I was reminded once again this week how the events surrounding death and burial are inadequate indicators of the profound change that has taken place in the lives of those left behind.
Standing at the graveside of a precious friend’s father, I remembered watching Dominic’s earthly shell lowered beneath the ground.
I was wholly unprepared for the days and weeks and months that followed.
No one had told me it was only a beginning…Loving Well: Transitioning From “Good-bye” to Grief
There are twelve tribes and twelve disciples.
Twelve stones in the High Priest’s breastplate.
Twelve months in the year.
For those who study these things, the number twelve in Scripture signifies “perfection” or “authority”.
It is also considered the number of completeness.
It was twelve days into April that Dominic completed his earthly sojourn and began his life in Heaven with Jesus.
While from my perspective his life was cut short, from God’s it was finished. The days ordained for my son before he was born had been completed. The work He had prepared beforehand for him to do was through.
I don’t like it.
But I receive it because it passed through the hands of my Father.
I can’t open my heart to love and close it to grief-so I’ll hold them both until I hold Dominic again.
Browsing a book store (a favorite pasttime) I came on this selection in a collection of poems by Robert Frost:
A Time to Talk
When a friend calls to me from the road
And slows his horse to a meaning walk,
I don’t stand still and look around
On all the hills I haven’t hoed,
And shout from where I am, What is it?
No, not as there is a time to talk.
I thrust my hoe in the mellow ground,
Blade-end up and five feet tall,
And plod: I go up to the stone wall
For a friendly visit.
It pierced my heart.
How many times have I chosen to ignore a friend’s need for companionship-brushing past importantly as I pursued the day’s tasks?
“I’ll get around to it when I have more time,” I think to myself.
And then one day there is no more time. The friend I kept putting off has left this world for the next and I can’t retrieve the missed opportunities.
Nothing stings like words unsaid, hugs not given or love left bound in a heart instead of set free to bless another.
C.S. Lewis said:
“There are no ordinary people. You have never talked to a mere mortal. Nations, cultures, arts, civilizations – these are mortal, and their life is to ours as the life of a gnat. But it is immortals whom we joke with, work with, marry, snub and exploit – immortal horrors or everlasting splendors. This does not mean that we are to be perpetually solemn. We must play. But our merriment must be of that kind (and it is, in fact, the merriest kind) which exists between people who have, from the outset, taken each other seriously – no flippancy, no superiority, no presumption.”
And I think I don’t have time?
Of all the souls born on this planet, Jesus had the most important work to do.
Yet He purposed to include people at every turn.
He healed the sick. He spoke hope to the woman at the well and the woman caught in adultery. He rebuked religious leaders who were more interested in burdening the faithful than guiding them to God.
Jesus walked everywhere-surely it would have been more EFFICIENT to let the Holy Spirit whisk Him from place to place as He did Phillip after speaking to the Ethiopian.
In walking, the Light of the World was building relationship-He was speaking truth to the twelve who would be the foundation of His church.
And relationship takes time. There is nothing instant about it.
It is clear from the life of Christ that after His Father, people were His priority.
Few of us will be called to great public tasks or lofty visionary ministry. But each of us has been called to carry the light and life of our Saviour to every person we meet.
If we are to follow in the footsteps of our Master, then people must be our priority too.
So I will set aside my “to do” list when someone comes calling. I will cross the street to meet that person I remember from school or church. I’ll send a card to the sick relative and remind her that I love her and will pray for her recovery.
I won’t lock love in my heart and hoard it like gold.
I’ll shed it abroad so that it speaks courage to everyone I meet.
“Imagine what our real neighborhoods would be like if each of us offered, as a matter of course, just one kind word to another person.”
– Mr. Rogers
All the fears I thought I knew
All the what-ifs I pondered during inky nights-
None of them-none. of. them. prepared me for this reality.
I have thought many times of my own death. Anyone past twenty-five has to consider that the farther you get from high school the closer you get to the grave.
So I put foolish and risky behavior behind me. Eat fiber. Exercise.
Wise choices, that’s the ticket.
But what about random? What about unexpected? What about lightning strikes and sudden curves?
How do you plan for that?
I know I’ll end some day. That’s the way of things. And I’m OK with that.
My children.
They are my legacy. They are the keepers of my light.
They are the part of me that will live beyond me.
Except one of them.
I am his legacy-the unanticipated keeper of HIS light.
It’s not supposed to be this way.
Yet here I am.
Unnatural. Unacceptable.
Unthinkable.
Inescapably real.
Yesterday I was impatient and ugly with someone I love.
When you are hurting, physically or emotionally or physically AND emotionally, you just don’t have the energy to hide the ugly.
