Traveling this road.....

I am not alone.....there are so many others on this journey that Eric & I have found ourselves on.  Thankfully, some of them have written books and I can benefit from their experiences.  It helps to know someone else has found themselves in the muck and the mire of loss, others have asked the same questions I am asking, feeling the same things I'm feeling and having similar struggles.  I guess I'm living out 'misery loves company".  It's not about wanting to make others around you miserable but having the reassurance that others have traveled this road before you and survived it and how can I make decisions that will make me better not bitter.

I just finished a wonderful book by Jerry Sittser entitled "A Grace Disguised" that has helped tremendously.  It makes sense!  He gets it!  Here are just some of the quotes that impacted me and things that have helped me:

On recovering from a catastrophic loss:  "catastrophic loss by definition precludes recovery.  It will transform us or destroy us, but it will never leave us the same.  Whatever the future is, it will, and must, include the pain of the past with it.  Sorrow never entirely leaves the soul of those who have suffered a severe loss.  Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.  Deep sorrow often has the effect of stripping life of pretense, vanity and waste.  Suffering can lead to a simpler life, less cluttered with non essentials."  Suffering a tremendous loss stripes your beliefs down to the root; you re-examine everything you have believed and thought was true.  I have to start with what I know and for the longest time I didn't know anything anymore.  "Drown out what you know of God and you will drown in sin."*  My grief was drowning out what I knew of God so I had to really think, what do I know about God.  The only thing I could start with was, I know God loves me. I know, even though my perception is that I am alone in this, that I can not feel or hear or perceive God around me, He is here in the muck and the mire with me.   I haven't gotten much further than that; there's still so much I am having to re-discover.

"The most important thing you will ever think, is what you think about God"*  I have had to re-examine what I think about God and I vacillate daily, hourly on how I think of God now.  For those who define God's sovereignty as absolute, taking that to it's extreme would mean that God didn't just allow Ian to get cancer, He didn't just allow Ian to die - He killed Ian.  My biggest struggle has been how do I reconcile the God that I know loves me with a God who would kill my son and the pain that would bring?  And just telling me that 'God is sovereign', like it's some kind of healing salve doesn't help me.  It doesn't reconcile these two extremes in my mind.

I have always believed that in between two versions of a story is most often, the truth.  I think the same can be said on how we view God.  In between the extreme belief that God's sovereignty  means that we are mere puppets in this play called life and the belief that God sits back and has no control over the things happening to us and around us, probably lies the truth.  I don't think having the gift of choice in our life (i.e., will I believe in God or not, will I follow this path or that one?) negates God's sovereignty.  I think He is big enough for both.  Just because we may not be able to understand how those two things work together shows our limitations not God's.

Do I trust God with all my heart?  No.  My heart is not just bruised, it's shattered.  It's like Humpty Dumpty, I don't think you can put all the pieces back together.  I'm sure some pieces have gone missing and I'll never find them again.  But I also believe, I know, that in time God can heal this broken heart.

"The scenery of my life is different now, as different as the desert is from the mountains.  But it can still be beautiful, as beautiful as the desert at dusk."  I never liked the desert; I couldn't see the beauty of it, not until I went to Navajo.  Then I saw the beauty of it's bare peaks and red earth.  I don't know if I'll be able to look back on my life and see it as beautiful but I have the hope that when my life is over and God shows me the tapestry that was my life, I will weep at the beauty of all of it - the happy, the sad, the highs and the lows, the gains and the losses.

"Finally, we reach the point where we begin to search for a new life, one that depends less on circumstances and more on the depth of our souls."  I love this!  I am just beginning this search.  I'm not only grieving the loss of my son but who I was and how I looked at life.  My belief that God will step in and save the day is gone. God doesn't always save the day but the day that has crumbled into the abyss is not eternity.  I have eternity to look forward to.  "Now life will be a little less sweeter, death a little less bitter."

"Even the saddest things can become, once we have made peace with them, a source of wisdom and strength for the journey that still lies ahead".  Frederick Buechner

They say that regret is an unavoidable result of loss and at times I have regrets about how we treated Ian's cancer - should we have hit it harder when it returned, should we have made that trip to Cancer Treatment Centers of America but I have no regrets about my relationship with Ian.  I have no regrets about the time we spent together, really talking; about how many times we exchanged 'I love you's", about showing him how much I valued him.....he left this world KNOWING he was loved and would be missed.....I have no regrets about that.  The time spent with him was a blessing.

"We cannot change the situation, but we can allow the situation to change us."  There is no way to avoid this; I will be different.  My hope, my prayer is that I will be better, not bitter.

* recent sermon titles by my pastor, Benji Magness.

Just one more....

