“It was the question I asked the bereaved mother that came to my son’s funeral.
It was the question a mother asked me as we stood by her granddaughter’s casket, surrounded by family and flowers.
And it is the right question.
Because when the breath leaves the body of your child, and you look down at the shell that used to be the home of a vibrant, living soul, you simply can. not. breathe.”
Read the rest here: How Do You Breathe?
Oh, we mamas are experts at waiting.
We wait for nine months to hold that little person growing inside us. We wait for them to learn to crawl, walk, talk and read. And then we wait to pick them up at school, for piano and dance lessons to be over and ball practice to end.
As long as our children are with us, we are always waiting for something.
We never expect to be waiting to join them in heaven.
But some of us are.
And this waiting is real hard-not like the other times when I knew about when the waiting would end. Even though it was sometimes tiresome, lessons and practice wouldn’t last much longer than the appointed time.
I guess I believe there is an appointed time for this waiting to end as well.
I do believe that God has my life in His hands. When my work here is through, He will call me home, just as He called Dominic.
Trouble is, I can’t find a clock that tells that time. I can’t look at a calendar and know for certain THIS will be the day.
And not knowing how LONG I have to hold on is a huge part of what makes it
so.
very.
hard.
Sometimes I want to give up. Sometimes I want to let go of hope and dive into despair.
Some days I am afraid I can’t keep on keeping on.
Not. one. more. step.
But God has promised to meet me even here.
His Word tells me that there is a reward for those who wait with hope, who trust even when it seems foolish and who lean in even when they would rather run away.
But the eyes of the Lord are on those who fear him,
on those whose hope is in his unfailing love,
to deliver them from death
and keep them alive in famine.
We wait in hope for the Lord;
he is our help and our shield.
In him our hearts rejoice,
for we trust in his holy name.
May your unfailing love be with us, Lord,
even as we put our hope in you.Psalm 33:18-22 NIV
The Amplified Bible renders that last verse like this: “Let Your mercy and loving-kindness, O Lord, be upon us, in proportion to our waiting and hoping for You.”
In proportion to my waiting and hoping, God will fill my hurting heart with HIS mercy and loving-kindness.
He will strengthen me regardless of how many days I must walk in this waiting.
If I hold onto the hope I have in Christ, He promises not to let go of the other end.
When news that Dominic left us spread, our yard was filled with friends and family here to help bear the burden of grief and loss.
Our house was bursting with people and food and phone calls-more coming and going than our gravel lane had seen in a lifetime of living up in the woods.
It was beautiful and terrible all at the same time. Beautiful because we were not alone in our sorrow and terrible because it was due to that sorrow they were here.
In those days between the accident and the funeral I was boundary-less.
People hugged me, fed me, cleaned my house, cut my grass, tended the animals, asked me questions, told me stories and I just accepted it-whatever “it” was-because I was utterly unable to do anything else.
But in the weeks that followed, as the pain made itself more at home in my heart-as it expanded to fill every nook and crevice-I realized that I had to put up some fences.
My oldest son was getting married just a couple months after the accident.
There’s a lot of stuff to do for a wedding as most folks know. So I got a phone call one week after Dominic’s funeral and the person on the other end launched into a long saga regarding a minor detail and expected me to 1) listen attentively; 2) care as deeply as they did about something that absolutely didn’t matter; and 3) join with them in light-hearted, laughter-filled banter.
I just. couldn’t. do. it.
So I didn’t.
I politely but firmly explained that I was unable to continue the conversation and that in future they needed to contact me through my son. I promised I was 100% committed to making the wedding happen, to doing my part and to being as happy as possible on the day.
But until then, unless it was a true emergency, please leave me alone.
Drawing a boundary created space for me to DO what needed to be done without the added burden of extra emotional baggage.
Before Dominic left us I was a “yes” person.
Need help with an event? Why, sure I’m available.
Need someone to take your Sunday School class? Absolutely.
Keep your toddler? Just drop him off-we’ll play with the critters all day.
Phone call counselor and Homeschool Help Hotline-that was me.
Not anymore.
I’ve learned that if I am to have the energy needed to do necessary things, I have to protect my heart. I am too weak to carry everyone else’s burdens. If I am going to survive this journey I’ve got to prioritize.
I still listen.
I still help.
But I do it in a more healthy way-with respect for myself as well as others.
It is OK to say, “No.” And I don’t have to offer a reason. It’s a complete sentence all on its own.
All of my children had urged me over the years to draw boundaries. But I had grown from a parent-pleasing first born into a people pleasing adult and I just couldn’t do it.
Dominic even crafted a wire sign that hung on my kitchen curtains in the shape of a cursive “no”.
