Grief for me feels a lot like weathering a hurricane in a row boat. I feel like I am being tossed around indiscriminately by huge menacing waves of sadness, anger and fear. Lately the waves have been rolling in and making me sick to my stomach. There is a heavy fog of hopelessness that hangs in the air and makes it hard for me to breathe. I wonder if it will ever get brighter and lighter. Everyone says that grief is a journey and it will lift one day. What if I am the only person who does not get that relief?
Two months ago, something broke within me and this private storm started to leak into the world around me. I cried most days and it didn't matter if I was home alone or in the middle of a church service. I wept. My husband lovingly switched cars with me, saying that the sunshine and fresh air of the convertible would be good for me. It is pretty fun and I do have a tan but it didn't stop me from sobbing all the way home from the grocery store the other day. With the top down. Sobbing. Loudly.
About a six weeks ago, I went on a leave of absence from work to address my grief and depression. The time away has allowed me to begin to heal. While I was working, recruiting in the health care world, I had to keep my emotional defenses up just to get through the work day. I was not allowing myself to react to the triggers throughout each day as clients and co-workers would talk about patient safety, mortality rates, and emotional demands of the ICU, without any emotion. To them it was business. To me it was the death of my son, my dreams, my innocence. I just kept stuffing my reactions deeper inside of myself. Now, with some time away, I am able to work through the grief, fears, guilt and anxiety that I have been holding at bay for 8 months. I am beginning to heal. I have been told that I will never get back to normal but I will discover a new normal. I just need some time to discover it.
The first week I was off of work, I came down with a terrible case of bronchitis. Then we packed up the little home we shared with Jack and moved. There were so many emotions that flooded over me during that week. In the past 2 years, that house saw me as a single engaged woman planning her wedding, a newlywed, an expectant mother, a new mother and shortly after, a grieving mother. That was the home where we were a family. A home where we made plans and dreamed about our future. It held a nursery for 6 months and then in a flash, it was gone. Returned to its status as an office.
When we had cleaned everything out and were waiting for the rental agent to come inspect the cottage, I took pictures. I took a picture of the kitchen sink, where Jack got all of his baths. I took a picture of the office, turned nursery, turned office. I had Josh touch the low ceiling in the family room, so we never forget how cozy we were for those first two years of our marriage. My heart broke to let go of the house where we were a family. I cried as we handed in our keys. And now, we drive by the house many times a day as it sits empty on the hill. I am not sure what the owners plan to do with it but we don't live there anymore.
Recently, I remembered something I heard about years ago: how important it is to have "eyes for eternity". At the time, I had no idea what they were talking about. I was not ready to understand. But having Jack pass on to be with the Lord before me has given me just that, eyes for eternity.
I firmly believe that our life on earth is a blip in light of the eternity we will spend in Heaven with Jack. I get my information from studying God's Word and the books of others who have closely read the Bible. When I think of time in that perspective, it is a lot easier to carry on each day. I can even be joyful knowing that I will get to spend eternity getting to know our sweet baby boy. I can also rest assured that Jack is safe in the arms of our Creator and will never be in danger again. What a gift to a mother, to know her baby is safe for eternity.
The only catch with my eyes for eternity is that it makes me want to hurry up and get to that eternity. If Heaven is going to be so wonderful, what are we doing still hanging around here? I have to have a firm grasp on my mission to be able to understand why I need to stay. Our mission on earth is to glorify God by loving our neighbors like Jesus does. We are to be a light in the darkness and offer hope to the hopeless. Jack was called home because he had completed his mission. I am still here because I have not.
Jack's gift of "eyes for eternity" is the the life-preserver that keeps me from going under each time I remember to grab for it. It helps when I look up at the night sky, at the ocean or to the horrizon as I drive through the countryside. Anytime I can look outside of myself in the moment, I am reminded that there is more for me and my family in this world. And there are wonderful things, and people, waiting for me when I finish my mission. I thank God for giving me that perspective.
