“The worst conceivable thing has happened, and it has been mended…All shall be well, and all shall be well and all manner of thing shall be well.” ~Julian of Norwich
I’m not sure when I first read this quote, but it came to my mind that awful morning. And I played it over and over in my head, reassuring my broken heart that indeed, the worst had already happened, and been mended.
Read the rest here: Resurrection: Reality and Reassurance
If you love someone who has lost a child, perhaps these thoughts might help you understand a bit of their pain and how completely it changes the way we who have encounter the world.
Please be patient. Please don’t try to “fix” us. Please be present and compassionate. And if you don’t know what to say, feel free to say nothing–a hug, a smile, an understanding look–they mean so very much.
A bereaved parent’s grief doesn’t fit an easy-to-understand narrative. And it flies in the face of the American “pull yourself up by your bootstraps” mentality.
You can’t beat it–it’s not a football game-there is no winning team.
You can’t lose it–it’s not the extra 10 pounds you’ve been carrying since last Christmas.
You can’t get over it–it’s not a teenage love affair that will pale in comparison when the real thing comes along.
You can only survive it. You can heal from it, but it will take a lifetime and require very special care.
I have a young friend whose first child was born with a life-threatening heart defect. At just a few months of age, her little girl received a heart transplant. Without it, she would have died. With her new heart, this sweet baby will live-but her parents must observe careful protocols to protect that heart and she will never outgrow the scar from the surgery that saved her life.
Burying Dominic wounded my heart so deeply that while I know it will heal–it is beginning to, I think–it will bear the scars and require special handling as long as I walk this earth.
So when I thank you for an invitation, but choose not to go…I’m not rejecting you, I’m protecting my heart. Please ask again–tomorrow might be a better day, and going somewhere or being with someone could be just what I need.
If you call and I don’t pick up…I might be crying, or about to, and I choose not to burden you with my grief. Call in a day or two or next week–keep trying.
A text or email or card is so helpful. I can read these when I’m ready and respond when it’s easier for me to think.
And please, please, please don’t look for the moment or day or year when I will be “back to my old self”. My old self was buried with my son. I am still “me”–but a different me than I would have chosen.
I know it makes you uncomfortable–it makes me uncomfortable too.
But because I trust in the finished work of Christ, I know that one day my heart will be completely healed.
I hurt but I have hope. This pain will be redeemed and my scars will be beautiful.
“For just as Christ’s sufferings are ours in abundance [as they overflow to His followers], so also our comfort [our reassurance, our encouragement, our consolation] is abundant through Christ [it is truly more than enough to endure what we must]” 2 Corinthians 1:5.
Today James Michael turns twenty eight! Since May of last year, he graduated from Auburn University’s College of Veterinary Medicine, got married, trained and served as a deputy sheriff in West Virginia, moved twice, and joined the Air Force. Just typing this leaves me breathless.
But it’s true: life goes on.
Our surviving children have done a bang-up job of pushing through and moving forward even with the burden of grief weighing them down.
I don’t know how they do it.
I have managed a few minor projects but am still unable to think beyond today.
I struggle to carry grief and plan ahead.
When you realize that your world can change in an instant, it seems silly to mark things out on a calendar as if paper and ink controlled the universe.
So I celebrate the days as they come and cling to the promise that God has a plan and purpose for this pain. I place my heart in the hands of the One Who made it and trust that He will make it whole again.
I rest in the reassurance that death is not victorious and the grave is not eternal.
But let me tell you something wonderful, a mystery I’ll probably never fully understand. We’re not all going to die—but we are all going to be changed. You hear a blast to end all blasts from a trumpet, and in the time that you look up and blink your eyes—it’s over. On signal from that trumpet from heaven, the dead will be up and out of their graves, beyond the reach of death, never to die again. At the same moment and in the same way, we’ll all be changed. In the resurrection scheme of things, this has to happen: everything perishable taken off the shelves and replaced by the imperishable, this mortal replaced by the immortal. Then the saying will come true:
Death swallowed by triumphant Life!
Who got the last word, oh, Death?
Oh, Death, who’s afraid of you now?It was sin that made death so frightening and law-code guilt that gave sin its leverage, its destructive power. But now in a single victorious stroke of Life, all three—sin, guilt, death—are gone, the gift of our Master, Jesus Christ. Thank God!
I Corinthians 15: 51-57 (MSG)
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