Trying to Make Sense of Grief.

I keep trying to make sense of things this week but I just keep coming up with contradictions.  Grief does not make any sense.  It is so hard.  It seems to go on for ever.  We truly do just try to make it though each day.  People say not to wish your days away but they must not know grief like this.  It seems to be an endless string of cliches and contradictions.

I feel the need to distract myself with work but then I can't focus for more than 10 minutes on anything.

I want to go away for the weekend to a remote mountain retreat but don't want to go through the hassle of leaving the house.

I throw myself into a clean eating kick and a fitness regimen on day and the next day I am so sad all I want to is pizza and Dove dark chocolate. Even though I know that won't fix anything, I am drawn to it time and again. Maybe this time it will work.

I want to go to the farmer's market this morning but I don't want to drive there and be around all those people.

I want to sleep a lot but once I fall asleep I only have bad dreams.

I know I will feel better if I get to the gym or go for a walk but I can't seem to get myself moving.

I have a business selling beautiful jewelry but I sit around in the same two pairs of black yoga pants, Old Navy cotton maternity shirts and my husband's fleece every day.

I want to "get our finances in order" but I also want to spend recklessly on fancy shampoo, blush and lipstick to wear while I sit around the house and work from home.

I wish my friends back in the Midwest were closer and could come over to sit with me while I cry before dinner most days.  However, I never pick up the phone to call any of them or answer the phone when they call.  I just don't want to be cheered up. 

As much as I want to be done grieving and be "better" or "happy again", I actually want to be miserable right now.  I hurt in a very physical and all consuming way but it feels right.  I should be hurting like that.  My son was taken from me.

In typical God style, He has slipped someone into my life to guide me and speak truth to me though this dark time.  I have been slowly getting to know a lovely woman since I moved to town almost two years ago.  Recently, I learned that she is somewhat of an expert on both grief and God's Word.  

She is having me read through the Gospel of Luke, very slowly, imaging what it must have been like for Mary of Nazareth to have an angel appear in her bedroom one morning to tell her that God love her so much he was going to use her to bring into the world the Savior of her people.  Wow.  Really sit and think about that.  He was not promising to make her life joyful and easy because he found favor in her.  He was going to impregnate her by the Holy Spirit before she was married, something that could get her stoned.  Then she would have her hands full with a child who ran off at the crowded temple to teach the elders, as the family had begun their days long walk home.  Later she would watch as her own Jewish people would say horrible things about her baby boy, plot to murder him and then actually watch as they did so.  

I think back to when I went to St. Peter's in Rome after studying Michelangelo's Pieta in Art History class.  I knew I was standing in front of a beautiful and significant work of art.  I had no idea how much it would resonate with me 10 years later as a mother holding her son's lifeless body.

I am looking forward to seeing what God shows me though Mary and Jesus' lives.  I hope I can find some comfort. We met earlier this week to talk about what I had read and the conversation really took a turn to a pretty powerful revelation.  I don't feel like God has been listening to me for years.  

A dear friend of mine was diagnosed with cancer in September of 2011.  She had just been out for my wedding and was thrilled to be expecting a child just 3 months after her own summer wedding.  She found out she had cancer 2 weeks after I saw her.  I prayed and prayed for God to touch her and heal her.  I had my church pray.  I asked everyone I knew or met to pray for her to be fully healed.  She went home to heaven in December of 2011.  God did not answer my prayer to save her.

My first year after moving East I prayed and prayed for Josh to want to move to Milwaukee.  I was so homesick I could not imagine living my life so far from my family and friends.  I knew God could move us home if he wanted to.  We didn't go.

When Jack was in the hospital I prayed and prayed for him to get better.  I begged God to heal him.  Our church prayed.  Everyone we came across said that their family, church, bible study, everyone was praying for Jack.  He was even on a prayer email that is sent to over a million people in the South.   I was convinced that God would heal Jack in an amazing miracle and so many people would be amazed and their faith would be strengthened and they would love God more than they ever had because He had listened and He had given us what we asked for: Jack alive.  I knew God would save Jack.  I just knew it.

We know I did not get the answer I wanted to that prayer.

My thought was never that God could not answer my prayers.  I became convinced that God did not want to answer them. I was not sure if it was because my faith was not strong or mature enough.  Either way, as my friend pointed out, I really did not feel like God was listening to me.

Monday afternoon I could feel the tears bubbling up in my chest.  It was as if my heart started crying hours before my eyes got in on the act.  When those tears bubbled up they overflowed in a powerful way with waves of sorrow washing over me for more than an hour.  

