Twelve years ago today I woke up knowing that at some point I’d close the lid on my son’s casket and never again see his face this side of Heaven.
For friends and family it was the moment when Dominic’s death was “over”. His story complete. His life appropriately marked and celebrated. It was the end.
For me, it was a beginning.
A beginning I did not want to embrace. But there was no going back, only forward, ever forward.
Melanie
I used to look at tombstones in cemeteries and do the math between the dates.
I was most focused on how long this person or that person walked the earth.
I still do that sometimes. But now I do something else as well.
I look to the left and the right to see if the person who ran ahead left parents behind. My eye is drawn to the solitary stones with the same last name next to a double monument clearly honoring a married pair.
And then I do a different kind of math.
I count the years between the last breath of the child and the last breath of his or her mama.
Because while that first date marked an end for everyone else, for the mama, it marked the beginning of the rest of her life- a life she never imagined nor would have chosen.
Today I was backing out of the driveway when my eyes landed on the tag of one of our other cars.
Suddenly I realized that I hadn’t renewed our tags this year.
They are due in January and, like other important dates graven in my over- organized brain, I literallyNEVER forget.
But I did.
And I hadn’t even thought about it these three months until just now.
My sweet granddaughter, Holly, went to Heaven at Dallas Children’s Hospital January 4th. My elderly dad had eye surgery in Florida January 19th. I was home for exactly four days the whole month.
This is what grief looks like in real time twelve years later.
I still have six half grown kittens born a week before Holly entered the world . I brought their poor mama 700 miles because I didn’t want her to deliver while I was away welcoming my precious girl.
I just can’t let them go.
They are connected to her life, a source of joy, a reminder that death doesn’t claim every beautiful thing.
I’m probably going to keep them all because I can and because a farm can always use more barn cats.
This is what grief looks like twelve years later.
I recently had a nuclear stress test and an echocardiogram. My EKG in January was just a little “off” so my cardiologist sent me for testing.
The results were good. No real issues other than that I need to get back to walking every day and should lose weight.
I finally activated a Fitbit tracker I bought months ago to track my heart rate, activity and steps.
This is what grief looks like even after over a decade.
I’m rapidly approaching another unwelcome milestone marking twelve long years since I heard Dominic’s voice, saw his face, hugged his neck.
I’m stronger.
I feel joy.
I don’t cry every day.
But if anyone thinks the absence of my son or my granddaughter doesn’t changeEVERYTHING, they are wrong.
“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.
Death had died.
Christ was risen-the firstfruits of many brethren.
It is tempting to forget that there were three long days and nights between the crucifixion and the resurrection beause the way we observe this season rushes us past the pain to embrace the promise.
But it’s not hard for me to imagine how the disciples felt when they saw Jesus was dead. It was neither what they expected nor what they prayed for.
There were many points in the story when things could have gone a different way:
When taken by the religious leaders-surely, they thought, He will explain Himself, they will let Him go.
When taken before Pilate-Rome will refuse to get involved with our spiritual squabbles, Pilate won’t authorize His death.
When presented to the crowd-no Jew would rather have a wicked murderer released instead of a humble, healing Rabbi.
At every turn, every expectation they had for a “happy ending” was dashed to the ground.
On the one hand Death is the triumph of Satan, the punishment of the Fall, and the last enemy. Christ shed tears at the grave of Lazarus and sweated blood in Gethsemane: the Life of Lives that was in Him detested this penal obscenity not less than we do, but more. On the other hand, only he who loses his life will save it. We are baptized into the death of Christ, and it is the remedy for the Fall.
Death is, in fact, what some modern people call “ambivalent.” It is Satan’s great weapon and also God’s great weapon: it is holy and unholy; our supreme disgrace and our only hope; the thing Christ came to conquer and the means by which He conquered.
~C.S. Lewis, Miracles
Bury a child and suddenly the death of Christ becomes oh, so personal.
The image of Mary at the foot of the cross is too hard to bear.
In some liturgical Christian traditions, today is the day the church remembers and honors Mary anointing the feet of Jesus with expensive and rare perfume.
It was a beautiful act of great sacrifice as the perfume would ordinarily be a family treasure broken and used only at death for anointing a beloved body.