But the pain didn’t create the ugly-it just revealed it.
And I am sorry to say that even burying a child did not cleanse me of some ugliness I wish I didn’t have in my heart.
I keep asking God to fill me with His love, mercy and grace. And I am more full of those things than before.
But there is still plenty of (if not hate then) less-than-love, judgement and impatience. Trials don’t automatically lead to refinement or stronger faith.
Tribulation can drive someone away from God as easily as it can drive them to their knees.
If I’m not careful-if I’m not very careful-I can use my pain as an excuse for all kinds of bad behavior.
So I’m here to confess: I am so, so sorry.
I’m sorry that when my glass gets tipped, anger and bitterness spills out. I’m sorry that I’m not more faithful to extend grace when I hope grace will be extended to me. I’m sorry that speaking truth so that I prove my point and wound a heart is sometimes more satisfying than speaking truth in love.
I wish every deed I did and every word I spoke was full of life and never full of death.
I hate death. I. HATE. death.
It has taken enough from me. And I want no part of it.
Father, I want to be a beacon of light and life. Lord, make me so. Fill me to overflowing with YOUR love, YOUR life, YOUR grace, YOUR mercy. Left to myself I have no hope. But by Your Spirit, it can be so.
When all kinds of trials and temptations crowd into your lives my brothers, don’t resent them as intruders, but welcome them as friends! Realise that they come to test your faith and to produce in you the quality of endurance. But let the process go on until that endurance is fully developed, and you will find you have become men of mature character with the right sort of independence. And if, in the process, any of you does not know how to meet any particular problem he has only to ask God—who gives generously to all men without making them feel foolish or guilty—and he may be quite sure that the necessary wisdom will be given him.
James 1:2-5 PHILLIPS
As a kid our family made a yearly pilgrimage to the Gulf Coast-back when the beaches were wide open vistas, the water see-through green and the days long and unhurried.
We didn’t spend money on the “attractions” or tourist trap souvenir shops-we got up early to watch the sun rise and spent the remainder of the day back and forth between the beach and the water.
I loved to find a spot that was about waist deep and feel the waves move across my body-up and down, up and down-floating in rhythm to the world’s heartbeat.
But every so often a wave would surprise me, crash over my head unannounced and break the cycle of gentle rocking with a sputter-inducing plunge beneath the salty sea.
As long as the giant waves were few and far between, I could recover, regather my sense of well-being and continue to enjoy the water.
But when the first wave marked a change in the tide or an incoming storm and was followed by more and more of the same, I knew it was time to move toward shore.
I could withstand one or two of these but if there was no chance to catch my breath in between I was going under.
This past week has been a deluge of waves.
Waves of grief,
waves of regret,
waves of disappointment,
waves of discouagement.
No storm clouds on the horizon. No major life events or grief anniversaries-just a turning of the tide.
And so I find myself retreating a bit.
Backtracking from progress I thought I had made. Retracing steps and repeating cycles I though I had left behind.
I suspect that most of us have weeks like this.
You don’t have to bury a child to beg Jesus to make things whole again-to bring hope to your heart again-to ask Him to calm the storm and save you from destruction.
Ebb and flow. Waves and calm. Storms and sunshine. Life is made up of all of these.
I am confident that Jesus is the Peace-speaker. He can calm the wind and the waves.
I want to have faith. I want to learn to call out in trust and not doubt.
I’m working on that and waiting for His Spirit to work on it in me.
But as I wait, I’m going to have to sit on shore for awhile.
The events of this past week have thrown my body into a tailspin-like muscle memory acquired through repetitive action-I feel the terror of parents hearing the awful news that their child is gone.
It’s as if I am the one hearing the knock on the door.
As if I am the one absorbing the terrible blow.
And I know what they don’t yet understand-there is no wonder drug or magic pill that can erase the pain.
There is no miraculous cure for a broken heart.
I wrote this months ago, but this week has made it fresh again:
When Dominic was born by c-section, they placed the epidural too high and I was unable to feel my chest rise and fall even though I continued to breathe.
It was a frightening experience. I WANTED to keep breathing-because I wanted to touch this new life coming into the world and into our family.
But when the deputy brought the news that Dominic had been killed, it felt like I stopped breathing and my heart stopped beating-and I would have welcomed both.
I wanted to escape the pain that filled my heart, my soul, my bones.
I think most bereaved mothers will tell you they have absolutely NO IDEA how their bodies continue to live and carry this heavy burden.
I do it for those still here and, having felt the pain of being left behind, my mama heart wants to spare the ones I love as long as I can.
But rest assured, it is a daily struggle to decide to go on.
