One Year

"I have felt its approach in the back of my mind, O Lord, like a burden tilting toward me across the calendar. I have felt its long approach, and now it has arrived. This is the day that marks the anniversary of my loss, and waking to it, I must drink again from the stream of sorrow that cannot be fully remedied in this life. O Christ, redeem this day." - Every Moment Holy, Volume II: Death, Grief, and Hope

Tuesday, November 29th, marked the one year anniversary of my mom's death. Like the quote above says, I have long felt it's approach. I had actually been dreading it since the leaves began to turn. Each peer out the window to see the brilliant colors of yellow and red and orange took my breath away, and not because it was beautiful (thought it was), but because I knew fall was closing in and so were the painful memories of all the events that occurred before, during, and after my mom's death last year. This date seemed like a looming mountain that I had to climb. And, honestly, all I wanted to do was hide.

But God gives more grace.

It's now December 2nd, and I have made it to the other side. The Lord carried me through largely on the prayers of others. Once I got past my birthday, which was just seven days before the dreaded day, the anxiety almost disappeared. The days seemed to get easier after that for some reason, but my awareness of last year's timetable was still very much on my mind, as revealed by the many dreams I have had of my mom and her house.

I miss my mom tremendously. I think of her all the time. I am so happy for her that she is no longer suffering and that her faith is now sight, but I miss her being a part of our lives. There are so many things I want to ask her and cannot. There are things I wish I could ask her about parenting and her childhood that I didn't think to ask before, but now never can. I miss talking to her about what the boys are doing and sending her pictures of them. I miss how she kept me connected to my extended family. I miss sharing all the little things with her that no one else would really care about, but she did. My mom took a special interest in the lives of others. She seemed to find everything I told her interesting, even if it really wasn't. I missed driving to see her this past Thanksgiving. 

Now that Christmas is around the corner, I miss talking to her about gift ideas for the boys. I used to get so frustrated by how many presents she bought them (too many), but now I wish she could just buy them even one. Gift-giving seemed to be her love language and she really enjoyed buying gifts for others. She actually had me order Christmas gifts for the boys from her while she was on the BiPap machine in the hospital last year, just a week before she died. She loved them so much and getting them something for Christmas was on her mind even in her final days. The gifts actually arrived the day she died and I was able to give them to the boys that day, which was a sweet providence. 

We have made it through a whole year of firsts. Like we do in memory of my dad, we took time on her birthday and Mother's day and this past Tuesday to remember my mom. I made a special photo book about the boys' grandparents, so we looked at that book together and talked about the memories we had of Grandma. I know the memories of my mom and her house will fade in the boys' minds as time passes (which makes me sad), so this is a way I hope to keep her memory before them. 

It's been a year and the pain is still very raw. It all still feels very recent in my mind's eye, as if it happened just weeks ago. But I know from experience that it will not always be this way. The pain will not always be so acute, but it will always mark me in some way. Someone has said that grief is our final act of love and reveals the extent to which we have loved the person who died. The tears will come and go and come again, but there is a day coming when One will finally and fully wipe them all away (Revelation 21:4). Until then, He collects them in His bottle and never lets one tear be wasted (Psalm 56:8). For what I also know is that even though grief is unpredictable and messy and this world is full of many sufferings and trials, there is a God who is ruling over it all and He has good and wise purposes that we could never fathom. And more than that, He is a God who enters into our suffering through the person of Jesus Christ. He walks with us in it and He became one of us so that He might bear our griefs and carry our sorrows (Isaiah 53:4). In fact, He was called the Man of Sorrows (Isaiah 53:3). This is what Christians celebrate around the world at this time of year. Christmas is about the God who came to us to live for us, to die for us, and to save us so that we might be able to live with Him forever. Jesus came to destroy the works of the devil (sin and death), so that death no longer has the final word. Jesus is going to right every wrong and transform every suffering into something glorious. My heartache is not for nothing. This is the hope that carries me through the hardest of days.

And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, “Behold, the dwelling place of God is with man. He will dwell with them, and they will be his people, and God himself will be with them as their God. He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away.” Revelation 21:3-4

Thanksgiving 2020

The Empty Chair

Anyone who visited my mom knew the familiar sight of her sitting in her rocker recliner. As her health deteriorated over the last several years, her time in her chair increased. She became almost wheelchair bound and rarely left her recliner. She slept in it. She ate meals in it. She welcomed people into her home from it. She held her grandbabies for the first time in it.