He made me repeat the mantra: Lack of planning on your part does not constitute an emergency on my part.
He’d be proud of me for finally taking his advice.
Even when I can’t see Him, He is near.
Even when I don’t feel it, He is loving me.
Even when my strength is gone, He is sustaining me.
I am not strong, or smart, or brave.
But He is Strength
and Wisdom
and Courage!
You cannot possibly know that scented soap takes me back to my son’s apartment in an instant.
You weren’t there when I cleaned it for the last time, boxed up the contents under the sink and wiped the beautiful, greasy hand prints off the shower wall. He had worked on a friend’s car that night, jumped in to clean up and was off.
He never made it home.
So when I come out of the room red-eyed, teary and quiet, please don’t look at me like I’m a freak.
Please don’t corner me and ask, “What’s wrong?” Or worse-please, please, please don’t suggest I should be “over it by now”.
If you were reading a novel or watching a movie, you’d show more grace.
You would nod in understanding as the main character made choices that reflected the pain of his past. You would find his behavior perfectly predictable in the context of a life lived with a broken heart.
I can’t control what makes me cry. I can’t stop the memories flooding my mind or the pain seizing my heart.
I might be OK one minute and the next a blubbering mess. Grief doesn’t mind a schedule.
But there are some things you can do to help:
I admit that I never thought of any of these things until it was MY son missing.
But now I think about them all the time–not only for my sake, but for the sake of others like me. I try to walk gently and kindly, extending grace and love.
And honestly, that’s really all I want from anyone else-grace, abundant grace.
I will be weepy when it’s inconvenient. I will react when you can’t fathom why. I will stay away when you want me to come near. I will make choices you don’t understand.
I am truly sorry.
But child loss is not something I chose for myself, it was thrust upon me.
I am walking this path the best I know how.
When you extend grace and love me through the roughest places it makes all the difference.
I’m not brave by nature.
If I have a choice, I will run every time. But there are just some things worth fighting for.
My family is one of them.
I will not let the enemy have them.
I will not allow despair to overtake us, fear to bind us, hopelessness to sap our strength.
I will not let death win.
And though he stalks me like a hungry lion, knocks persistently demanding attention, follows me as close as my own shadow-I will not let the evil one overtake me or find a home in my heart.
I refuse despair.
This night of loss will be longer than I can bear in my own strength, but I am convinced the Lord will restore my joy.
I am committed to cling to Christ even through my eyes are worn out with tears.
I fight fear.
There is no guarantee that my cup of suffering is full. It may yet hold more sorrow, but I will not worry about what tomorrow may bring.
God is there
I won’t give in to hopelessness.
I hold onto hope because hope is a Person. He is faithful and He is able. What I have given to His hands is safe and secure.
And though death is awful-it is not the end of the story.
When trapped between the Egyptians and the Red Sea, the nation of Israel was understandably frightened.
There WAS no escape-turn back and be slaughtered or move forward and drown.
They despaired of help and begged God to save them.
…Moses told the people, “Don’t be afraid. Just stand where you are and watch, and you will see the wonderful way the Lord will rescue you today. The Egyptians you are looking at—you will never see them again.
Exodus 14;13
They could never have imagined the miraculous answer to their desperate plea for rescue.
I realize that the answer to my cry for help is not going to be restoration of my son in this life. I know that I will have to wait for redemption of my pain.
But I am convinced that what the world regards as a final chapter is only the beginning of the story.
I serve the same God Who parted the Red Sea.
He is still on the throne.
He is not sleeping and He is not silent.
I can stand my ground between today and eternity confident that He is at work in all things.
He is an ever present Help in time of trouble.
I will not be moved.
I don’t get to choose.
I don’t get to plan the way life is going to be.
Oh, I bring out the calendar and mark down the days: birthdays, holidays, special events and obligations.
But then one dark morning a knock stops the clock and makes the world spin faster all at once.
I’m suspended and plunged under in the same breath.
Frozen. Broken. Horrified.
How did this happen?
How is this my life?
My head and heart explode in pain.
Months pass. The days march on.
I still don’t get to choose what sunrise brings.
But looking back I’m grateful that when my circle was whole we chose love.
That when the days were unfolding we chose faith.
That even as the night closed in and the days grew dark we continued to cling to the one Hope that proves true.
I’m thankful that my heart was full of praise songs and Scripture and that when I couldn’t lift my hand to turn the pages of my Bible the Spirit used them to whisper courage to my soul.
This Valley is deep and the sun is often hidden by the towering mountains on either side.
I have learned two things:
I can’t determine how life unfolds,
but I can decide where to place my hope.
“I admit how broken I am in body and spirit,
but God is my strength,
and He will be mine forever.”
