Reliving the Past

Good Morning Sweetheart,

The other morning, I was getting ready for work when the steady tick-tock of the clock caught my attention and reminded me of the very first moment that I ever heard your heartbeat. I remember how nervous I was that morning waiting for the appointment, and then how excited Daddy and I were when we heard the pit-a-pat of your heart. We are blessed to have captured those moments on my phone's voice recorder. It is a beautiful memory, but sadly, it is often followed next by the memory of the day your heartbeat couldn't be found.

Not long ago, there was quite a stir in the bereaved parents community about an update to the book "Your Best Life Now" by Joel Osteen. In the book, Osteen tells a story about bereaved parents Phil and Judy, who are grieving the death of their only child. He says, "...fifteen years after the fact, Phil and Judy continued to languish in self-pity and self-induced isolation.  Why? Because they don't want to get well...They like the attention too much." He continues, "You must get beyond it. Unless you let go of the old, God will not bring the new. It is natural to feel sorrow and grieve, but you shouldn't still be grieving five or ten years later."

I think that is the part that non-grievers misunderstand or sometimes even choose to not understand the most about grief. When it comes to grieving someone who was such an intimate part of you (whether a child, spouse, parent or other loved one), missing that person and feeling sad is often something outside of your control. Sure, there are days when you might be having a good day, and you willingly make the choice to pull out pictures or listen to songs that you know will bring you pain. But I can promise you this, dwelling on what you've lost is never a sign that you "don't want to get well" or that you "like the attention too much."

Maybe in the midst of an otherwise good day, survivor's guilt has caught up with you. Or maybe an old photo catches your eye as you walk down the hall or a song comes on the radio that sends you down the path of looking at all of your photos and listening to a hundred more sad songs. I bet everyone reading this letter has had the experience like the one I mentioned above where a sight, smell, sound or touch has transported them back in time to relive some moment of their life. For the non-griever, these experiences are often spent reliving happy times. For the griever, these experiences may be spent reliving happy times (which are now bittersweet) or they may be spent reliving terrible times like the day they received the news about a loved one, the last precious moments that were spent together, or the heaviness and pain that overtook them immediately after their loved one passed when it felt as if it might be possible to die of a broken heart. These experiences may even be spent imagining moments that should have been possible but that became impossible the day their loved one died.

I have said time and time again how lucky I am to have friends and family that somehow "get it" and who have been an amazing support in my time of grief. I mean that from the bottom of my heart, and there is not a day that goes by that I don't thank God for the support system He has given me. But my heart breaks for the many new grievers I meet who have no support outside of complete strangers they meet on their journey, whose only comfort comes from experienced grievers offering them compassion, understanding, and advice for navigating this new world they live in. These new relationships are valuable and important because there are things that just can't be understood about profound loss until it has been experienced. But I wish with my whole heart that some of my new friends also had the support they needed from the people in their lives who matter most to them.

I get constant messages from people who are praying for Daddy and me, and I am so very grateful for those messages and prayers. I know without a doubt the difference prayer has had on our lives these last 7+ months. And so I'm hoping (and asking) that whenever someone says a prayer for us, they send one up for all our grieving friends too. As Billy Graham once said, sometimes it's the people we know the least that need our prayers the most.

Love,

Mommy

Where At Last We Will Not Part

Hi Sweetheart,

I went outside to stare up at the stars tonight, but it is cloudy out. Earlier this week, there were nights when the sky was so clear, I was almost convinced that if I reached up I would be able to touch the stars. Nights like those make me feel like heaven might be closer than it seems to be most of the time...like you could be just on the other side of those stars. It reminds me of a quote I heard that says, "Perhaps they are not stars in the sky but rather openings in Heaven where the love of our lost ones shines down to let us know they are happy."