My home office is in the same room that was Jack's nursery.  While we have put away all of his clothes and furniture, his books remain on the shelf.  I pulled down a few books, curled up in a chair and started to read to Jack.  As the sun began to set on that day, I read "Mommy and Me", "Thank You God for Mommy" and "Snuggle Puppy".  Reading aloud evolved into shouting, sobbing, and hyperventilating with some bits of book mixed in.  The books were talking about mommies keeping baby safe, sob.  Mommies holding baby while he drifts off to sleep to the sound of her heartbeat, groan.  Mommy teaching baby about faith in God, wail.  I cried out to God though my tears and dripping nose, 

WHY?  

WHY us?  

WHY Jack?

WHY could you not have healed him and used THAT for your glory?

WHY did you let him die?

I trust you but this hurts so badly I can't breath.  I can't see though this darkness.  How can anything be worth this pain?  How can we be happy again without Jack here with us?  

I wanted God to hear me so I really let Him have it.  After all, Jesus wept when his friend Lazarus died. (John 11:35).   He also cried out to God asking for relief: About the ninth hour Jesus cried out in a loud voice, "Eloi, Eloi, lama sabachthani?"--which means, "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" (Matthew 27:46)

 And the Psalmist constantly let God know he wanted God to jump in and do something. 

"Evening, morning and noon I cry out in distress, and He hears my voice." (Psalm 55:17)  I pray He hears my voice, as well.

I wept and moaned until the dog even left the room.  I could not get air in my lungs to power my sorrow.  I actually cried until I physically could not cry any longer.  At the end there were a few little bouts left and I squeezed the tears out of me like a wet dish rag.  Afterwards, that is what I felt like.  Limp.  Worn out.

My friend shared with me a beautiful analogy about a snake shedding its skin revealing the new skin that is already underneath.   She wanted to show me that I am not going to be the same woman I was before Jack.  I have carried my son, given birth and buried him in a year.  I am not that same girl that I was when I lived in Chicago or even the day I was married just 17 months ago.  I could never be the same after Jack lived and died.  

When a snake prepares to shed its skin, it wedges itself in a safe place, away from predators and uses the confined space to wiggle out of its old skin that no longer fits.   After a time of healing,  it emerges ready to return to life with a skin that fits his newly grown self.

I suppose I can relate to that snake.  I want to hide in a dark, enclosed safe place while I learn how to adapt to the new woman I am.  It is comfortable for me to stay home, hide in bed, not answer the phone and turn down invitations.  I had so little time to get used to being a mother.  Now I am a mother without a baby in her arms.  I am going to need to give myself some time to shed my old skin and grow into the new skin.  I also need to trust that God will keep me though this process and bring me out the other side when my new skin is ready.

Learning to be Still in the Storm.

This morning Nemo, the blizzard, continues to rage outside our little cottage with howling winds, snow drifting up the window and no sign of letting up anytime soon.  For some reason I am filled with a sense of peace, contentment and gratitude.  I don't understand why.  I had a really difficult and deeply sad week with my grief.  I spent a lot of time crying and being washed over with wave after wave of tears.  Today though, my heart is full of praise during a very real storm.

I am thankful for our cozy Cape.  I usually think about how small it is and how much I would like a bigger home, one I could entertain friends and family with big dinners and parties.  I day dream about two stories, more than one bathroom, a kitchen island and more outlets.  I think about how amazing it will be to have a fenced in yard someday.  This morning I am glad our home is small enough to heat quickly and and stay warm as the wind chills drop below zero outside.  It is just the right size for Josh and me.  We only have one TV and one couch, which means we spend a whole lot of time together.  And in this season of our lives, that is probably important.  That we hunker down and cling to each other as we continue to weather the storm inside our hearts.

I am also thankful that God picked me to be Jack's mommy.  Yesterday all I could think of was what was taken from me.  What a victim I am to my circumstances.  The memories I won't be able to make with my son.  Today I am remembering the time I did have with our little man, how bright his smile was and that I was the one he was smiling at.

Lately, I have really been wrestling with what parts of our storm have been God's plan for our lives and what have been a result of the fallen world we all live in.  Did God plan for Jack to have such a traumatic last month of life in the hospital and to die from septic shock?  I don't think so.  God would not want to harm one of his precious little children.  But he is Sovereign and we know nothing happens without his knowledge...

Or did human error set off a terrible painful chain of events that God will use for his Glory and for good for us all?  Did God mercifully take Jack home to heaven before he could suffer anymore pain?  Absolutely.   These are the winds that have been blowing me back and forth and turning me around until I am convinced I cannot figure out the truth.  Where is God in this storm and where isn't he?

