Two Months

Usually I get to Fridays and think "Whew!  I survived another week!  Yay me!"  Most of the time, we pass through weeks and months without realizing how much--or how little--time has gone by.

It's been different for me this summer, though.  Weeks have passed into months and now it's here again.  Another "anniversary."  I often wonder why we use that word to mark time.  It's a celebratory word, meant to mark happy occasions.  Sometimes though, we use it to mark the time that has passed since a major life event, as in a death that has occurred (the chaplain I work with explained that we use it for lack of something different, more explicable).

Today marks two months since A's death, along with the deaths of two other teenagers and the serious injuries of two more in the car accident.   I was going through my morning routine, then I wrote a check and asked Shawn for the date.  "July 31," he told me.  What?  Wait--that means today is....  Then I started crying during Praise and Worship in church and 'leaked' through the rest of church.  During certain parts of today's message, I sobbed quietly with more ache than I've allowed myself to feel in a very long time.

I think some of us--myself definitely included--are still trying to find reasons for the tragedy; we're still dealing with it on a daily basis.  For some of us, it might be a while before we're not dealing with it on a daily basis.  I miss A terribly.  My heart doesn't ache so much as it just plain hurts.  If I'm feeling this way, I can't imagine what the parents of those five children are still going through.  I pray I never find out.

Some days it's only in the back of my mind.  I don't cry every day now, only when something hits me.  Other days, it's front and center.  A isn't here anymore.  I hold my own children a little closer on those days.  I say a few more prayers than usual.  I whisper a few more "I love you"'s into sleeping ears on  those nights.  I feel it more on Thursdays at the center, where I leave quickly before it gets to be too much.  I also feel it more on Sundays at church; I'd stop going to avoid that too, but I know that's where the healing is (as it is at the center) and I know I need to face it at some point.

Until then, until I can find the healing, this is the moment I'm concentrating on:  It was the last official youth event I was chaperoning at our old church.  I'd just found out I was finally pregnant and I was no longer feeling like a good fit with the youth ministry (funny enough, A and our other adult chaperone were the only ones who knew about my pregnancy:  A had guessed by my behavior, based on the prayers we'd been offering up).   I was down by the small lake watching the teens who wanted to be in the boats and canoes.  I'd taken my camera with me because I was always looking for photographic opportunities.  I looked out across the water and there was A, by herself in a canoe.  She wasn't paddling, just lazing along, enjoying the moment with her eyes closed and a thoughtful look on her face.  I still wonder what she was thinking; I never asked because I didn't think she'd want to know I'd been studying her so closely:  I didn't want to make her self conscious.  Maybe she wasn't thinking anything, maybe she was just enjoying a moment made just for her by God Himself.  I also figured it was a private moment and teens need those private moments.  They'll talk to someone they trust when they're ready (you just have to give them a trustworthy person).  Unfortunately, the picture didn't turn out as well as I had hoped, but I still have the memory it serves.

A, I hope you know how much you are missed down here.  I know your work was done here on Earth and that you're more than okay now.  I love you, Sweetie.

Why?

Some things aren't meant for our own understanding, yet we question them anyway.

The little town I live in has been hit by a tragedy and it has rocked my own world personally.  Five teenagers were in a car accident and only two of them survived.  Two of the teens in the accident were/are children of one of my best friends.  My friend lost one of her daughters and is keeping vigil at her son's bedside in a trauma unit.  I can't even begin to make sense of any of this.  I keep hoping I will wake up and find out this was just a horrible nightmare, or just some stupid, rotten mistake.  I know I'm not the only one.

I have loved these two children, and their little sister, as my own, for many years now.  Their mom, my friend, loves my boys as her own.  She was instrumental in saving my life and leading me back to God, back to Jesus and back to the church when I did not want to be led or saved.  I love this woman with all my heart and it kills me to see the pain she is in right now.  Her ex-husband (a wonderful man) is also very important to me and it pains me to see him go through this, too.   The two oldest children have always treated Noah as a little brother; they never treated him differently for his differences.  There were times I wanted to wring D's neck for what he was teaching Noah (!), but I love him for loving my son.  I love this whole family with my whole heart.