Psalm 73:26 VOICE
“Those who wait for Me with hope will not be put to shame.”
Isaiah 49:23c NLV
We love stories of overcomers. We invite testimonies that end in victory.
We applaud members of the Body who have a “before” and “after” tale of how Jesus plus willpower took them from the dust of defeat to the pinnacle of spiritual success.
But we hide the strugglers and stragglers in the back pews.
If suffering lingers long, whether or not it is in the hands of the one who suffers to do anything about it, we cringe and pull back and hope they go away.
We don’t offer them the pulpit or the Sunday School hour to speak of how Christ continues to be the hope to which they cling.
Because deep down, we think there must be something wrong with them, something wrong with their brand or quality or strength of faith. If they only got it “right”, they too, would have the victory.
We would rather shush the suffering than face the tension between God’s goodness and His sovereignty.
We shame them to silence by implying they have nothing to share until they are able to wrap their story with a perfect spiritual bow.
We add insult to injury when their need for help exceeds the allotted three weeks or six months or whatever arbitrary deadline we impose on the prayer list and our patience.
But maybe what God has for me and others who suffer long is not a victorious tag line that can be slapped on a photo or shared on social media.
Maybe it’s only in the continued press of suffering that God reveals Himself in ways the non-suffering never see.
Maybe a dash to declare victory is actually rushing past what God has for us in deep pain and ongoing struggle.
Maybe waiting in hopeful expectation for what God is doing and will do in me and through me IS the victory.
We wait for Yahweh;
He is our help and shield.
For our hearts rejoice in Him
because we trust in His holy name.
May Your faithful love rest on us, Yahweh,
for we put our hope in You.
Psalm 33:20-22 HCSB
A fellow “waiting” mom wrote this and gave me permission to share:
“I coached my oldest daughter through natural labor and childbirth on Wednesday night. She stayed at 9cm for 3.5 hours.
Towards the end she looked at me and said ‘I can’t do this, I’m not strong enough!’
I looked at her and said, ‘You can because you have your husband and me right here with you to give you our strength.’
We held her up while she rocked back and forth moving her little guy down into position.
While I was holding my daughter through such physical trauma I thought about how God held me up after the loss of her sister.
I didn’t have the strength to stand. I felt like I couldn’t do it.
But He held me.
He didn’t take the pain away but He held me up when my strength failed me.”
Her words brought light to my heart.
Here was a mama who has faced life and death and learned something she was willing to share.
Her experience reminded me of this Brene Brown quote I had read months ago:
Faith isn’t an epidural. It’s a midwife who stands next to me saying, “Push, It’s supposed to hurt.” ~Brene Brown
As I reflected on my friend’s words and this quote, I realized there were some lessons here-for birth, for death and for grief.
A midwife does not deny the pain.
It hurts!
It hurts to give birth. It hurts to say good-bye. It hurts to carry grief everywhere I go.
When someone comes alongside and denies the truth of my pain, I shut down and stop listening.
But when they enter in and acknowledge my pain, I receive courage to continue pushing.
A midwife does not offer false hope.
She knows that there is no way through but through. A midwife bears witness and lends strength but she doesn’t pretend it will be easy.
There are no shortcuts to birth and no detours for grief. I can only face the sorrow, missing and hurt and keep going.
But the journey is easier when someone is willing to travel with me, to listen and to help bear the burden.
A midwife understands that though the pain is great and the process long, it will end.
It hurts. But it won’t hurt forever.
She doesn’t throw that truth in the hurting mama’s face. She whispers prayers for mercy.
For the profound wounds of life, there are no quick fixes. There is no easy healing.
We endure because God through His Spirit lends us strength.
We make it through because Jesus promises to redeem and restore.
And because friends remind us with their presence that God is near.
What a gift are those friends who stay near when life is hard,
who choose to stick it out when pain makes us both uncomfortable
and continue to love and lend their strength when mine is gone!
There’s a lot of truth packed into this little verse:
Suffering is hard but it won’t last forever.
“He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away.”
Revelation 21:4 NIV
The grace of God that called me and carries me will restore me.
“Even to your old age and gray hairs
I am he, I am he who will sustain you.
I have made you and I will carry you;
I will sustain you and I will rescue you.”
Isaiah 46:4 NIV
He will confirm me-my faith will be made sight.
He will strengthen me.
“I can do all things through Christ[a] who strengthens me.”
Philippians 4:14 NKJV
He will establish me.
“You will be established in righteousness. You will be far from oppression, so you will not be afraid. You will be far from destruction, so it won’t come near you.”
Isaiah 54:14 GWT
And what God has done, no power can undo.
thelifeididntchoose 