I've been thinking a lot lately about what to do with your nursery. I remember that right after you died, I couldn't bear the thought of packing away anything in your room.  A friend gave me the good advice not to do anything right away but to wait until the day came when I knew it was time. I used to go in your nursery and sit all the time, but a few weeks ago, I realized that I haven't been in there to sit in a while. Izzy follows me around everywhere, and I don't want her to track dirt into the room, so I guess over time I've just stopped going in there.  As hard as it is to think about, I know that one day we will wake up and decide to pack away your things.

Daddy and I have been thinking that we might re-purpose your room into a spare bedroom. We'd leave the paint color, curtains and rug, some of the wall hangings, and most of your keepsakes.  That makes me feel a tiny bit better about the change, but still I tear up at the thought of taking down the crib and the changing table that your Daddy put so much love into for you. We'll store those and many other items in the hopes that one day, when the time is right, you'll pass them on to a little brother or sister.

I invited a few family members to come spend some time in the nursery on their own if they wanted. I know that it is a room that holds meaning for more than just Daddy and me, and I didn't want anyone to be taken by surprise if they came to our house one day and we had changed it.  Grami said she wanted to come sit for a while and say some prayers. She came on Saturday while we were away. Just a little while ago, I went into your nursery to put something away, and I found a poem she had left in your crib.  I hope she doesn't mind if I share it with you; her words are too beautiful of a gift not to share:

"My Sweet Morris

Those moments that I held you,

Will never be enough.

I looked at you with loving eyes,

My heart was breaking so very much.

We were not meant to share this life.

You were made for so much more.

For God so loved you Morris,

That he saved you for a SPECIAL chore.

I will see your sweet face again someday

And wonder at your fame,

Knowing God used you to touch thousands

Just from the mention of your name.

Until then my dear, sweet Morris

I will hold you in my heart

And love you through eternity,

Where at last we will not part.

Love Grami"

No matter what we do with your nursery or when we do it, I think a part of me will always feel like I'm waiting on you to come home. But as Grami's poem points out, I guess technically you are the one waiting on me.

Love,

Mommy

Strength for the Storm

My Darling Son,

It's funny how sometimes no words will come for days, and then all of the sudden, words gush out of me and cause me to write to several times in just a few days.  I'm sitting in my oasis this morning, wrapped up in a blanket with a cup of coffee waiting for the sun to come up. A friend gave me a tiny elephant that holds coffee creamer the other day, and it sits next to my coffee cup being used for the first time this morning. It makes me smile; I think it may become part of my morning routine.

I ran into a friend at the JMU game yesterday. He and his wife are expecting a baby any day now. He told me about sleepless nights and anxiety as the big day approaches. He gave me a hug and told me how sorry he was for your death, how he didn't know something like this could happen until it happened to us. I smiled and told him not to worry, that everything would be okay for them, and I know that it will be. This couple is waiting to be surprised like Daddy and me, and this morning I said a prayer for their baby boy or baby girl's safe arrival.

I don't want to worry or scare people with our story. Preparing to bring a child into the world is a scary enough task all on its own. And while I think bringing awareness to pregnancy loss and stillbirth is a job that God has given someone, I don't think it is the job that He has given me. I share our story not to bring attention to the fact that something like it can happen, but because I think God wants to use it for His glory. Personally, I hope that our story helps foster better understanding of grief and grievers. I hope that God uses it to help others who are grieving feel safe to share their stories, to remind them that they are not alone, and to deliver the message that there is always hope.

Another couple attended the game with Daddy and I yesterday.  As we sat eating lunch, my friend asked me, "How do you feel at 7 months? Has your grief changed?"  I told her that I don't think my grief is any different, and yet it has changed. As I once wished a few months ago, my string of "good" days has gotten longer. I keep a Pinterest board full of quotes about grief, and these are the two quotes that have rung most true for me:

"Grief is not linear - it doesn't start off strong and then gradually taper off with time. Instead, like a big storm, it can grow larger or smaller in the same day." (Unknown)

"Grief is not linear. It is not a slow progression forward toward healing; it's a zigzag, a terrible back-and-forth from devastated to okay until finally there are more okay patches and fewer devastated ones. The mind can't handle emotions like grief and terror for any sustained period of time, so it takes some down time." (Beautiful Lies: A Novel, Lisa Unger) 

You can see the theme - grief isn't a straight line from not okay to okay, nor is it a series of stages where you go from one to the next in a perfect progression. For someone who is a control freak like me, that is the hardest part. Never knowing what to expect. But when I think about it, I guess that makes sense. If we spent all our time knowing that the storm was about to get stronger, if we sat in fear waiting for the rain and wind and lightening to overtake us, we'd never get any rest.  Like the second quote says, our minds and hearts need some downtime. There is one more quote that I've pinned on my grief board that sticks out to me:

"The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain."

