we will not be subject to pain and hurt? Didn't Jesus go through all of these things and experience them in His humanity as well?"
"Jesus paid for our sins, all at one time, for every single human being on this earth. He did it because He loved us and loves us still. He did it so we could have a relationship and walk with His Father. When you feel alone, don't you think Jesus knew how that felt? When you lose a person you love, remember that God loved His Son so you could know Him."
After the pastor shared those words, the tears fell like a torrential downpouring that I couldn't stop, and wouldn't have even if I could have. I felt the salt in the tears burning my eyes, but still I couldn't stop thinking about my precious Jesus hanging on a tree. In my heart I realized, right then, that my heart must be feeling just a fraction of what God had felt when He sent Jesus to die. And I couldn't get past that. My brain could not begin to understand how much worse, even, that must have felt to my dear Heavenly Father. I mean, He knew with certainty that His Son would die. He knew that without that sacrifice, I would never be able to know Him. And yet, I couldn't quit crying.
When the pastor asked if there was anyone who felt lost and alone, and invited them to come to the foot of the cross and lay their burdens down, I didn't hesitate. My feet felt like lead, tears continued to stream down my cheeks, my eyes burned and my heart felt as though it had been taken out of my chest and was now being stomped on, but I couldn't just sit there pretending that I wasn't feeling this ... pain, tortuous yet releasing pain. I went, quite noisily I'm afraid, and sat on the concrete floor in front of the cross. I couldn't quit sobbing and it didn't even matter to me who was around. It could have been no one or it could have been the entire city of La Paz, it would have registered the same with me at that time.
A dear woman at our church came and sat with me. I rested my head on her shoulder and she let me cry ... and cry ... and .... well, suffice it to say I didn't really stop crying, but sort of eased into a non-crying state. We then went and sat down and I sat with my head on her shoulder while the pastor concluded the service.
Honestly, I don't remember a lot else about that day. If memory serves, we probably had a potluck (our church community did that a LOT in La Paz!) and then sang songs, swam, who knows what. I only remember feeling that maybe, just maybe, I was on the road to healing. Maybe, some day, I would really arrive. That day I had a reprieve from the emotions that were warring for a spot in my heart and head, and we had a day to glorify God and worship Him.
When we got home that evening, I remember turning to Dave and saying "I am done for now. I am going to lay down and if you need me, feel free to come get me." Almost immediately, when my head hit the pillow, the tears started flowing once again and I thought to myself "will I never get over this?? will I never have a good night's rest again now that Danny is gone?" I do know that I frequently fell asleep with this record playing in my mind, and I remember it was playing rather loudly on this night.
Monday, July 16, 2012
I Can Only Imagine
Time goes by, slowly at first and then much more quickly. Before long, I realize that it's getting closer to Mother's Day and I am certain that I will not make it through that day. With every ounce of my being, I dread having to pretend that I am ok. I also know that my friends and family worry about me. I am convinced that they are convinced that I will do myself harm, if they leave me by myself. I am pretty much never alone and so, when I walk the dogs along the malecon (along the water of the beautiful Bay of La Paz) I think. I think a lot more than I should. I feel as though my heart is falling through my chest all over again and I say to myself "Stop it ... stop it now! He is not coming back. Danny is gone for good and it's time that you accepted that fact and quit moping about as though that will change anything. He is gone and is not coming back home ...EVER!"
I wonder if the voice inside of my head will ever quit talking to me. More importantly, I wonder what I will do, who I will become, if and/or when it does. Will I know what people expect of me and will I ever be able to live up to those expectations? I rather doubt it but don't guess I'll know until much further down the line, if then.
During this time, the most darkest storm I had ever encountered in my life, God blessed me with a wonderful church family and a wonderful and dear woman friend, who I will simply call "J2". Now this was not the only new friendship I developed, but it is an important one for what happened during this time of my life. This was the first woman friend I had ever had because, frankly, I didn't trust women. I found women to be manipulative, vindictive, mean and spiteful. I thought that the negatives far outweighed the positives. This new friend, J2, taught me different. She worshiped God with abandon and total devotion. She and her husband raised their children to believe in a God who is not above miracles, but is, in fact, the God OF miracles. She also taught ME what it meant to have a friend you could share about everything with. I would speak of my woes and my disbelief in God, and she would patiently and gently show me how evident God's love was in every walk of life. From the beauty of the rising sun on the beach, to the glorious music played in the church on any given Sunday, on to the feeling that God is the giver and taker ... yes I said taker ... of all things that are alive at any point in their existence. It is for HIS glory that any being is allowed to exist for any period of time whatsoever. Thank you, J2, for being my friend. For encouraging me to simply *hang on * when I was pretty sure that I was falling into an abyss of darkness, discontentment and hate. For just accepting me for who I was, where I was and how I handled that. At times, poorly but at other time I knew that I would be ok and come out the other side because God loved me. And because I had a God-fearing, love-inspiring and Godly friend in J2. I thank God for her to this day.
I don't recall how many times I woke up at horrid hours in the night and would call out Danny's name. I don't recall how many times I said to J2 "I just want God to send him home ...I just want my Danny back", like it was a situation I didn't understand and couldn't comprehend why God was keeping him. Did I believe he was dead? I'm sure my head did, but my heart? I'm not so sure. Did I believe I would never see him again on this earth? I'm sure my head did, but my heart? I don't think so. I do remember that it wasn't long after the funeral that the night terrors started and it was a long time, years in fact, before they finally subsided altogether.