"Be Still and know that I am God." Psalm 46:10

I have been meditating on that verse a lot lately.  By "meditating" I do not mean lighting incense and sitting cross legged on the floor.  I don't think my legs would bend like that these days and incense nauseates me.  (Like my dear Grandmother, I am very sensitive to smells.)  I simply sit quietly and think about what that means.  I try to obey.  

Today, I am thankful that I can be sure of one thing: God is not asking me to figure everything (or anything) out. He is asking me to be still and know that He is God. 

"Be still."  I can do that.  

"Know that I am God."  OK. I do know that.  So, nothing about needing to understand why?  

Great!  It is very comforting to be reminded that the Creator of our entire Universe is running this show and I do not need to jump in and take over for Him.  God is truth.

Another verse that has really been popping up all over the place for me is Isaiah 55:8-9 :

“For my thoughts are not your thoughts,

    neither are your ways my ways,”

declares the Lord.

“As the heavens are higher than the earth,

    so are my ways higher than your ways

    and my thoughts than your thoughts." 

This Scripture tells me that God's thoughts are not the same as mine.  Whew!  What a relief for all of us.  We would all be in trouble if God thought like me.  I am fearful and I have doubt.  I am constantly changing my mind about everything.  God is constant and his thoughts are much much higher than mine.  I can only see the 1/4 mile down the road during a blizzard and our Lord sees it all; today and all of our tomorrows.


I need to know that God sees my life, our whole world, differently than I do.  He sees His creation as a whole, perfect plan, all leading to His children spending eternity with Him.  He sees a much bigger picture than I do.  One that spans all of time.  

He also sees life on earth and death very differently than we do.  He sees death for His children as a necessary step to eternity in heaven.  It is not an end but a beginning for those who believe in Him and have trusted His son, Jesus, with their lives.  We weep and mourn the loss of our loved ones on this earth, because this is all we can see and know for sure.  We think of life in finite terms of 70, 80, 90 years.  But that is not how God sees His creation at all.  Our lives on earth will be a blip in the course of eternity.  God is thrilled to have Jack with him!  God also knows that he has more love and joy in store for us here on earth, before we are reunited with Jack in heaven one day. 

His Word tells me that God is not the author of confusion but of peace.  So I can know that the peace I feel today in my heart is from God.  That peace has been easier to find when I am letting God know how much I need Him and then opening up His Word, the Bible, and letting Him share these encouraging truths with me each morning. I feel loved, warm and peaceful, at least for today. 

I suppose it is like turning on the Weather Channel and trusting Jim Cantore to guide us though Nemo.  We know where to go and who to trust to bring us though sever weather.  The same way I know God is the expert on the storms of my heart and his word will carry me though.  He created my heart, so why look anywhere else to heal it.   The storm has not slowed down and I don't know when it will, but I can have peace in midst of it today.  What a blessing.  Thank you, Jesus.

When Codolence Cards and Cookies Turn Into Collection Calls.

(This is a picture of our preppy little man a week before he turned 4 months old.)

Tomorrow will be four months since Jack went home to be with our Lord Jesus.  Four months is almost how long we had him in our arms.  Four months was how long he lived before he went into the hospital.  Four months is nothing, not enough time to be with your baby and entirely too long to be without him.  For us, four months is just the beginning.

Our pain has in no way started to subside.  If anything, it is more real and more raw with each passing week.  My heart physically hurts.  It is heavy.  It is hard to breathe.  I feel physically ill when I think back to Jack's last week in the hospital.  Just when I think we are really grieving, it hurts even more.  I asked a friend and grief specialist from a local church how I would know if we were grieving.  She told me that grieving is sleeping more than normal (check), eating more than normal (check) and not wanting to be out in public or around other babies (check). 

We just do not want to leave the house much, especially after a long hard day of work and mourning.  Last week we were too sad to go to puppy obedience class with Lucy. We decided to home school her for the week.  We have not been to our regular Thursday night Bible study all month.  We would rather eat dinner and go to sleep at 8pm...and that is what we do almost every night.

We have even skipped the last 2 sessions of the parents' grief group.  It doesn't start till 7pm and is a solid 25 minute drive from our house.  It is just too much hassle for now.

On Saturday, we went for a day long drive.  It was the perfect solution to my desire to both run away and stay isolated.  We drove all over and ended up in North Conway, NH for dinner.  We ran from the sea to the mountains and were still able to spend most of our time alone together (with the dog) in our truck.  Perfect.  Then a family came into the restaurant where we went for dinner and they had the audacity to have two adorable children with them, one looking about Jack's age.  Ugh.  Kids are everywhere.