I can't smell you anymore.  Every night I stop in your room before I go to bed, I pull your chemo hat out of your dresser and take a big whiff but you aren't there anymore.  I guess I should be glad it lasted as long as it did - 7 whole months. I looked around your room and it hit me again - you're gone and I won't see you for such a long time.

There are so many things I would love to have just one more of:
     just one more hug
     just one more smile
     just one more 'eye roll'
     just one more late night on the couch
     just one more talk into the wee hours of the morning
     just one more piano piece
     just one more chance to be your personal music stand while you practiced your violin
     just one more chance to tell you 'I love you' (I do that every night but I don't know
          if you hear me)
    just one more art project
    just one more in-depth discussion about the moral implications of "Sister Wives"
    just one more new restaurant to explore
    just one more "I love you mom"
    just one more anything........
   

Dear Ian

Dear Ian,
This was the first birthday in 20 years I've had without you and I didn't like it.  It hit me the night before my birthday that you wouldn't be there and that thought never left me.  Even though Amy and I kept busy with her wedding plans, your absence was palatable.  We could have used your input when we talked to the caterer - you were a connoisseur of food.  You had such an eye for color and style - we would have loved to get your opinion when we visited the florist.  I can hear you sharing your opinion (whether solicited or not) on every aspect of this wedding; God I wish you were here for this!

Amy has been so sweet, thinking about ways to remember you on her wedding day.  Walking down the aisle to recordings of you playing the piano, a memory table for the loved ones we've lost, even the wedding favors - they'll be sharing your recipe for Ian's lemonade......you will be with us that day, just like you are every day.

I'm learning that you have to keep trudging forward through this grief or you get bogged down in the mire of it.  You were right about the sadness you would leave behind - it never ends.  Some days are better than others but the sadness is always there.  It's not a sharp pain anymore that takes my breath away but it's never ending and it's exhausting; it saps you of energy.  I have had my moments when something so poignantly reminds me of you and I'm able to smile with the memory but it's still not safe to wear mascara.

We took Alex with us for the first time when we had an appointment with our grief counselor and she asked Alex what he missed most about you.  He hesitated for quite a while - you know Alex, he thinks a while before he answers and I'm so glad we didn't interrupt him because his answer was both touching and surprising.  He said he misses your laugh - that was worth waiting for.

I should be able to start working on keeping my promise to turn your Caring Bridge into a book soon - I can't promise that it will get published but I'll do my best sweetie.  I know you wanted me to try and I will.  I can't believe you've been gone seven months already.... I realized today that I'll be visiting your grave for a very long time before I finally get to see you again.  I love you and miss you so very much.

Mom

Gifts from unexpected places.....

I got a gift today.  Actually, I've gotten lots of gifts lately cuz it was just Christmas after all, but this was a gift from my heavenly Father and it was just the right gift at just the right time.

An elderly lady from our church called the office today - I don't really know her, don't talk to her much but I've always thought of her as a somewhat grumpy person.  I was alone in the office and she said she needed to share a story with someone and asked if I had a few minutes.  Her husband has been ill for a very long time and she stays home to care for him but recently her brother was critically ill and in the hospital.  He was unconscious much of the time but on December 12th (Alex's birthday, by the way) her brother woke up and asked if he was in heaven.  His wife was by his side, holding his hand, along with a few other family members.  They all agreed he wasn't in heaven and they asked him why he thought he was?
    "Well, because Jesus is sitting at the foot of my bed."
But Jesus had told him, "Son, I'm not quite ready to take you yet."
He remained in the hospital, gradually getting worse.  The time came when the end was very near and he wanted to go home to die (all this was sounding so desperately familiar).  They brought him home and within the hour he was gone.  It was time.

She said you just don't hear very many stories like that and she just wanted to share it with someone.  I told her, she may not be aware, but my youngest son had died 6 months ago and we had a story of our own, very similar to hers.  She said the very first time she came to Grace they were praying for Ian and she had been praying for him and our family the last two years.  She then went on to relate her own experience when her son died 6 years ago and she was at his bedside when he asked Jesus to forgive him and when he passed away.

This was a reminder to me of the gift of Ian's last words in the days before he died.  I knew this was God's timing because I have wondered where God is in all this.  In all this grief and pain and questioning ~ and He was there today, in that empty office, sending a 'grumpy' woman to minister to a grieving mom.

Eric got his own gift this week in the form of a red robin, standing on the lawn in front of his parking space at work like he was waiting for him to get there.  We haven't seen a red robin in months (probably because Ian's cat, Emmett, has made it his mission in life to hunt down and kill every living creature in our back yard) and we didn't realize how much we missed them.  God's blessings are there and usually when we need them the most.