Shawn and I talked to Noah, explaining to him that A is now in heaven and D is in the care of good doctors and that we need to pray.  We told him as much of the truth as he can understand.  Noah isn't sure what to do.  He loves both of these kids as older siblings.  D is always busy getting into "trouble" with me for the things he was teaching Noah.  A looked after Noah (and he often drove her nuts, as any good little brother would do!) when we attended the same church and Bible studies.  For several years, their home was our second home.  I can rationalize my grandfather's death for Noah (he was 90, had a good, long full life), but this, I just can't even begin explain to myself, so how I can I make it make sense for my ten year old?  Noah wants to see D and we've promised him that we'll take him, but right now is just not the right time, so we're having him make a big poster and I'm passing hugs instead.  We've been praying as a family and I've been seeing friends from my old church to pray with them and plan support for the families involved.  This isn't how I wanted to get back in touch with them or with the kids I worked with in the youth group, but this is unfortunately how it is happening.

I feel such a profound sense of loss right now that I don't even know where to begin.  If I feel this way, I can't imagine how the parents must feel.  I don't want to imagine how the parents must feel.  I've been on auto-pilot since getting the call and I'm grateful that my mom is here visiting to help me with the boys and that I can rely on Shawn to be the husband I need him to be.  Even in the midst of this, I am so blessed.  The grief comes in waves.  At times it still feels very surreal and I wonder when I'll wake up from this terrible nightmare.  It helps that I was able to see D the night it happened;  Shawn and I ran to be with our friends, spending the night in the ER and then the TICU waiting room.  I was able to hold D's hand, kiss him, talk to him, tell him how much I love him that first night.   Shawn is going to take me back to see him tomorrow.

A was such a beautiful young lady.  She had a beautiful singing voice and was great with kids.  She especially loved the little ones; I remember the way she looked at Avery as she cradled him when he was a newborn.  She was a year out of high school. The reality that I will never again be bowled over by one of her run-and-jump hugs as she comes out of nowhere hasn't quite sunk in yet.  A was a petite, tiny little girl, but she always managed to knock me off my feet!  I'm finding it difficult to talk about her in the past tense.  It just isn't computing.  A had a good heart and a loving way about her.    D is a goofball, but is also kindhearted and has a loving way (but in more of a boy way!).  This is how their parents have raised them.  D towers over me and finds it amusing to use my shoulder or my head as an elbow rest. He used to do anything for a ride in my jeep and he loved to play tricks on me.  One time I got in my jeep and he'd pushed every single button for stability control and whatever else you have to push for rock climbing or mud bogging.  I had such a time figuring out how to undo what he had done!  Another night, after youth, his mom couldn't find him, but we knew he was somewhere to be found eventually.  I needed to get home to Noah (this was pre-Avery), so I headed home.  Sure enough, 1/4 mile down the road, D popped up in my back seat, "Hi, Miss Amy!!"  I handed my phone back to him, said, "Call your mom and tell her she'll find you at home."  *sigh*  He knows my house is a safe place to show up unannounced and that I will always feed him when he does show up, hug him, listen to him and turn him back around on the correct path.

Please, if you are the praying kind, pray for these families and the many, many people who have been affected by the deaths of these three teens and the injuries of the two boys.  Please pray for the continued improvement in the health of J and D.  Thank you.

Psalm 62:5-8, "Find rest, O my soul, in God alone; my hope comes from him.  He alone is my rock and my salvation; he is my fortress, I will not be shaken.  My salvation and my honor depend on God; he is my might rock, my refuge.  Trust in him at all times, O people; pour out your hearts to him, for God is our refuge."

Just In Case You Ever Wonder

Today was my grandfather's burial.  Because it was in Maine, I missed it, as I also missed his funeral.  It's been a lot harder for me than I thought it would be.  I think in some ways it's delayed my healing process, even though it hasn't been anything that anyone could have helped.

I've also been following the news accounts of the tornado in Joplin.  It's an emotional train wreck for me.  I internalize a lot of things and this is one of them.  I have such a hard time with the pain, but I can't stay away from it.  I'm sure some of my friends will soon be responding there once they are finished with Alabama, Louisiana and Mississippi.  This is a busy season for disaster responders.  Some day I'll get my turn; is it odd that I want to respond to disasters?  Not in the sense that you might be thinking, the looky-loo sense.  I've trained for it, now I just need the emotional backbone to be able to do it. Until then, I'll sit here in Virginia and pray for everyone's safety.

Tomorrow will have been my mother-in-law's 59th birthday.  She never got to see Shawn and I get married, never got to meet her grandchildren.  I feel blessed that I was able to know her when Shawn and I dated in high school, but I feel gipped when I think about how our sons never got to know her.  She was a wonderful woman, taken from us too soon.

