Until We Meet Again

I consider that our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us. Romans 8:18

Grief seems to be a catalyst to some pretty serious soul searching. I know it has been in my situation and, from my talks with others who are in various stages of the grief process, it seems to be true for others as well. Not only have I been trying to process why this happened and how I am supposed to shape my life going forward around the huge hole that Dad has left, I’ve also found myself working to reconcile what happened and what I am feeling with my spiritual beliefs. 

The hospital chaplain and I prayed at the foot of Dad’s hospital bed for his complete healing as the Code Blue team worked on him. We prayed for the medical interventions to be successful, for the staff to be able to locate the unknown source of the problem, for Dad’s failing heart to be restored. But even as we prayed these prayers, I knew that it might not happen. Now understand, I do not believe that God caused Dad’s heart attack. We live in a fallen world and lots of bad things happen.  I do, however, believe to my core that God could have healed Dad in those frantic moments. But he didn’t.

What do I do with that? How do I, or anyone, reconcile a loving God with the heartache that I know he could have saved us in the blink of an eye? This is where I have to fall back on all of the beliefs that I have when the world is not falling apart. If I have learned nothing else in my almost 50 years, it is that God has a perfect plan of which we can only see a small fraction. And we tend to understand even less of it. 

Humans usually learn best through experience. Babies learn as they begin to toddle around the edge of furniture that they must hold on to something solid as they make those first steps. They learn this after a few experiences with gravity. School children grumble about the homework they must do, but realize on test day the benefits that are gained from those less than joy-filled assignments. They look back and say “Now I understand why I had to read that chapter!”. It was the same with me and some painful experiences that I went through. There were episodes in my life that I would not have willingly gone through, things that I cried to God to save me from, but could look back later and see that those times were integral in bringing me to a place of even bigger blessings from God. 

Of course I still miss Dad desperately. Of course I still wish he was here with me. But I am able to trust on God’s promises and believe in his plan enough to know that there is a reason for this. I can make some guess, but I don’t think I’ll ever really know on this side of heaven. Maybe if he had survived the code he would have been a much weaker version of himself, or even mentally impaired from the lack of oxygen during the extended code. Dad greatest fear was to have a long period of suffering at the end of his life. To be a burden to someone. He wanted to go quickly, so it sort of was an answered prayer for him. Maybe, had he survived the code, he would have had the heart attack at home, alone. At least this way I was by his side, loving on him, until the very end and didn’t have the What Ifs of finding him at his house. I just don’t know what the truth of God’s plan is in this instance. But I have the amazing peace of knowing that it is playing itself out, day by day.

I'll admit, I don't have it all reconciled in my mind yet. Not having any big doubts, per se, just trying to figure some of the finer points. I've always been a person who likes to understand how things work, so letting something this big go with a simple "I'll understand some day" is not really my nature. I'm getting closer, though.

And, for now, I am trying to remind myself that the sorrow that we have when we lose loved ones on this earth, as absolutely devastating as it can be, is nothing…nothing…compared to the joy that we will have when we are all reunited, healthy and whole and in the presence of the Lord. I actually find comfort in knowing that I really can’t even fathom the grandness, the peace, the love that will exist in that moment. 

So, until we meet again...

The Word and My People

I went back to work this week, after almost 6 weeks off. I was off two weeks when Dad first died, then returned for 2.5 days, which was a huge disaster, then was off for 4 more weeks. It has been good to be back. I missed my coworkers, who are the best team around, and it was helpful to be able to be mentally and physically busy again. So, my work days have been good.

The rest of the week my non-work hours have been a challenge. I just chuckled as I reread that sentence, as it is huge, glaring, not-funny-at-all understatement. Satan has been after me HARD this week. Most mornings this week I have cried on my way to work and again on the way home. Friday night was the darkest time in my grieving so far. Maybe in my life, and that's saying something.

My theory is that now that I have started to make it past the shock of everything that happened and am feeling less paralyzed by it all, I am able to turn more and more to the Lord for the comfort and restoration that I have known all along that He offered. No more depending solely on people to carry me there. I am making my own way to the feet of Jesus. And Satan HATES that. He was much happier when I was lost. So he has been sending me those doubting thoughts, in myself and my Savior. But do you know what things are getting me through? What things are fighting Satan and winning every battle?