When the storm is howling, it is difficult to see that perspective and even harder to believe it. But when the winds die down and the downpour turns into a light sprinkle, I feel in my soul that the sediment is true. I told my friend that asked me about my grief yesterday that I believe we are meant to be joyful beings. No matter the circumstances, God is still good.

Just a moment ago, I was interrupted from my writing by a loud buzzing sound. I looked up, and just 3 or 4 feet from me was a beautiful humming bird. After a few seconds of watching it, it was gone. My heart swelled with joy and love from the brief encounter. Seven months and 3 weeks ago, I would have probably thought it was neat to see a hummingbird so up close. Flash forward to now, and I know that the encounter must have a deeper meaning. I look up hummingbirds and one of the first things I find is this: "Hummingbirds pass on to you their energy, zest for life, playful quality, devotion and love of peace."  In other words, I think that that tiny bird (was it you?) was just providing me some strength for the next storm.

Love,

Mommy

Never Forget

Morris,

I remember where I was the day the world stopped turning. I was a freshman at James Madison University, and school had started just a few weeks earlier. I've always been a morning person, and in typical fashion I was up early that morning. I was talking to a friend on instant messenger and watching the morning news.  Shortly before 9 AM, breaking news reported that a plane had flown into one of the World Trade Center Buildings. I messaged my friend to turn on the news. News reporters were still trying to make heads or tails of what had happened when the second plane hit the South Tower of the World Trade Center. Within the span of a little more than an hour and a half, both towers had fallen.

As hard as it was to fathom, by the end of the day, two more terrorist attacks had unfolded. A total of 2,977 people lost their lives to senseless and unspeakable violence on that day: 246 on the four planes that went down, 2,606 in the World Trade Center and surrounding area, and 125 at the Pentagon. Among those who died at the World Trade Center, 411 were emergency workers who responded to the tragedy.

I remember the chaos and panic that surrounded us that day. So many people on campus and around the country were desperately trying to locate loved ones that terrible day. It is on days like September 11th when we wonder, "Where was God?  Why would God let this happen?"

I don't have an answer for the second question, "Why would God let this happen?" I came across this article titled "Where is God in Tragedy" a few weeks ago that perhaps offers some insight. The author, an atheist-turned-Christian, says this a little ways into the article, "I believe one answer is because God insists we become like Him. God abhors evil, and God cares about others. The Bible says God is "grieved" by sin and evil. Thus, I believe the marvel of the mystery of the problem of evil is that it tacitly and subtly points us to God's plan to confirm us to the likeness of His Son." She goes on to say a few paragraphs later, "Pain is the soil where the deepest kind of faith in God grows. Pain is the context for maturing our love for God, so we can love God foremost. As offensive as that seems from the vantage point of fear, it squares with the logic of faith." I don't know if that is the answer. I think faith is believing in spite of not having the answers. Many people say, "When you get to Heaven you can ask." Personally, I think the answers will matter even less once I'm in Heaven. There is no pain and no tears in Heaven, so I can't imagine that I'll be spending my time there reflecting on the horrible tragedies of this Earth.