Mom meeting Justus

Mom meeting Levi

Last year, my family and I spent a total of almost two months at my mom's house spread over three trips (only two trips were planned, which would have totaled two weeks). Most of those weeks were without my mom present because she was in the hospital. It was strange to walk into her house without her smiling face beaming at us from that chair. The chair sat empty the entire time we were there. Not one of us sat in it. Not even my boys, who are four and two, ventured into it, and no one told them not to. It was like an unspoken rule. Everyone understood that it was her chair. 

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When my family and I made our biannual trip to visit my mom last June, deep down I thought it might be one of our last visits. The Lord put it in my heart to ask my sister and her husband to join us during that time because my mom loved when both her girls were there at the same time and I sensed an urgency that we all be together. After our week visit, my family and I returned to New Jersey, only to take a next-day flight back to Missouri a week later because my mom was severely ill in the hospital with pancreatitis. 

She was unable to keep down food and medicine for weeks and the doctors saw no hope for recovery, so they sent her home on hospice. She wasn't even home for 24 hours before she was eating and drinking and keeping down meds and in her right mind. The Lord touched her body and, besides being weak, she seemed like herself.

During that time, many of our relatives came in from all over to see her in what we thought were her last days. They came prepared for a funeral, but instead were able to visit with her like old times. Looking back, I can see what a gift this was to my mom. She loved having people in her home. No matter when you came or how long you stayed, you were always welcomed at my mom's house. She would receive you with open arms and a smiling face, and, as much as she was able, she would go out of her way to accommodate you. 

As it became apparent that my mom was on the mend and no longer dying, we took her off hospice and arranged for her to go to a rehab facility to strengthen her very weak body. It felt as if God had given her back to us. Little did we know that it was only temporary. 

June 2021

My mom was well acquainted with suffering and had suffered many health afflictions over the years. Yet, even through all the pain and the loneliness and limitations, my mom did not turn away from God or question the lot He gave her. She did get weary of hospitals and doctor's visits and she did wonder why God kept her around, but her faith in God never wavered. Since 2015, my mom has had at least one health crisis per year that we weren't sure she would pull out of. In 2021, she had two. Her infirmities seemed to increase in intensity and complexity each year.

Now her health battles are over. My mom went to be the Lord on Monday, November 29, 2021. She contracted Covid in the rehab facility where she was staying and never recovered. It's hard to believe this was the health crisis to end them all.

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Now we are all reeling from this sudden loss. For me, the effects seem cumulative. It's not just losing my mom, but losing my dad and the home where I grew up. It's the realization that I no longer have parents or grandparents - people who have gone before me. It's a heavy blow.

In the midst of the grief and pain, however, there is relief and joy. My mom is no longer suffering. She is now free from her crippled body of almost 40 years. She doesn't have to face the reality of no longer being able to live by herself and she doesn't have to live in a long-term facility (something neither she nor we wanted). She doesn't have to endure isolation and loneliness - something I scarcely let myself think about before. She is healed in every way, and I no longer have to worry about her (and, oh, how much of my thoughts and prayers went towards her). 

Honestly, this has been really hard and some days I really struggle with this hard providence. I have to be careful, though, and guard my thoughts. It's easy for me to start questioning God's wisdom and character. But I know whom I have believed and I must trust Him over what I feel or what my circumstances tell me. It's hard to see how God could possibly work good out of my mom's suffering or out of all the hard things my family and I have faced last year. But, as the old hymn says, "Judge not the Lord by feeble sense, but trust Him for His grace. Behind a frowning providence, there hides a smiling Face." My vision is limited. I do not see all that the Lord is doing. One day, I will. Maybe not even in this life time, but one day, I will see that God had been up to something good all along, even in all of the pain. That's what I cling to as I grieve with hope (1 Thess. 4:13).

"Be still my soul, thy Jesus can repay from His own fullness all He takes away."

Five Years

I've been thinking about my dad a lot this year. I always think about him, but he's just been on the forefront of my mind more. This September marks the fifth anniversary of his death. Five years is a long time. So much has happened. But, yet, the memory of him seems so much closer.

I have been missing him. Mainly, I've been missing him missing out on our lives. I know he doesn't feel that way. He is in perfect health, free from sin, and in the presence of Jesus (2 Corinthians 5:8). He is at home in every sense of the word. But for us here, we miss his presence, and, from our earthly perspective, he has missed out on so much. Both me and my sister got married the year after he passed away. He wasn't there to walk us down the aisle or dance with us at the reception. I have trouble imagining what that would have been like - what he would have said, if he would have teared up - and it's something my heart will never know. This is something I realized I have never truly grieved over until this year. In the moment of wedding planning and all the changes that go with getting married, the busyness hid the reality. I actually did not even know who was going to walk me down the aisle until the week of my wedding due to things going on amongst my relatives (which was painful for several reasons). As I was looking through our wedding album earlier this year, these things hit me. I wish it could have been different. I wish my dad could have been there. But he wasn't and I have to trust God's Word that He's working in that for my good (Romans 8:28).