So, to say it's an emotional week would be putting it mildly.  I have to remind myself that God is in all of this somehow.  He is prevailing, as always.  I will heal from my grandfather's death, we will someday heal from the death of my mother-in-law and the families in the mid-west will heal, survive and conquer everything they are going through.  How do I know this?  Because I have faith.

Before bedtime tonight, Avery brought his three books to the chair for me to read to him.  One of them wasn't one of his usuals.  It was Max Lucado's "Just in Case You Ever Wonder."  It talks about how much we, as parents love our children, what gifts they are, how unique God made them and about teaching our children about heaven and God.  My tears caught me off guard, even though they shouldn't have.  My almost-two year old's reaction to my tears caught me even more off guard.  I don't like crying in front of my children, but I couldn't help it tonight.  There was just too much to hold back.  He furrowed his little brow at me, patted my face with his little hand, then rubbed my cheek with his blankie while whispering, "It's okay, Mommy."  Who knew a two year old could not only have such compassion, but know how to show it?  I held him a little tighter, snuggled him a little closer and thanked God for the gift that Avery is to us.  And this is where God prevails in my own little world.

When Noah Speaks Wisdom

Noah forced HIS hand today.  In the process, he spoke volumes of  10 year old wisdom into my life.

For the past two years, the ministry center I volunteer with has partnered with two local hospice chapters to facilitate a family grief day camp.  This is a one-day event for children and their parents/guardians who have lost a loved one.  It is a spectacular day, full of all kinds of wonderful things (I won't lie to you--some of the kids don't want to be there when they arrive in the morning, but we see some great changes throughout the day) and terrific people.  I have gone to help out with the children and some of the behind-the-scenes organization.  It's one of the things I love the most about our center.  When the date was announced for this year's camp, I signed up again with hesitation: as a volunteer.


A child's diagnosis of AS can make a parent really kind of dumb sometimes.  When my grandfather died, I didn't think clearly.  Because of Avery's age and Noah's AS, I have made most of the grieving about me.  I have forgotten that my children have also suffered a deep loss.  The day Denny died, Noah looked at me and asked, "What will Avery and I do now?"  My heart cried in anguish and even though I already knew it, I asked him to tell me what he meant.  He went on to explain, "Now that Denny is gone, Avery and I don't have a grandfather."  My son is correct.  My father and Shawn's father are not in the picture and even if they were, they are not good influences for our children.  Sadly, we have had to actively make the choice that even if our fathers wanted to be involved, they would not be allowed.  My paternal grandfather has never met my children and even though we keep in touch, he does not play an active role in our lives.  My sons have suffered as much loss as I have.  However, thinking with an AS brain, it didn't really occur to me that Noah was feeling much loss.  He didn't cry when we told him Denny died.  In fact, he had asked what was for breakfast after declaring that Denny had been healed by the hand of God and was in a better place!

Today was quite possibly the biggest blow I've been dealt in this grief process.  While at work, my son brought the Family Grief Camp application to me and said he wanted to sign up.  Thinking he meant he wanted to volunteer, I told him we'd have to talk to Miss Sue, our volunteer coordinator.  Noah looked at me with a look I seldom see on his face and said, "No Mom.  I really miss Denny.  We need to go to this."  It was a tidbit of normal that I didn't really want (usually they make me smile).  I held onto him for a few minutes while we both cried and let it all out.


So, this year, if you see me at camp, I am stepping out of my shoes as a volunteer and into a different role:  The one of the mom of a grieving child who has lost his great-grandfather.


*Just in case you are wondering about the rest of the conversation I had with Noah pertaining to grandfathers, we are praying for "a Denny" for him and Avery.  I reminded him that Denny was a gift to me, not my original grandfather.  He was given to me after my grandfather died and has been my grandfather ever since.  So, if anyone knows of a gentleman looking to adopt two very special grandsons, let him know where he can interview and fill out the application!  :)*

Wearing the Other Shoes

I have the privilege of volunteering for a local Christian non-profit that is "devoted to providing support, education, training and a Biblical perspective for adults, teens, and children who are dying, dealing with illness, pain, bereavement and other difficult issues, and for those who journey with them." 
*taken directly from our mission statement


I first joined this group over six years ago when I was at my worst physically, emotionally and spiritually.  I've been raised up, and now gratefully, I am able to give back.  I go every week and give back the best way I can.  Coffee and Conversation (formerly the Care Cafe), has been my small ministry within this larger ministry for close to three years.  It's one I take great pride in.  I love feeding people and helping out.   Best of all, I love taking care of my visitors and introducing newcomers to our ministry.  Noah has begun helping me (he calls himself my apprentice, I love it!) now that we are homeschooling.  He has also been staying for Prayer Hour on his own while I pick Avery up from daycare. What my co-workers are able tell me about his prayers is just amazing, God-given!  For everything that has been given to my family, I'm happy to be giving back.  Being a part of this center is as natural to me as air, water and yes, God!