A couple of weeks after returning to La Paz, sometime mid-March I think (unsure of the timeframe because it HAS been a few years), the pastor of our little church did something miraculous and heart breaking yet uplifting for me personally. I mean, the gesture was for my entire family, but it hit me where my heart lived. If anyone knows the song "I Can Only Imagine" by Bart Millard, it was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen in my life. We had given an oil painting of Danny to the pastor and he had put it up on the projection screen and then played this song underneath it.
Some of the words are here for you to see, and it's easily found on YouTube if you are really interested.
I can only imagine, what it will be like
When I walk by Your side
I can only imagine, what my eyes will see
When Your face is before me
I can only imagine
Surrounded by Your glory, what will my heart feel
Will I dance for You Jesus, or in awe of You be still
Will I stand in Your presence, or to my knees will I fall
Will I sing hallelujah, will I be able to speak at all
I can only imagine
I can only imagine
I can only imagine, when that day comes
And I find myself standing in the Son
I can only imagine
When all I will do, is forever forever worship You
I can only imagine
I can only imagine
Here's the kicker for me ... I can only imagine, what it will be like, when I walk by Your side
I can only imagine, what my eyes will see, when Your face is before me, I can only imagine.
Surrounded by Your glory, what will my heart feel?
Will I dance for You Jesus, or in awe of You be still?
Will I stand in Your presence, or to my knees will I fall?
Will I sing hallelujah, will I be able to speak at all?
I can only imagine, I can only imagine
And at that moment, that very split second in time, I am reminded that Danny did it again ... he beat me and got to see Jesus first! I can see him walking hand in hand with my Jesus. I can see him dancing around Jesus and singing hallelujah at the top of his lungs.
I am thankful to have this visual to remember, a pleasant memory that, for a few moments, left me utterly breathless and my heart beating 180 beats a minute, my eyes filled with awe and tears at the same time, and new friends surrounding my family. I thank God for the family that He gave my family in Mexico, when He knew we would need them to show us what He was all about. And once again, I am reminded that we are not meant to be alone. God created us because He wanted and still wants a relationship with us. I love Jesus and I am thankful for the movement he is instigating in my life.
I wonder if the voice inside of my head will ever quit talking to me. More importantly, I wonder what I will do, who I will become, if and/or when it does. Will I know what people expect of me and will I ever be able to live up to those expectations? I rather doubt it but don't guess I'll know until much further down the line, if then.
During this time, the most darkest storm I had ever encountered in my life, God blessed me with a wonderful church family and a wonderful and dear woman friend, who I will simply call "J2". Now this was not the only new friendship I developed, but it is an important one for what happened during this time of my life. This was the first woman friend I had ever had because, frankly, I didn't trust women. I found women to be manipulative, vindictive, mean and spiteful. I thought that the negatives far outweighed the positives. This new friend, J2, taught me different. She worshiped God with abandon and total devotion. She and her husband raised their children to believe in a God who is not above miracles, but is, in fact, the God OF miracles. She also taught ME what it meant to have a friend you could share about everything with. I would speak of my woes and my disbelief in God, and she would patiently and gently show me how evident God's love was in every walk of life. From the beauty of the rising sun on the beach, to the glorious music played in the church on any given Sunday, on to the feeling that God is the giver and taker ... yes I said taker ... of all things that are alive at any point in their existence. It is for HIS glory that any being is allowed to exist for any period of time whatsoever. Thank you, J2, for being my friend. For encouraging me to simply *hang on * when I was pretty sure that I was falling into an abyss of darkness, discontentment and hate. For just accepting me for who I was, where I was and how I handled that. At times, poorly but at other time I knew that I would be ok and come out the other side because God loved me. And because I had a God-fearing, love-inspiring and Godly friend in J2. I thank God for her to this day.
I don't recall how many times I woke up at horrid hours in the night and would call out Danny's name. I don't recall how many times I said to J2 "I just want God to send him home ...I just want my Danny back", like it was a situation I didn't understand and couldn't comprehend why God was keeping him. Did I believe he was dead? I'm sure my head did, but my heart? I'm not so sure. Did I believe I would never see him again on this earth? I'm sure my head did, but my heart? I don't think so. I do remember that it wasn't long after the funeral that the night terrors started and it was a long time, years in fact, before they finally subsided altogether.
A couple of weeks after returning to La Paz, sometime mid-March I think (unsure of the timeframe because it HAS been a few years), the pastor of our little church did something miraculous and heart breaking yet uplifting for me personally. I mean, the gesture was for my entire family, but it hit me where my heart lived. If anyone knows the song "I Can Only Imagine" by Bart Millard, it was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen in my life. We had given an oil painting of Danny to the pastor and he had put it up on the projection screen and then played this song underneath it.
Some of the words are here for you to see, and it's easily found on YouTube if you are really interested.