And then there's Justus. I think that is what has really been prompting me to think about my dad. I wish he was here to meet him, play with him, know him. My dad loved babies and he would have loved Justus so much - enough to even travel to visit us here in AL (and my dad was not one to travel). Now I can only show Justus pictures and videos of his grandpa and hope that that somehow makes him think fondly of him down the road.

Loss is hard. Its effects are far reaching, rippling into events unforeseen and surprising you with grief when you least expect it. The passage of time helps. It gives perspective and distance, but it doesn't lessen the loss. The grief may not be as raw as it was five years ago, but sometimes the pain can be. But, as a Christian, I can grieve with hope (1 Thessalonians 4:13). Because Christ died and rose from the dead, I know that the same will be true of my dad. Because Jesus lives, he lives too. And one day we will worship Him together.

Photo Credit: Sarah Mesa Photography

Photo Credit: Sarah Mesa Photography

Life After Loss

Things change when you lose a loved one. They change in a thousand different ways.

Today marks the third year since my dad passed away. It’s hard to believe he’s been gone that long, and sometimes the pain seems just as fresh as when it first happened. People always say that the first year is the hardest, and I can see how in many ways that is true. But I actually found that year two was harder. Maybe it’s because I had false expectations of what long-term loss looked like. I expected year one to be hard and then after that for things to immediately get easier. But they didn’t. Instead, the new reality set in: my dad is gone. No more phone calls. No more laughs. No more sharing life together. Life is still going on for sure…but without him.

This past year has been easier comparatively. But, grief can be a tricky thing. The pain sneaks up on when you least expect it and seems to be absent when you most expect it. And for everyone it seems to be different. And I guess one of the things I have noticed most is how I (and others close to my dad) still feel the loss, but how others have moved on. It doesn’t affect them regularly or cause the same void in their life. There’s nothing wrong with this. We can’t all feel every loss so keenly (how overwhelming that would be!). But for those suffering from loss, for those to whom the absence is noticeable, it seems like we are at times stuck in the pain or have regressed to an earlier stage of grief. The world carries on, but we experience the loss in some way every day. Time does heal the wound, albeit not completely, and we do adjust to the new way of living that God has ordained, but the loss becomes an integral part of our story. It doesn’t define us (or at least shouldn’t), but it does further shape us and what we believe. For Christians, it should sober their view of life and drive them to dependence upon Christ. That is one of the good intentions that God has in grief: to grow our faith and make us more like Christ. And we can only do that if we lean into Him and let others into our grief. 

God created us for community not just for fellowship and to share our joys, but to also share our sorrows and struggles. The local church should be the safest and best place to do this. We are called to rejoice with those who rejoice and weep with those who weep (Romans 12:15). We are to encourage the fainthearted (1 Thessalonians 5:14) and comfort others with the same comfort that Christ gives us (2 Corinthians 1:3-7). If the one who died is a believer, we are to remind each other of their and our future hope (1 Thessalonians 4:13-15). And, most of all, we should be encouraging one another and building one another up in the truth and knowledge of the Lord (1 Thessalonians 5:11; Ephesians 4:15-16). But we can only live out these commands within our church families if we are open and honest and vulnerable with one another. We have to let others into our lives and be intentional in entering the lives of others. This is not easy to do, especially in our individualistic, self-reliant, put-on-a-good-face society. But this is what Jesus calls us to, and the local church is where I believe you will find true healing from loss and people to walk alongside of you during the bouts of reoccurring grief. This is where I believe God chooses to meet us in unexpected ways as He reveals Himself to us through His people. Can you find healing from grief outside of the local church? Yes. But I believe it will be a longer, more lonely road, and a definitely less grace-centered and gospel-centered healing process. I am thankful that the Lord has pretty much forced me to share my grief with my brothers and sisters in Christ. He has used them to confront my doubts and unbelief in God's goodness and to encourage me when I am hurting and discouraged. They may not feel the loss regularly like I do (or may not have even been there to experience the loss in the first place), but they are more than willing to patiently enter the pain with me and comfort me through it. Life after loss may look different for everyone, but the true source of Hope and Comfort is universal. His name is Jesus Christ and He often channels His hope and comfort through His people in the local church context.