I love kids. I want more kids.  But lately, they just remind me that they are not Jack.

So, here we are at four months without our our beloved son.  The condolence cards and coffee cakes have long since dried up.  There was that initial flood in the immediate weeks after Jack's death.  There was love literally pouring into our lives in the form of greeting cards and baked goods each and every day.  It all came at once and before we could even really process it all.  We were still too numb.  Now the lonely reality is setting in and other people's lives are carrying on, as they should.  We are still here, missing Jack constantly and instead of cards from loved ones, we get hospital bills.

These days opening envelopes from the hospital is almost a daily occurrence.  Or at least it feels that way.  First come the bills you get before insurance has been billed.  I am not even sure why they send these because we have insurance and clearly they will pay for some of this.  The first one of those arrived the day before Jack's funeral.  He had been gone less than a week and we get a bill for well over six figures.  My son died in your care and this is how much it cost us?  Why can't the case managers connect with the billing department to at least delay things like that from happening?  Give us a week or two, ok?  They should figure out a way to communicate better with their own billing department.

Pretty soon we started getting actual bills.  We had spoken with our insurance company while we were still in the hospital and our understanding was that we had met all of our deductibles with Jack's birth and that insurance would cover the rest of his care in 2012.  I even called at one point and talked to billing for the hospital.  I explained what I understood and that Jack had not come home from their hospital.  We agreed that it would take a while for insurance work it all out.  She promised me she would flag the account so that it would never be sent to collections. So when the bills kept coming, we filed them away assuming that insurance would eventually pay them.  They did not. 

The bill collection calls started.

Are you kidding me?

We paid the collection agency promptly to avoid hits to our credit scores and two weeks later another bill shows up from the hospital for the same amount.  Another call to the hospital billing yesterday, this time I am in tears with this woman.  Why?  Why does this have to be so difficult?  She apologized profusely once I explained that Jack had died at their hospital and she assured me once again that we were paid in full and would not be sent to collections.

So, this morning I see another envelope from the hospital.  I think, well, it can't be too bad, we are paid in full.  So I opened it.  And I was treated to an itemization of the services that were administered to save Jack from septic shock on September 29th: Insert emergency air: $328, Insert non tunnel cv: $383, initial pediatric CA: $619, Insert needle in bone: $188....the list goes on and immediately I am back in the PICU that night.  It all seemed like a terrible dream when it was happening.  All kinds of nurses and doctors swarming around Jack with tubes and needles and machines ready to be plugged in.  I stood just outside the door watching.  Frozen.  Not able to look away.  He had been in the hospital for three weeks at that point.  We were supposed to be on our way home in 36 hours. I am weeping while I type this.  Thinking of his physical pain and suffering is unbearable.

Every time I open one of those envelopes I am reminded of the physical nature of Jack's life and death.  It is much easier to step back, detach myself and take a spiritual approach.  Easier is a relative term in this case, I suppose. I fully believe that Heaven is a real place.  I believe Jack is there.  I believe he knows how much we love him and I believe we will be reunited with him one day and for all of eternity.  I believe all of those things but I cannot touch them or see them with my eyes or lay hands on them yet.  I suppose that is where faith comes in.

I need that faith to overcome the physical reminders of the physical reality of what happened.  The bills dragging me mentally back to the hospital.  The daily drives past Jack's cemetery reminding me that his body is less than 2 miles from me even now.  The memories of holding his puffy little hand and begging him to open his eyes or pee a little more for us.  The last time I held him in my arms.  The physical is painful.  I cannot even put a happy cherry on top today.  I am hurting.  This is so very hard, every single day. 

The only way I am making it through this is by fully admitting personal defeat and asking God to carry me each day.  I do not have the strength to do any of this on my own.  I am living that Footprints in the Sand poem that is in my grandparents bathroom.  There is only one set of footprints today because God has me in his arms. 

I am reading a book by Beth Moore "Praying God's Word" and there is a chapter on overcoming grief.  That is helping.  There is also a song by Plum, "I Need You Now (How Many Times).  The first time I heard this song was back in September when Jack was still with us.  Now when I hear it, I sing at the top of my lungs and bawl.  I heard it on the radio this morning on my way home from the grocery store.  I sobbed the rest of the way home.  That is all I can do some days. 

How many times have you heard me say, God please take this? 

How many times have you given me strength to just keep breathing?

Oh, I need you. 

God, I need you now!