The answer to the first question, "Where was God?", is more obvious to me. God was there in the helpers. There is a quote from Mr. Rogers, "When I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would say to me, 'Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping." That couldn't have been truer following 9/11. Thousands of police officers, EMT's, firefighters, civil servants, and volunteers rushed to Ground Zero in the minutes, hours, days, weeks, and months following the attack. They did so without regard to their own safety and health. God was also visible in the numerous symbols of faith that came out of the 9/11 rubble: the Ground Zero Cross, St. Paul's Church (known as the little Chapel that stood), and the Ground Zero Bible. I believe if you look for God in the middle of and in the aftermath of tragedy, you will always find Him.  "Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted." Matthew 5:4

Ground Zero is a term that identifies the point on the earth's surface directly above or below an exploding nuclear bomb, and it has become synonymous with 9/11.  But the term has another meaning too - it can mean "a starting point" or "a center of rapid development or change". Tragedy does a lot of things to us, but one thing it most certainly does is leave us wondering, "Now what?" It changes us. We emerge from the rubble stronger, and hopefully better, versions of ourselves. And we never, ever forget.

Love,

Mommy

A Thousand Years

Hi Baby Boy,

Sorry it's been over a week since I've written. Sometimes I don't have any words other than I miss you and I love you. I don't want to sound like a broken record in my letters to you, so I wait for something else to say. I woke up this morning feeling like I needed to talk to you, so I thought I would tell you about our weekend.

Saturday Daddy and I went to our first JMU tailgate of the season. Before we left that morning, it occurred to me that I wanted to get a picture with your elephant in front of the Duke Dog statue to mark what should have been your first game. As I've said before, it is easier for me if I acknowledge your absence in these moments rather than suffer silently with all the should-have-been's rolling around in my head. I thought Daddy might think it was weird for me to bring your elephant to the game, so I discreetly packed it in my purse and figured I'd wait until we got to campus to say anything. When we arrived and I told him my plan though, he got a big smile on his face and said he was glad I had thought to bring our reminder of you. The friends we rode with were also supportive. I'm blessed to have family and friends that validate my feelings instead of making me feel like I might be going crazy.

Uncle Dustin and Aunt Becca came to the game too. Later in the day, the three of us walked to the bookstore. We were in the kids section, picking out a t-shirt for your cousin Ava, when Aunt Becca found a small stuffed elephant in a t-shirt that read "Someone at JMU loves me." I knew that it was the perfect gift for our friend Jamie to remind her of you and to thank her for being such an amazing friend to us. I hope it brings her comfort when she looks at it, just like my Morris elephant does for me.

On Sunday, Daddy and I went back to church for the first time in a long time. My faith has certainly gotten stronger in all of this, but going to church has been hard. I sing along to songs on the radio during the week, but when we sing those same songs at church it's like the words go straight to my heart. It can be emotionally draining. Our church recently changed its name from Blue Ridge Christian Church to Bridge Christian Church, and oddly enough, that is what makes me feel like it is the right time to go back. I've changed in the last several months too. It seems like a new beginning for both of us.

After church, Aunt Becca and I went to a food truck competition put on by a local charity, The MaDee Project. It was a beautiful day and a fun event. The MaDee Project was founded in memory of MaDee Boxler and her battle with pediatric cancer. The foundation raises money and provides support for pediatric cancer patients and their families. Over 2,000 people in our community came out to support the cause.  After I got home from the event, I started reading MaDee's book "Dancing in the Rain".  I'm only half-way through it, but MaDee's beautiful story of love, courage, and strength has brought me to tears several times already.

Monday was a holiday. Daddy had to work, so I decided to work too and take Friday off instead. Grami and I have plans to go shopping. Since I was the only one in the office on Monday, I put on Pandora and turned up the music while I worked. Late in the day, a song came on that brought tears to my eyes. It is a love song from a movie soundtrack, and it's meant to describe the love between a couple really, but it perfectly describes how I feel about you:

"I have died every day

waiting for you.

Darlin' don't be afraid 

I have loved you

for a thousand years.

I'll love you

for a thousand more.

And all along I believed

I would find you.

Time has brought 

your heart to me.

I have loved you 

for a thousand years.

I'll love you

for a thousand more."

A Thousand Years, Christina Perri

Love times infinity,

Mommy

Gone but never forgotten...