“Broken Hearts Still Beat”
BIRTH
I’m not breathing.
They assure me that I am.
My heartbeat thumps the truth for all to hear.
A welcome wail ushers his life into the spotlight of this wide world.
DEATH
I’m not breathing.
They assure me that I am.
My lungs draw air against my will and my better judgment.
An anguished cry marks the end of his earthly life.
I am breathing.
My body refusing to keep pace with my broken heart.
melanie desimone, november 7, 2014
Last Friday, my oldest son received his USAF captain’s bars. True to form, his path to this new achievement was unique and memorable. I’m so very proud of him and of his commitment to excellence.
And that meant that he was leaving San Antonio and headed to Maxwell AFB for Commissioned Officer Training. So he was able to swing by home on Sunday!
Sunday afternoon, my kids presented me with this beautiful “Family of Love” necklace for Mother’s Day. It has all their names and birthstones so I can wear them close to my heart. I love it!
James Michael brought me flowers-lots of purple, my favorite color.
And then we were joined by Joe and Seve, two of Dominic’s good friends from Law School. Joe surprised me with this amazing handmade plate from his recent travels to Turkey. I appreciate the love and support of these fellows and their ongoing commitment to remember Dominic and honor our family.
We had Robbie and Jonica over for supper with their new daughter. I got to cuddle this sweet baby and be reminded that love still lives and life goes on.
And no DeSimone adventure would be complete without an “emergency”. While getting food ready and on the table, we discovered a minor plumbing problem that flooded the downstairs bathroom, the laundry area and into the garage (all downhill-literally and figuratively).
So while we girls ate supper, the men worked at repairs.
Just like old times-one boy went in one direction, another went the other way and Julian manned the homefront. Thankfully, they were able to get things back in working order sooner rather than later. But not before I exhausted our supply of 24 full-sized “clean-up” towels that were washed in bleach the next day!
The evening ended with lots of laughter and plenty of carbs.
And a rare opportunity for a group photo that had me surrounded by all my children within reach. (Thank you, Alison, for snapping the picture!)
We miss you, Dominic.
And we can never stand close enough to squeeze out the giant hole you’ve left.
But we are living like you lived-making the most of the moments-and loving each other.
Just last week another mother in my community joined the ranks of those who bury a child. Suddenly, unexpectedly, and without warning, her son was gone.
It happens every day.
We toss a casual “see you later” to the person heading out the door without thinking it might be the last thing we say to them.
I am determined not to live in fear of loss-even though I have experienced it first hand.
But I am also determined to live so that should I lose someone else, they will be assured of this:
I love them and I value them.
I don’t take things for granted anymore-What if Tomorrow Never Came?
I hear you, mama. That baby toddling away from the security of your arms-you miss those close snuggles and slobbery kisses. But he’s not really LEAVING, he’s just growing.
I know, I know.
First day of school blues.
Where did the time go? How can you drop that little girl off at the front door and trust that her teacher will take care of her as well as mom? She’s getting older, but she isn’t outside your influence.
Oh my goodness!! Already graduating high school? Moving out and going to college! No more daily chats face-to-face across the kitchen table. No more late night confession sessions.
He’s a young man, pulling away, making big decisions without you, but he’ll be home for Christmas and summer vacation.
For all you mamas lamenting the passage of time and the upheavals it brings I have a word: It’s NOT over.
Your child is still within reach. You can call or text or visit. You can touch his face, hug her neck, hear his voice.
Life is changing but it is still LIFE.
Feeling a little nostalgic for what WAS is perfectly normal. Most of us humans aren’t that fond of change.
But children are ours for a season, not forever.
They are given to us as gifts, not possessions.
For some mamas, like me, it really IS over.
The son I brought home from the hospital, the boy I watched grow and mature into a young man, the confident college graduate I saw drive away to start law school-he is gone.
I can’t call or text or visit him.
I can’t forge a different kind of relationship across the miles or make special arrangements for him to travel home for the holidays.
I can’t make new memories or take new photographs. I can’t hug his neck or hear his voice.
So it’s OK to feel a little sad that things are changing. It’s like moving furniture around in the room-you stub your toe in the dark because things aren’t where they used to be.
But for me, it’s like the house has burned down.
I felt a pinch in my heart every now and then as my children grew and more and more of their lives were spent away from me. But I also celebrated each milestone, made much (and still do) of each achievement.
I didn’t want them to be frozen in time, stuck on a shelf, kept “small”.
Enjoy the time you have with your babies, with your children, with your teens-embrace the growing independent persons they are becoming.
As long as they are walking the earth with you, nothing is OVER, it’s just the beginning of something new.
thelifeididntchoose 