Christmas 2005

I realize it must seem odd that I would *jump* to Christmas 2005 from the previous post of mid-fall, early winter, but it is the next important date in my journey to the new normal that would become my life and my way of looking at things.

I do not want to dwell on the words that were used in the last post as they were only reminders of the negative emotions that one may feel when a loved one, especially a child, passes through our lives up into the more close relationship with the heavenly Father. 

Danny's birthday was December 15th, so of course pre-Christmas right up through his day of death, February 16th, are the hardest days of the year to deal with. Memories simply flood my heart and soul. My dreams are inundated with birthday parties and Christmas celebratons of the past. 

One especially poignant memory is of a shared birthday party between A and Danny. Both of the kids were small-ish, about 9 and 7 if memory serves and they wanted a "joint" birthday party. Now, Danny was really into matchbox and micro-machine cars while A was super into Barbie. Hmmmm ... what to do ... I know, we'll have a huge Costco sheet cake and split it right down the middle!! Costco rocked the cake and even iced the two halves differently; one with pink frosting and the other with a green frosting with a black road somehow colored onto it for the cars. I remember this as being the largest party the kids ever had, and it ended up being over 30 other kids. What fun was had when they broke the pinata and got that serious sugar high from all of the candy in it. 

The picture, along with several hundred others, is still in my head but in the *storage part* of my brain.

That's another thing I learned to do and do quite well. I sectioned off parts of my brain that remembered certain things and would not allow myself the luxury of looking at those things/memories unless and/or until I would not break into tears doing so.

For instance, I still remember all of the times that Danny would walk in the door and I would ask "You hungry bud?" and he would say (standard reply), "I could eat!" Even now, when I hear that phrase my heart hurts and the tears rush to be shed. Danny was over 6'4" and had two hollow legs, so he was always hungry! 

So December 15th comes and goes, and I am unable to move. I don't even get out of bed. At the beginning of December I knew this day would come. After all, time marches on and the world does not stop because I am grieving. In fact, I come to the full and utterly dis-satisfying feeling that the world does not revolve around me. What?? Honestly all I want now is for the world to stop turning, flowers to stop blooming, the sun to stop shining, voices to stop singing, friends to stop caring and my life to stop living. Remember, I warned you, this is an honest blog and there were, undoubtedly, moments that I didn't care whether or not I was alive. It simply did not matter to me one way or the other.

I found out who my true friends were. People who I never thought cared about me at a "heart-level" or any deeper than surface anyway called to see how I was. Asking if there was anything they could do for me, my heart would hurt because I wanted to say "No, are you blind?? Do you not see that I am dead inside?? That when my Danny died, I died too??"  That is what I wanted to say. But I never did. I simply replied with "Thank you so much for calling. Just showing you know and care means so much to me." 

PLEASE don't get me wrong. The statements that I made and the words I said to these true friends were just as true as the first statements that I could have said but did not. I simply could not be selfish and say what was on my mind and in my heart when I knew that these people were calling because they cared. Whether or not I believed it before this, I believed it now.

Everything I did was rote. We had a business to run, and Dave was in New Orleans (this was right after Hurricane Katrina and he did personal security work), so I focused largely on the business and shoved my feelings of grief deep down inside. I remember sharing them frequently with my good friend but now I wonder what that must have cost her at the time. I mean, there is no way that one person can help another person with the grief process without it costing them something of their own. First off, the time investment is huge. The emotional investment in the grieving person is larger still. One would really have to believe in the person who was/is grieving a huge amount in order to walk this road with her.  I had never really thought, until writing these thoughts down, what my dear friend must have felt after each time she interceded for, prayed with and shared in my pain. Now, thinking on these things, I am humbled and deeply apologetic that I never realized any of this until now. WOW. 

The first Christmas after Danny's death was the toughest one. C and I went and got a bunch of toys and kid's stuff and made stockings for all of the kids at our church. We had a lot of fun doing that and the kids really enjoyed getting them. I cried every time a child would give me a hug that day but, quite honestly, it still hurts my heart a little every little person's hug I get  ... to this day.

I sit here writing this now, and remember wondering what Danny looked like in heaven. I know that he is in heaven playing catch with his great-grampa George and holding his baby cousin Mark in his arms. He never got to meet this cousin ... none of us did. But because they are all in heaven, I choose to believe that God allows them to know one another in this perfect paradise even as they wait for other family members to join them. This is a single choice that I make in order to maintain my sanity and live a somewhat *new normal* kind of life.

Please do not feel it necessary to correct this choice of mine based on Biblical scripture or other reasons you may have. As I said, it is solely my choice to believe this way. Good, bad, right or wrong, this is how I choose to maintain my sanity. 

C and I argued ... a lot. I couldn't shake the feeling that  something horrid was going to happen to her so I became super overprotective. Most of the people she hung out with at this time were missionary kids and/or preacher's kids so I don't remember worrying as much when she was doing things with that particular group of friends. I do remember, however, that when she wanted to do something with her secular friends I was much more harsh and unsure of whether or not she should be hanging out with said friends. I also fell back into the super bad and irritating habit of cussing  ... a lot. I don't think there was any particular catalyst other than the feeling that my life, all of a sudden, was out of my control. When Danny died, there was one thing that I quickly realized ... life is never IN my control, nor is it really mine TO control. I also believe this is the most frustrating realization of my life. 

C and I talk quite a bit about the time we were alone in Mexico and our memories differ greatly. That is another thing that I worry about. I realize now that the loss of Danny was OUR loss, but I know that at the time I treated it as though I was the only on affected by it. For that, I am sorry. 

It continues to amaze me how God works in the life of a believer when there is a question that involved His sovereignty. He quietly shows me His love every day, with every new breath that I am allowed to take. He shows me His creativeness with every wave that I witness breaking on the shoreline at the coast. He shows me His love for vivid colors with every single sunrise and sunset that I am allowed to see. He tells me He loves me with the birdsong every morning at my window. I am reminded of His majesty with every mountain peak, every eagle and every flower that I see coming to blossom in His time. 

"In His time, in His time, He makes all things beautiful in His time ... Lord my life to You I bring, may each song I have to sing, be to You an offering ... in Your time."