Over the years, thanks to this center and a Christian disaster response group, I've had some classes and training in grief and disaster response (that probably surprises you because I'm usually the first one to scream, "RUN FOR YOUR LIVES," but if you bring me in after the fact and give me as many facts as possible, I'm actually kind of good!  I really can keep my head on pretty straight if the crisis isn't mine!).  I'm used to wearing these shoes. They were inexpensive and I've had them for years.  They are comfortable, they are broken in, they fit well and I know what to expect (as much as one can know what to expect in crisis/disaster response).   I'm also REALLY experienced in dealing with chronic illness, so I have my PhD in that counseling as well (oddly enough, no one will give me the piece of paper to go with it, though.  Hmmm).  I've been able to share my experiences concerning chronic illness and help our fearless leader teach a few classes about helping those who suffer from chronic illness, as well.  It's all part of the privilege of working for this center.  It's all part of something I take very seriously and personally.  It's all part of something bigger.


So, to be on the other side this past week, wearing the other shoes, has been a twist for me.  As you know from my previous posts, my beloved grandfather died last Wednesday.  Even though I know all the steps to grieving (and therefore "should" know what to expect), each day has brought new surprises for me.  These new shoes aren't comfortable, they don't fit properly, they have left blisters, and are awkward.  They were expensive, too: the cost of my grandfather's life and my health.  I'm used to taking care of everyone else, not the one being taken care of.  One day I'm fine, the next day I can't get off the couch.  While I know this is normal, it doesn't feel normal.  It's not my normal.  It's not me.  These aren't my shoes.  With the grief has come an explosion of pain inside my body, a reaction to the stress.  You know it's bad when I bother my specialists for prednisone on a weekend (especially for prednisone, especially on a weekend).  Between the grief and the pain, not only can I not function, I don't want to function.  I know this is normal.  It's my new normal.  But I don't like wearing these shoes.  They belong to someone else. . .   Don't they?


Denny died on a Wednesday, I go into 'work' on Thursdays.  There was no question that I was going to go into work.  Where else was I going to go?  What else was I supposed to do?  I kept myself baking and cooking everything I could get my hands on in the kitchen all day Wednesday (I wanted to make sure I had plenty of food to serve on Thursday, but considering I had enough food for three armies and several small, third world countries, plus my own family, I don't think that was going to be a problem).  At midnight, completely baked-out, I looked around thinking, "What now?  Oh, I should go to bed now so I can be fresh in the morning for work, right?  Right."  Of course I didn't sleep.  And of course I ran late that morning.  I like to be at work by 9:15 to be ready when my little cafe opens at 10, but it was almost 10 before I even pulled out of my own driveway for the 25 minute drive.  I found out along the way that Avery's daycare was closed due to the public schools having only a half day.  Great, so now I was going to have both kids with me.  This would be interesting!  While setting up my food, the rest of the staff came down for our morning hugs (if you don't start your work day like this, you're missing out) and to express their condolences.  Several of them said they were surprised to see me.  Where else was I going to go?  What else was I supposed to do?  This is where I belonged, this is where I needed to be.  This is where MY healing has always begun and where I knew it would again this time.


Wearing the other shoe isn't so bad.   My toes are a bit pinched.  I have slipped and fallen a few times.  I know I will again before all is said and done.  But, now that I've read the shoebox and had the training, I know a little bit about what to expect.   I'm also in the care of great, loving people who know what to expect and how to guide me while I wear these shoes.  Denny will always be dear to us, so I don't think I will ever be fully finished with these shoes.  I just hope to have a few good days in between where I can wear my old ones.


The best part?  I survived having both kids with me at work.  :)


*Please note that for the privacy of my family I did not include the name of the non-profit I work for. If you think you could be helped by this group or would just like more information about this group or the disaster response group, please feel free to contact me.  Thanks!*