I can only imagine, what it will be like
When I walk by Your side
I can only imagine, what my eyes will see
When Your face is before me
I can only imagine
Surrounded by Your glory, what will my heart feel
Will I dance for You Jesus, or in awe of You be still
Will I stand in Your presence, or to my knees will I fall
Will I sing hallelujah, will I be able to speak at all
I can only imagine
I can only imagine
I can only imagine, when that day comes
And I find myself standing in the Son
I can only imagine
When all I will do, is forever forever worship You
I can only imagine
I can only imagine
Here's the kicker for me ... I can only imagine, what it will be like, when I walk by Your side
I can only imagine, what my eyes will see, when Your face is before me, I can only imagine.
Surrounded by Your glory, what will my heart feel?
Will I dance for You Jesus, or in awe of You be still?
Will I stand in Your presence, or to my knees will I fall?
Will I sing hallelujah, will I be able to speak at all?
I can only imagine, I can only imagine
And at that moment, that very split second in time, I am reminded that Danny did it again ... he beat me and got to see Jesus first! I can see him walking hand in hand with my Jesus. I can see him dancing around Jesus and singing hallelujah at the top of his lungs.
I am thankful to have this visual to remember, a pleasant memory that, for a few moments, left me utterly breathless and my heart beating 180 beats a minute, my eyes filled with awe and tears at the same time, and new friends surrounding my family. I thank God for the family that He gave my family in Mexico, when He knew we would need them to show us what He was all about. And once again, I am reminded that we are not meant to be alone. God created us because He wanted and still wants a relationship with us. I love Jesus and I am thankful for the movement he is instigating in my life.
Sunday, July 15, 2012
Home Again
Fast forward a bit to February 28, 2005
It's time to return to Mexico and I am worn out, exhausted and can't wait to get on the plane to return "home". Since my Danny is now buried in Oregon, I can't get away fast enough. I want to go somewhere that I can forget all about Danny. Forget that he is gone. Forget that I am without him. Forget that my heart has been replaced with clay. Forget that my life has changed and, most likely, will never be as full as it was with Danny in my life.
What do I remember? Then? What am I thinking about? I remember that Danny will never again walk into the house, snag a cookie from the cookie jar and say "Hey mom, got any real food to eat?" I will never again see him and laugh so hard my face hurts because his hair is dyed yet another color. "C" will grow up without her older brother looking out for and protecting her. "A" will grow up without her little brother to look out for and protect her. "A" will also grow up being unable to protect her little brother. "A" will not have Danny to be there and be the best man at her wedding. Danny will never get married. He also will never have children. I will never again see the smile that lit my life and my heart equally with joy. We will never again have a logical, illogical or theological discussion and break out in either tears or laughter half-way through it. I will never again laugh as hard as Danny made me laugh, because he knew me and he got me. No one, ever again, will ever be my oldest AND my son. No one.
I remember that, on the plane returning home to Mexico, they didn't have us sitting all together but, in fact, we were in different sections of the plane. When Dave told the flight attendant that we had just buried our son, she gave us three seats together and that was super nice. I also remember that for the entire three hour flight (more or less), I cried. I don't remember stopping the entire time. I couldn't eat. I made myself drink some water, but I really didn't want to. I just kept looking out the window and thinking to myself "God, I don't understand but I want my son back. I want him here. I don't care what You want right now, because I know what I want. I don't care if it's what You know is best. I know it would be best for my Danny to still be here with me."
More tears fall unchecked and I don't even notice. My eyes hurt and I fall asleep. My head hurts but my heart is numb so I sleep. When I wake up, I notice that the hurt isn't any less and my eyes burn like I have been crying for decades instead of days. I cry until I am certain, 100% sure, that I have no tears left. Then, much to my surprise, I cry more .... and more .... and more. The tears don't stop for days after returning to Mexico.
The worst part is that I cry all the time now. I have always been emotional and cried at sad movies, or when I saw an abused child, but I have NEVER cried like I am crying now. There is no logical reason for my emotional self to find this cathartic, but apparently it does. I find my pillow soaking wet from the tears when I awaken in the morning. The night terrors start and don't stop for a very, very long time. My arm shooting out in my sleep, across the body who is Danny in the driver's seat of the car, holding him back and stopping his head from breaking when the car crashes, yet not being able to stop him from dying. It is my fault that Danny is dead. If I had only ... If I had never ... If ... If ... If ...
I am back in Mexico now, tired and worn out. Physically I feel as though my feet are lead, my head is full of marbles and my heart is either not there or has been replaced with a clay replica of itself. I withdraw and spend most of the time alone that I possibly can. I do not want to be around "C". I do not want to be around Dave but, most of all, I do not want to be around the teenage boys at our lovely mission church who remind me so much that my Danny is gone. This is harsh, I am sorry, but it is true.
It's time to return to Mexico and I am worn out, exhausted and can't wait to get on the plane to return "home". Since my Danny is now buried in Oregon, I can't get away fast enough. I want to go somewhere that I can forget all about Danny. Forget that he is gone. Forget that I am without him. Forget that my heart has been replaced with clay. Forget that my life has changed and, most likely, will never be as full as it was with Danny in my life.