It’s also an expression of deep sorrow because somehow Mary knew.
Mary. Knew.
So she poured out her precious gift on the One Who loves her most.
Some people insist on reading the end of a book first.
They want to know if the characters they may grow to love end up well and happy.
Me? I start at the front and work my way through letting things unfold as the author intended.
I will admit though there are times when I’d kinda sorta like to have a heads up in real life.
Of course there’s no crystal ball, lines in my palm or deck of cards (in spite of Madam What’s-Her-Name’s claim) that can see into the future.
But there is One who KNOWS every little thing the future holds and Who holds that future in His hands.
From the beginning I told you what would happen in the end. A long time ago I told you things that have not yet happened. When I plan something, it happens. I do the things I want to do.Isaiah 46:10 ICB
When Dominic left us suddenly, unexpectedly and instantly in a motorcycle accident, it was a shocking surprise to our hearts. But as I wrote in the service program for his funeral, it wasNOsurprise to God.
I don’t believe for one minute that my loving Heavenly Father put His finger on my son and declared that night it was his “time” to die. I DO believe that my omniscient and omnipotent Lord, who is outside time and sees the end from the beginning, KNEW that Dominic would drive too fast, lose control and enter Heaven at 1:10 am on April 12, 2014.
I believe that while He could have miraculously saved my son, He chose not to and Dominic suffered the natural consequences of a series of physical and biological forces that operate without His supernatural intervention every single day in this world.
I am confident that God worked His purposes in and through Dominic all the days of his life and I am certain God has been and continues to work His purposes in me and through me even in child loss.
My heart is often disturbed and even frightened by what’s going on around me.
In these especially unsettled times, if I focus on what I don’t know, what I can’t predict and the limitations of the humans in charge, I will melt into despair.
So I remind myself that God’s purposes will stand. His rule and reign is sure. Nothing-NOTHING-can stand separate me from His love, His grace and His mercy.
Jesus Christ is [eternally changeless, always] the same yesterday and today and forever.
Hebrews 13:8 AMP
QUESTIONS:
One of the oldest “proofs” non-believers like to toss at those who follow Jesus is this: If God is all-knowing AND all-powerful, then why do bad things still happen? How might you answer that question? Have you ever wrestled with it yourself? Here’s a link to my thoughts on the matter: https://thelifeididntchoose.com/2018/06/10/did-god-take-my-child/
While God may rarely give an individual foreknowledge, He gave Israel prophet after prophet to tell them what He was going to do. How often did they take His warnings to heart? How often do we?
In the passage from Isaiah above, God declares His purposes and plans will stand. That comforts my heart and echoes Paul’s words in Romans 8:38-39 that nothing can separate us from the love of God. Write down three other verses (using a concordance) that reinforce this biblical principle about the character and purposes of God. Make them personal-how do those verses confirm hope in your own heart?
“Jesus is the same yesterday, today and forever” is a powerful concept! Unlike the times in which we live where human leaders say and do one thing one day and say and do another the next, we can rest firm and secure that what God has declared in Christ is absolutely, positively rock solid! “Every promise of God in Christ is ‘yes’ and ‘amen’”! (2 Corinthians 1:20). What promises of God in Christ bring you the most comfort? Write a list and post it where you can see it.
If you have children or grandchildren at home, how might you help their hearts cling to the truth that no matter what, God is in control? How might your own confident, consistent love and support model our Heavenly Father’s unfailing love toward us?
PRAYER:
Lord,
These times are trying my soul. It feels like everything is out of control and there’s no sure way through this valley of confusion and potential disaster. Help my heart take hold of the truth that NONE of this is a surprise to You.
Your purpose will stand. Your plan will unfold. No one and nothing can prevent it.
Make Your Presence real to me today. Open my eyes to the ways You continue to prove Yourself faithful. Sing courage to my soul when I’m afraid. Remind me by Your Spirit of every promise.
Thank You for Jesus. Thank You for the assurance that no matter what, my eternal security is assured.
I know as a believer in Jesus I’m supposed to be able to look beyond “this mortal veil” and treat death as a mere “address change”.
