When you experience a loss, it’s amazing how people around
you will open up and share their loss with you, also. I found it encouraging knowing that other people had
experienced horrific heartbreak and still found a way to get out of bed in the
morning. The downside to that was
that, at the time, it put my grief into a weird, probably unhealthy
perspective. I couldn’t feel sorry
for myself and grieve my loss, because, look around, everyone else had made it
through. Furthermore, if I’m truly
trusting in God, which I was and still am, I thought, “What is there to be sad
about? I’m fine.” One particularly meaningful
conversation I had was with a friend.
She extended her hand through her own experience of losing her first
husband. I didn’t know, and I
couldn’t imagine. She offered her
friendship and understanding as to how hard it is to grieve after everyone
forgets and doesn’t understand how much you’re still hurting. When she described the things people
had done to her in the time following, I was horrified. How could people be like that? I’m glad I don’t have people in my life
like that. Silly me.
The first two months following Luke’s death I spent trying
to be strong for everyone else and found strength in doing so. The third month was when it became more
difficult to deal with my emotions and I remember willing myself to grieve, but
I just couldn’t. In this month,
now I’m tired, emotionally exhausted.
I want to lay in bed all day and do what I feel like would’ve been accepted
by those around me if I did it in that first month, but now it’s met with
bitterness and resentment. At
first, I remember thinking I didn’t want to be the person known for and
remembered by my loss, but I guess I didn’t think it’d be those closest to us
who would be the quickest to forget.
Now I know exactly what my friend was talking about. While everyone else’s lives move on and
stay the same, ours are still changed forever. It’s astounding how quickly people are to cast their anger
and aggression back in our direction.
And while they’re busy being upset about issues that are none of their
business but all of mine, I am the one just trying to go through the
motions. We are the ones who awake every morning
and see the crib where our son used to be, but now only his pictures and onesies
remain. We go to see him everyday at a cemetery – rain or shine.
We have spent more time trying to choose, arrange, and coordinate how, when,
and where our headstone will be placed than anyone can imagine. Seeing my name on a headstone was
something I didn’t think I’d ever see, especially at the age of 27. Just last night, I spent close to an
hour on the phone with the cemetery director talking about our gravesites,
sorting out a discrepancy on our ownership certificate, how that’s delaying our
process, and going over the maintenance routine for Luke’s grave. If that’s not depressing, I’m not sure
what is. All day and all night I
fight back the memories of Luke. No
one knew him like I did. While
everyone else only knew him for five months, I carried him with me for over a year. And then, every moment of every day I
held him, fed him, changed him, and loved him. Even though he couldn’t talk, I remember the way he looked
at me with so much unconditional love in his eyes. That day before – I wish I would’ve just spent the whole day
cuddling with him and enjoying his precious smile. If I could have that day back, what would we have done? I would’ve made it last forever. That cold December morning. The sirens. The ambulance ride to the hospital – the wrong hospital. The way my heart broke when I heard
them say we weren’t going to Children’s, just Lakeside. Those calls to our family to tell them
what had happened. Haunting. The mortuary. The funeral.
Every moment after and in between.
Seeing friends post pictures of their babies who are the same age Luke
would be. Listening to my kids
repeat day after day, night after night how much they miss their brother, how
they wish they could go visit him.
I do think eventually it will get easier, but today is not that day. This year is probably not the year. I do my best to still commit to things that call my name but know it isn’t easy. And know that Jeremy and I would never use our son’s death in vain as an excuse to feel or act any particular way, so I wouldn’t expect it be for anyone else either. People grieve in different ways and at different times, so just be nice. That’s all I’m asking. Don’t act selfishly and harshly towards the three things that are going to get me through this: my faith, my marriage, and my sanity. To disrespect any of those things of anyone under any circumstances is low, let alone months, weeks, or mere days after a loss like this. Those three things may not be perfect in my life, but the only ones I’ve invited into them are God, my husband, and myself. No one else. So today I’m asking God for patience to tolerate others’ behavior and actions towards us. I’m asking Him to give me the strength to give grace and forgive, despite the fact that forgiveness will likely never be asked. I’m handing it over because I can’t on my own. My hardened heart and sinful nature have given me the right to not forgive. I know that’s not right, and I trust that if I ask, God will allow me to forgive anyone. But remember that memories of being hurt are especially hard, if not impossible, to forget. I’m not calling anyone specific out. I’m calling everyone out. Everyone, even people who have been through this process, needs a reminder to treat people with kindness, respect, and empathy. Everyone needs a call to stop with the jealousy, hate, gossip, and anger. I think we give ourselves too much grace and others none. We make excuses for behavior instead of changing it. We think we can hide our true feelings and motives from God. I ask my children and myself often, “If Jesus came back right now, is this how you’d want him to find your heart?”
I do think eventually it will get easier, but today is not that day. This year is probably not the year. I do my best to still commit to things that call my name but know it isn’t easy. And know that Jeremy and I would never use our son’s death in vain as an excuse to feel or act any particular way, so I wouldn’t expect it be for anyone else either. People grieve in different ways and at different times, so just be nice. That’s all I’m asking. Don’t act selfishly and harshly towards the three things that are going to get me through this: my faith, my marriage, and my sanity. To disrespect any of those things of anyone under any circumstances is low, let alone months, weeks, or mere days after a loss like this. Those three things may not be perfect in my life, but the only ones I’ve invited into them are God, my husband, and myself. No one else. So today I’m asking God for patience to tolerate others’ behavior and actions towards us. I’m asking Him to give me the strength to give grace and forgive, despite the fact that forgiveness will likely never be asked. I’m handing it over because I can’t on my own. My hardened heart and sinful nature have given me the right to not forgive. I know that’s not right, and I trust that if I ask, God will allow me to forgive anyone. But remember that memories of being hurt are especially hard, if not impossible, to forget. I’m not calling anyone specific out. I’m calling everyone out. Everyone, even people who have been through this process, needs a reminder to treat people with kindness, respect, and empathy. Everyone needs a call to stop with the jealousy, hate, gossip, and anger. I think we give ourselves too much grace and others none. We make excuses for behavior instead of changing it. We think we can hide our true feelings and motives from God. I ask my children and myself often, “If Jesus came back right now, is this how you’d want him to find your heart?”