What do I remember? Then? What am I thinking about? I remember that Danny will never again walk into the house, snag a cookie from the cookie jar and say "Hey mom, got any real food to eat?" I will never again see him and laugh so hard my face hurts because his hair is dyed yet another color. "C" will grow up without her older brother looking out for and protecting her. "A" will grow up without her little brother to look out for and protect her. "A" will also grow up being unable to protect her little brother. "A" will not have Danny to be there and be the best man at her wedding. Danny will never get married. He also will never have children. I will never again see the smile that lit my life and my heart equally with joy. We will never again have a logical, illogical or theological discussion and break out in either tears or laughter half-way through it. I will never again laugh as hard as Danny made me laugh, because he knew me and he got me. No one, ever again, will ever be my oldest AND my son. No one.
I remember that, on the plane returning home to Mexico, they didn't have us sitting all together but, in fact, we were in different sections of the plane. When Dave told the flight attendant that we had just buried our son, she gave us three seats together and that was super nice. I also remember that for the entire three hour flight (more or less), I cried. I don't remember stopping the entire time. I couldn't eat. I made myself drink some water, but I really didn't want to. I just kept looking out the window and thinking to myself "God, I don't understand but I want my son back. I want him here. I don't care what You want right now, because I know what I want. I don't care if it's what You know is best. I know it would be best for my Danny to still be here with me."
More tears fall unchecked and I don't even notice. My eyes hurt and I fall asleep. My head hurts but my heart is numb so I sleep. When I wake up, I notice that the hurt isn't any less and my eyes burn like I have been crying for decades instead of days. I cry until I am certain, 100% sure, that I have no tears left. Then, much to my surprise, I cry more .... and more .... and more. The tears don't stop for days after returning to Mexico.
The worst part is that I cry all the time now. I have always been emotional and cried at sad movies, or when I saw an abused child, but I have NEVER cried like I am crying now. There is no logical reason for my emotional self to find this cathartic, but apparently it does. I find my pillow soaking wet from the tears when I awaken in the morning. The night terrors start and don't stop for a very, very long time. My arm shooting out in my sleep, across the body who is Danny in the driver's seat of the car, holding him back and stopping his head from breaking when the car crashes, yet not being able to stop him from dying. It is my fault that Danny is dead. If I had only ... If I had never ... If ... If ... If ...
I am back in Mexico now, tired and worn out. Physically I feel as though my feet are lead, my head is full of marbles and my heart is either not there or has been replaced with a clay replica of itself. I withdraw and spend most of the time alone that I possibly can. I do not want to be around "C". I do not want to be around Dave but, most of all, I do not want to be around the teenage boys at our lovely mission church who remind me so much that my Danny is gone. This is harsh, I am sorry, but it is true.
Life After Death
Continuing the story on February 18th ...
After the burial, we were off to a hotel for the night. The thing I remember most about the hotel is the swimming pool. As we had come from Mexico for the funeral and everything, I had brought my bathing suit. Now I know this is unusual for people in the Pacific Northwest at the end of February, but it was a "comfort" thing for me.
As soon as we got to the hotel, I put on my suit and turned to my family and said "I will be at the pool if anyone needs me or is looking for me." I remember someone (don't remember who it was, sorry ...) asking "Are you sure you'll be ok alone at the pool?? Do you want me or someone to go with you?" and I remember my response being "No, I will be fine. I just need some alone time."
I saw my folks share some worried glances with my sisters and Dave, but at the time they didn't really register. I am sure they were based on a fear that I wouldn't be ok, but no one said anything so I went to the pool.
The time at the pool was a release of a lot of emotions and, especially, a time to cry without holding back. It was nice because I would swim a lap, float and cry, sing a verse or two of a favorite song and then swim a lap again. I was there over 4 hours and, no, I didn't get out. I also didn't drown, which I think, at some level, I wanted to happen.
Here's the kicker about grief. When you are going through grief, it's expected that you won't say anything out of anger or plain old being mean. You won't lash out at others if you love them or care about them as much as you did the deceased. Now, I don't know where this belief came from but I can tell you that it is incorrect. I did get mad and I did go swimming. I did swim underwater until I couldn't catch my breath anymore, but I couldn't bring myself to simply "quit breathing". Don't get me wrong ... I definitely thought about it. I thought about a lot of things that evening. I thought about what it would be like to walk into heaven with my Danny and what it would be like to wait and see him later. I thought about how I could possibly end my life without hurting another soul. I thought about how many nights I would think about him and wonder if he was ok. I thought about how much I would miss my dear, "colorful character" of a son. I thought about how tired I was of people saying that "He's in a better place" and "You will be ok" when, quite frankly, I did not know if I would EVER be ok again. I thought, mostly, about how much I would miss how much of a part of my life he had always been. Since the time he was born, he was "my" boy and I loved him. He was an extension of me and now it's as though a limb has been cut off. Worse yet, my heart has been removed and a piece of clay put in it's place, along with an hourglass full of the sands of time, just waiting for my time to run out so I can see him again.
I know that my family would be angry and, possibly a little hurt, if they read this part of the story. I also know that now is the time for me to "come clean", so to speak. I don't think that pretending everything was ok and that I knew that I would be ok is honest, nor is it a heartfelt sentiment that I can share with others. As far as I was concerned, NOTHING was ok at that time and I didn't know WHEN (or IF for that matter) I would come out of the experience on the other side, or IF the other side would look any different or better than the side I had originated from. Honestly?? That is a question that I still seek to answer, moment by moment, hour by hour and day by day.