Well, I can’t.
Death is the enemy and I do not experience it as simply a transition from one state to another.
The last enemy to be abolished and put to an end is death.
~I Corinthians 15:26 AMP
Death is a reminder of all that is wrong with this earth. It’s a reminder that sin is costly. It’s a reminder that this world is not my true home.
It’s just plain wrong!
I hated death long before I counted my own son among the casualties.
Living on a farm, we have buried everything from domestic livestock to random wildlife that wandered up, wounded and we tried to save. I have hatched eggs found in disturbed nests, loved on baby rabbits, squirrels, deer and woodchucks, nursed abandoned kittens, lambs and goat kids. Many of them didn’t survive and every one took a bit of my heart when they breathed their last.
I have said “good-bye” to my 99 year old aunt, my grandmothers, my grandfathers and my own son.
There is nothing pretty about death. It wasn’t in God’s original plan and I hate it.
Lately, I’ve been worrying about my “therapy” cat-Roosevelt. He’s aging. And all things being equal, he won’t last much longer.
He sat in my lap as I recovered from numerous surgeries and hospitalizations.
And he stayed with me as I received concerned family and friends when Dominic ran ahead to Heaven. I don’t know what I would have done without his warm weight holding me in the chair when all I wanted to do was run away and hide.
He has been a compassionate companion in many sad and lonely moments-never asking for a thing and giving so much with his presence and unconditional love.
Every night he sleeps beside me, snuggled down tight against my neck, purring peacefully.
But he’s getting old and I am becoming fearful that I don’t have too many more years left with him. I hate that most nights I drift off to sleep thinking he won’t be here much longer.
And then I feel guilty.
Because the death of my cat (when it happens) can’t begin to touch the depth of pain of the death of my son. It seems, though, that every death taps that wounded spot in my soul.
But every death-whether a person or an animal I love-opens the floodgate of sadness I work so very hard to keep behind the dam.
I know I’m not supposed to borrow trouble from tomorrow and I work hard not to do that.
I’m working hard to cherish each moment with everyone I love without worrying that it may be one of the last.
Even writing that makes my heart skip a beat! How can I be heading toward surviving twelve years after that fateful morning? It hardly seems possible and yet it’s true.
And some days I still find myself on the edge of despair, of anxiety attacks, of deep sorrow and darkness.
But not nearly as often.
For that, I’m thankful.
Almost [twelve] years and here I am-
still on the edge.
On the edge of an anxiety attack.
On the edge of the cliff of deep sorrow and darkness that threatens to swallow every thing bright in my life.
On the edge of giving up and giving in.
On the edge of turning my back on every one and every thing.
On the edge of losing hope.
On the edge of deciding that this fight is really not worth it,
that there is nothing left to give,
that I will absolutely never survive this pain and loss.
Some days I manage to take a few steps back.
I might go a week or more and almost forget the edge is there.
And then one conversation will catapult me forward to the brink again.
Shaking, crying, ragged gasping breaths.
Tears.
So. many. tears.
I thought I had run out of tears.
Sometimes sadness is sanity. Tears are the reasonable response. Quickness to shush, shame, or fix them, can reveal a resistance to wisdom.
No matter how a child leaves this earth, it’s traumatic.
And trauma rewires our brains.
The “fight or flight” response that had previously been reserved for truly life-threatening situations gets woven in with memories and feelings and our bodies remain on high alert.
So before we know it, all kinds of ordinary, daily, and definitely not life-threatening situations evoke rapid heartbeat, shortness of breath, anxiety and fear. And the absolutely reasonable response is to get away from those things that make us feel that way.
So we do (or try to!).
We find ourselves running away from people who love us, who want to help us but who just might not understand why we’re running. We cocoon in our homes, in our own bodies and try to find that one safe space where fear and anxiety can’t find us.
But there is no such absolutely safe space.
Trauma rewires our brains, it’s true.
They can be rewired again.
So many good therapies are available for those of us who suffer in silence. Many are based on using physical cues to help a brain learn to distinguish between truly dangerous and only the memory of dangerous.
It is possible to venture out in the world again, to reach for and sustain connection, to lean into company instead of shying away.
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