Saturday, July 14, 2012
Death Is The Worst Thing In Life
Today I want to take a moment to acknowledge the previous posts that have been made thus far.
I shared a lot of ultra personal stuff, mostly so that grieving parents would know that it's ok to feel those things. Your feelings are "your feelings" and no one can tell you what is right to feel or that it's wrong to feel a certain way. I know there will be people who will try to console you with statements like "When will you be normal again?" and "It's been 5 years (or however long it's been) and you really should be over this by now!" I want to tell you this ~ You will NEVER be the same as you were before this moment in time. Death is the worst thing you will ever deal with in your life! It doesn't get any worse than death.
I am not trying to say that people shouldn't console one another, but sometimes "less is best" and a simple "I am sorry for your loss" or even "I am so sorry for your loss, please let me know if I can help you in any way at all." Please do not say things like "I understand your loss" UNLESS you have lost a child. Loosing an adult parent is not the same as loosing a child. Loosing an infant is not the same as losing a teenage or young adult child. Please do not say "your child is in a better place" because, as parents, we believe there IS no better place than with their family, the ones who love that child unconditionally. No loss is the same as another and we have to learn to respect each person's loss as an individual loss, which every single person deals with in his or her own way.
No two people will react exactly the same to the same loss. For instance, my husband and I grieved and continue to grieve the loss of Danny quite differently. While I chose to deal with feelings and emotions pretty much head on from the beginning, Dave could not do the same. For him, it was important to distance himself from what happened first, and then and only then could he begin to process the loss of Danny.
It is "normal" for people of faith to question God and even to be angry with Him. Please remember that it is what we DO with that anger that counts. We can remain angry with God and become stagnant, forgetting His glory, grace and mercy or we can embrace God anew, realizing that He knew all along the days that our child would be with us. Is this difficult?? Of course it is!! I would by lying if I told you I didn't wake up some days still and ask God "why Danny?" and expect an answer. I would also be lying if I said that I didn't firmly believe that God has Danny firmly in the palm of His hand and is embracing Him in my dreams.
I have days where I look up and simply say to myself "God, I still don't understand, but I know You do, so I am ok with this." There are also days that my legs feels as heavy as lead, my heart hurts as though it has been physically torn from my chest and stomped on and the tears flow freely. These are the days that I fight to get out of bed. I say my "breath-prayers" just to be able to live ... some days.
I will also take this time, in the beginning of this "journey to a new normal" to acknowledge that both of my daughters (who may be referred to in the story as "A" and "C") as well as my husband Dave played instrumental parts in reminding me that I am still a mom. I didn't get to just "quit" when Danny died, although I felt as though I wanted to. I wasn't allowed to wallow in the self-pity for any length of time without God reminding me to look at what I still have here on this earth. It is more than some have been left with. For some, their only child has been taken and these are the people who touch my heart deeply enough to make me share my journey.
I shared a lot of ultra personal stuff, mostly so that grieving parents would know that it's ok to feel those things. Your feelings are "your feelings" and no one can tell you what is right to feel or that it's wrong to feel a certain way. I know there will be people who will try to console you with statements like "When will you be normal again?" and "It's been 5 years (or however long it's been) and you really should be over this by now!" I want to tell you this ~ You will NEVER be the same as you were before this moment in time. Death is the worst thing you will ever deal with in your life! It doesn't get any worse than death.
I am not trying to say that people shouldn't console one another, but sometimes "less is best" and a simple "I am sorry for your loss" or even "I am so sorry for your loss, please let me know if I can help you in any way at all." Please do not say things like "I understand your loss" UNLESS you have lost a child. Loosing an adult parent is not the same as loosing a child. Loosing an infant is not the same as losing a teenage or young adult child. Please do not say "your child is in a better place" because, as parents, we believe there IS no better place than with their family, the ones who love that child unconditionally. No loss is the same as another and we have to learn to respect each person's loss as an individual loss, which every single person deals with in his or her own way.
No two people will react exactly the same to the same loss. For instance, my husband and I grieved and continue to grieve the loss of Danny quite differently. While I chose to deal with feelings and emotions pretty much head on from the beginning, Dave could not do the same. For him, it was important to distance himself from what happened first, and then and only then could he begin to process the loss of Danny.
It is "normal" for people of faith to question God and even to be angry with Him. Please remember that it is what we DO with that anger that counts. We can remain angry with God and become stagnant, forgetting His glory, grace and mercy or we can embrace God anew, realizing that He knew all along the days that our child would be with us. Is this difficult?? Of course it is!! I would by lying if I told you I didn't wake up some days still and ask God "why Danny?" and expect an answer. I would also be lying if I said that I didn't firmly believe that God has Danny firmly in the palm of His hand and is embracing Him in my dreams.
I have days where I look up and simply say to myself "God, I still don't understand, but I know You do, so I am ok with this." There are also days that my legs feels as heavy as lead, my heart hurts as though it has been physically torn from my chest and stomped on and the tears flow freely. These are the days that I fight to get out of bed. I say my "breath-prayers" just to be able to live ... some days.
I will also take this time, in the beginning of this "journey to a new normal" to acknowledge that both of my daughters (who may be referred to in the story as "A" and "C") as well as my husband Dave played instrumental parts in reminding me that I am still a mom. I didn't get to just "quit" when Danny died, although I felt as though I wanted to. I wasn't allowed to wallow in the self-pity for any length of time without God reminding me to look at what I still have here on this earth. It is more than some have been left with. For some, their only child has been taken and these are the people who touch my heart deeply enough to make me share my journey.
A Missing Heart
It is now a little later on the 16th of February (but still mid-morning), and several friends have now come and gone. This is when I begin to feel horribly alone and even more angry than I already was. A very dear friend, seeing this, says "Come on, let's go see what we can do to get your family tickets to get back home for the funeral and everything." I begin to cry again and say "There's no way we CAN go. It doesn't even matter what it costs because we just put everything we have into this business, to try and make a future for our family." And the tears start again. Our friend M just puts his arm around my shoulder and says "Come on sis, I'll help you and we'll get this done. I am sure that we'll figure out the payment part later." So I went with him and we went to the Travel Agency, which was 2 doors down from the bed and breakfast. I was surprised that I was able to walk even that far without falling down or falling apart. But I did.
Why is it that when you are grieving everything is 100 times more difficult than it is otherwise?? I mean, I had booked a gazillion flights in the last 20 years; both of our older kids had "other" parents, so they began traveling at the ages of about 7 and 5. This time, however, was completely different. It seems like every question the agent asked, I had to say "I don't know" as the answer. Danny's father was holding the funeral a couple of days so we could try and be there, so I only had vague answers for almost everything. When it was all said and done, we flew out on the 16th and arrived in Oregon early that evening. The 17th was spent at the funeral home, viewing our son. I remember how the smell of ammonia and some other undefined smells permeated the air. You know how folks say nothing smells like the smell of a funeral home?? Well, they are right ... absolutely nothing does. I remember mostly how stifling the smell was, how invasive it felt, as though the smell itself was going to become imbedded, somehow, in your very skin or your very being. I saw the open casket and came to an abrupt stop in the aisle.
Why is it that when you are grieving everything is 100 times more difficult than it is otherwise?? I mean, I had booked a gazillion flights in the last 20 years; both of our older kids had "other" parents, so they began traveling at the ages of about 7 and 5. This time, however, was completely different. It seems like every question the agent asked, I had to say "I don't know" as the answer. Danny's father was holding the funeral a couple of days so we could try and be there, so I only had vague answers for almost everything. When it was all said and done, we flew out on the 16th and arrived in Oregon early that evening. The 17th was spent at the funeral home, viewing our son. I remember how the smell of ammonia and some other undefined smells permeated the air. You know how folks say nothing smells like the smell of a funeral home?? Well, they are right ... absolutely nothing does. I remember mostly how stifling the smell was, how invasive it felt, as though the smell itself was going to become imbedded, somehow, in your very skin or your very being. I saw the open casket and came to an abrupt stop in the aisle.
For his 18th birthday, Danny's older sister had gotten him a tattoo with three stars and it was on his forearm. I hadn't gotten to see it but he had on a long sleeve shirt, buttoned all proper and all. I softly unbuttoned the cuff at his left wrist and slowly, ever so gently (as though he'd feel this and it might wake him) I rolled up the sleeve and looked at the tattoo. It was nice and simple; the total opposite of who my Danny had been. In life he had been just as complicated to understand as his death was.
I just stood there, holding his hand and smoothing his hair. I remember that I didn't get to see his eyes and, my God, he had beautiful eyes. I still remember and am moved to tears even now as I write this and try to give a description of something that really, in all honesty, cannot truly be described.
My heart was empty. There was a huge hole where Danny once was. I mean, he is still "there", in my heart ... just not "here" ... if that makes any sense to anyone but me. I was numb. The space where my heart used to be hurt. But it couldn't hurt right?? I mean, that didn't make sense to me then .... how could my heart hurt when I knew that it was just gone?? I was pretty sure I just simply had no more heart because Danny WAS my heart and he was gone ... so it must be gone too.
The 18th brought the funeral. Dave and I rode with my sister and brother-in-law to the cemetery, because we all knew that there was no way either of us were driving. On the way there, I remember listening to an Alabama CD ... well, I didn't remember that's who it was until after the burial, but I digress. We sat in the front row and I just couldn't quit crying. It wasn't like I was sobbing and wailing, but the tears fell effortlessly and endlessly down my already wet cheeks and I didn't even bother wiping them away. I mean, what would have been the point, really?? I knew that I would be crying for a very, very long time to come.
I don't remember a lot of what was said at the burial, but I DO remember the speaker asking this question: "Is it ok for us to now lower the body into the ground??" and I looked at him and retorted "Well, if I say NO, will that stop you from doing it?? Will it bring him back??" and the poor man just looked at Danny's father for support. I don't remember what he said or did at that time, but I DO remember sitting so long at the graveside that I was the last person to be there ... and when I finally turned to go some time later, THAT is when they lowered my Danny into the ground.
When we got in the car to go to the hotel for the night, the Alabama song was still in but almost immediately the song "I Believe There Are Angels Among Us" began to play and I began to weep quietly. Later we determined that wasn't the song that had been playing when we left the car and determined that God was talking to me to remind me that Danny was His and He had taken him home.
I honestly don't remember if the memorial at the community hall was before or after the burial. In fact, sitting here writing this, I wouldn't even want to hazard a guess. I do know that a friend of Danny's wrote a beautiful song and then sang it for him. I remember that the hall was packed full of kids who had only known Danny a total of maybe 2 years but they all were his friends. I remember young person after young person getting up and saying "Well, I thought I was his best friend" ... and reveling in the fact that he had left such a mark on so many people.
Finally, I stood up to say something, but I found that the words caught in my throat and I couldn't share verbally. So I began to sing and the words that came out where these: "In His time, in His time, He makes all things beautiful in His time, Lord please show me every day as You're teaching me Your way that You do just what You say in Your time." Immediately after that, my heart began to remember the lullaby that I had written for Danny when he was a tiny baby and I sang that next. "Good night, little sweet lamb, sleep tight my little lamb, in the land where sheep jump fences good night good night" ... and a bit more. I believe it was right after that when it truly hit me that Danny was gone and truly never coming home again. I remember standing by the wood burning stove with my long wool coat on because I simply could not get warm. I had been cold to the bone from the moment I had heard about Danny's death and that's something that I don't think even a scientist could explain well.
Friday, July 13, 2012
The Dawn of a New Life
Although today's calendar date is July 13, 2012, I am going to return in time to February 16, 2005, and relate the story of how the news of my son's death came to be delivered to me at our new Bed & Breakfast in Mexico.
My husband and I had just held the open house for our brand new bed and breakfast on February 14, 2005, in La Paz, Mexico. We had spent the day of the 15th having a large outdoor bar-b-q for our friends and just today, the 16th, were really getting things ready to begin the rental portion of the business.
It's lunch time and we had just went into the office to enjoy burros and a good, ice cold Corona when the phone rang. I pick it up and it's my oldest sister, and immediately I sense that something is off with her. She is much quieter than usual and I can sense that she is hesitant to tell me something. Our conversation goes something like this:
Sis: "Are you sitting down honey?"
Me: "Um no, but I can be. Uh wait a minute, do I NEED to be?"
Sis: "Yes, you need to sit down."
Me, sitting down: "OK, so I am sitting down now." waiting quietly for her to continue the conversation
Sis: "Is Dave there?"
Me: "Un hunh. Why?"
Sis, ignoring my question: "Do you have another phone so he can hear this conversation too?"
Me: "Nope, but if I hold the phone away a little bit, we can both hear you ok."
Sis: "Well, that will have to do I guess."
Me: "You're making me nervous, what's up?"
Sis: "Well, I hate to be the one to tell you this but ..." here my mind begins racing and I block out whatever she has just tried to tell me. I turn to Dave and, handing him the phone, say "I don't care what she needs to tell me, I can't hear this right now. Do you hear me?? I can't do this right now so I DON'T WANT TO KNOW WHATEVER IT IS!!" and ran out of the room.
When I left the room, I ran out the front doors and into the street. Dave came running out behind me, calling out to me ... "Honey, it will be ok, but I really need to talk to you." and I would scream back "NO, it will never be ok again and I don't WANT to talk to you! Whatever it is, I do NOT want to hear it, NOW or EVER!" I looked at him and whispered "I promise not to run out into the street but I do not want to do this right now. Give me a few minutes and I swear that I will listen. Just not now, ok? Not yet."
At this point, I didn't know what had happened or who it had happened to, I only knew that I didn't want to know that someone I love had left me. Was gone. Didn't matter who, I didn't want to know.
My husband is a wonderful man and he gave me a few minutes to myself. When he finally pulled me back inside, he sat me down and took both hands in his, and proceeded to tell me that our son, my beloved Danny, had been taken from us in a one car accident. I didn't want to hear the details, didn't want to know what had happened or how. It was more than enough for me to simply try to come to terms with the fact that my beloved boy was ... well ... gone. No chance for a good-bye or a hug. No time for one last "Love ya bud" or "stay safe". He was gone. That was all my heart could bear at that moment.
I walked back out into the street and sat on the window ledge (about 2' deep and 5' across) and just wailed. I remember screaming "Oh my God, why did You take him now?? He was just starting to get his life together!! Why??" I was so angry and at that moment in time, I hated God. I knew who God was but He had just allowed my son to be taken and I was in no mood for niceties. I believed in that moment, and for many terrible days after that moment, that God didn't care about me one iota and that He didn't know how much Danny meant to me. I believed that if He DID care, He would NEVER have allowed Danny be taken!!
Due to some unusual circumstances, our dear friends and also the pastors of our church found out about this loss almost simultaneously to us learning of it. Immediately they came over to our business. What I remember the most about that day is the utter anger I felt and the inability to move. I sat while my dear friend J1 held my hand and let me cry, literally, on her shoulder. I yelled at God with her sitting next to me. She never judged me or told me I was wrong to feel what I was feeling. I only remember her saying something along the order of "You know, Jean, God understands anger. It's what you do WITH that anger and AFTER that anger that will really matter to Him." At that moment, I didn't care. I wanted to die. I wanted to be buried next to my beloved Danny and not have to feel this tremendous, all consuming hurt any more. I just ... didn't want to be here.
My husband and I had just held the open house for our brand new bed and breakfast on February 14, 2005, in La Paz, Mexico. We had spent the day of the 15th having a large outdoor bar-b-q for our friends and just today, the 16th, were really getting things ready to begin the rental portion of the business.
It's lunch time and we had just went into the office to enjoy burros and a good, ice cold Corona when the phone rang. I pick it up and it's my oldest sister, and immediately I sense that something is off with her. She is much quieter than usual and I can sense that she is hesitant to tell me something. Our conversation goes something like this:
Sis: "Are you sitting down honey?"
Me: "Um no, but I can be. Uh wait a minute, do I NEED to be?"
Sis: "Yes, you need to sit down."
Me, sitting down: "OK, so I am sitting down now." waiting quietly for her to continue the conversation
Sis: "Is Dave there?"
Me: "Un hunh. Why?"
Sis, ignoring my question: "Do you have another phone so he can hear this conversation too?"
Me: "Nope, but if I hold the phone away a little bit, we can both hear you ok."
Sis: "Well, that will have to do I guess."
Me: "You're making me nervous, what's up?"
Sis: "Well, I hate to be the one to tell you this but ..." here my mind begins racing and I block out whatever she has just tried to tell me. I turn to Dave and, handing him the phone, say "I don't care what she needs to tell me, I can't hear this right now. Do you hear me?? I can't do this right now so I DON'T WANT TO KNOW WHATEVER IT IS!!" and ran out of the room.
When I left the room, I ran out the front doors and into the street. Dave came running out behind me, calling out to me ... "Honey, it will be ok, but I really need to talk to you." and I would scream back "NO, it will never be ok again and I don't WANT to talk to you! Whatever it is, I do NOT want to hear it, NOW or EVER!" I looked at him and whispered "I promise not to run out into the street but I do not want to do this right now. Give me a few minutes and I swear that I will listen. Just not now, ok? Not yet."
At this point, I didn't know what had happened or who it had happened to, I only knew that I didn't want to know that someone I love had left me. Was gone. Didn't matter who, I didn't want to know.
My husband is a wonderful man and he gave me a few minutes to myself. When he finally pulled me back inside, he sat me down and took both hands in his, and proceeded to tell me that our son, my beloved Danny, had been taken from us in a one car accident. I didn't want to hear the details, didn't want to know what had happened or how. It was more than enough for me to simply try to come to terms with the fact that my beloved boy was ... well ... gone. No chance for a good-bye or a hug. No time for one last "Love ya bud" or "stay safe". He was gone. That was all my heart could bear at that moment.
I walked back out into the street and sat on the window ledge (about 2' deep and 5' across) and just wailed. I remember screaming "Oh my God, why did You take him now?? He was just starting to get his life together!! Why??" I was so angry and at that moment in time, I hated God. I knew who God was but He had just allowed my son to be taken and I was in no mood for niceties. I believed in that moment, and for many terrible days after that moment, that God didn't care about me one iota and that He didn't know how much Danny meant to me. I believed that if He DID care, He would NEVER have allowed Danny be taken!!
Due to some unusual circumstances, our dear friends and also the pastors of our church found out about this loss almost simultaneously to us learning of it. Immediately they came over to our business. What I remember the most about that day is the utter anger I felt and the inability to move. I sat while my dear friend J1 held my hand and let me cry, literally, on her shoulder. I yelled at God with her sitting next to me. She never judged me or told me I was wrong to feel what I was feeling. I only remember her saying something along the order of "You know, Jean, God understands anger. It's what you do WITH that anger and AFTER that anger that will really matter to Him." At that moment, I didn't care. I wanted to die. I wanted to be buried next to my beloved Danny and not have to feel this tremendous, all consuming hurt any more. I just ... didn't want to be here.
Life and Times of a Grieving Mom
This is a blog that is meant to help parents everywhere who have lost a child, but mostly those who have lost older children. I am not saying that losing a baby is not a very devastating event in one's life, but it is a totally different type of loss than that of an older child. I know because I experienced both.
This is intended to be a place where people can come and see that life can and does go on. It never returns to "normal", nor do we ever "get over the pain". Please don't read this blog with those expectations or you will be sorely disappointed.
This blog will be full of sadness, grief, happiness and life. Please remember that I am still finding my "new normal" and hopefully, prayerfully, this blog can help us on that journey together.
I do talk a lot about God because, quite frankly, without my faith my husband would have been burying me shortly after we buried our son.
I pray this blog blesses those who need blessing, helps those who need helping, comforts those who need comforting and points those in need of an inner peace toward that source of inner peace.
This is intended to be a place where people can come and see that life can and does go on. It never returns to "normal", nor do we ever "get over the pain". Please don't read this blog with those expectations or you will be sorely disappointed.
This blog will be full of sadness, grief, happiness and life. Please remember that I am still finding my "new normal" and hopefully, prayerfully, this blog can help us on that journey together.
I do talk a lot about God because, quite frankly, without my faith my husband would have been burying me shortly after we buried our son.
I pray this blog blesses those who need blessing, helps those who need helping, comforts those who need comforting and points those in need of an inner peace toward that source of inner peace.
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