First is standing on the words that God has given me, given all of us, to know the TRUTH.

Scripture is filled with God's reassurance that He has a perfect plan for us (For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord, plans for welfare and not for evil, to give you a future and a hope. Jeremiah 29:11) and that just because we don't understand doesn't mean God isn't in control (Trust in the Lord with all your heart and do not lean on your own understanding. Proverbs 3:5). I also know that those seeds of doubt, those overwhelming What Ifs, the fear, the anxiety - none of that is from God. That's all Satan. (Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows. James 1:17).  Did you get that last part? He does not change. So it gives me great comfort to remind myself that He has always walked me through every trial and this one is no different.

The second part of winning the battles is being surround by some of the best people on the planet. My people.

I have one friend who always seems to be just one text away, one step away, with just the right thing to say. She helped me battle Satan after a particularly rough drive to work one day, as Satan was drowning me in What Ifs. And another day as a panic attack hit me for no apparent reason in the grocery parking lot. I have no idea what she was doing at that moment, but she dropped whatever it was to talk me through it, encouraging me to breath and redirect and survive. She's also the friend that, when I texted to see if she had left for vacation yet, texts me with "No, we're leaving in about 30 minutes. Do you need something? I can come help right now." <3 :)

There is also my friend that has been by my side for over 30 years now. She's the one that knows what I need without me even having to say it, often before I even realize it. She embodies the phrase "Love shows up" and has for all 30+ years. She's the one that texted me seemingly out of the blue with a crazy idea - let's take a trip! It sounded wonderful and crazy and impossible when she first texted me, but the more we talked, the more I realized it was perfect. It is timed right between Thanksgiving and Christmas, times that I am already dreading. I gives me something to look forward to, instead of dread. And even better, she had it all planned. I didn't have to use one single frazzled brain cell. I simply texted her the next day with "I'm in!" and an hour later we were all set!

And there is my not-enough-adjectives-to-describe-how-wonderful-he-is husband. The guy who, when he walks in the door from work to me saying "hey what do you think about me taking a trip with my friend", says "absolutely, whatever you need honey" and means it. The poor guy wants to heal my pain and fix things so desperately that I could probably say that I feel like joining the NASA space program would make me feel better and he would start googling applications. He's ever so patiently watched me burst into tears for no reason at all for days on end. He's watched me be clingy and grumpy and happy and sad, riding along on my emotional rollercoaster like a champ.

There are my kids, who have taken turns babysitting me when I am too anxious to be alone and listening to me ramble about my scattered emotions. They offer great advice and wonderful shoulders to cry on, even as they grieve themselves. There is my mom, who checks on me at least daily, sometimes hourly, depending on how I am doing. She makes sure I'm okay, that I'm taking care of myself, that I'm hydrating and eating and sleeping and all the things moms worry about for their children who are struggling.  And I guess I should also mention my wonderful grief and trauma therapist who has been an additional gift from God through all of this. Kudos to her and her calm, steadying, nonjudgemental guidance.

I could not do life without my God and my people. And I hope and pray that whatever you are going through, whether it be the loss of a loved one, a major life change, struggles with a loved one, whatever it is, that you can cling to the promises of God and to the people in your life. One thing that I've learned is that it's okay to ask for help. Some people are better than others at stepping in, but just because they might not know intuitively what you need, doesn't mean they wouldn't love to help. And don't be afraid of professional help, even if you have a wonderful support network. It's not a dig at them if you need someone from outside the circle to help you work through things.

And most importantly, I hope that you turn to the Ultimate Healer and Comforter, Jesus Christ. He's also just waiting for you to ask.

An Honest Look

Unfortunately, I have many friends and family that have gone through recent loss of a loved one. Because of this, and because some of my blog posts have discussed grief, I have had a chance to talk with several of them about the grieving process. I have let them know that, even though I wrote about some progress that I've made and some things that I've thought through since Dad died, it's been hard. Beyond hard. And that things have been a thousand times harder than I have been willing to write about so far. That while there are better times and days, there are still really painful moments and difficult to navigate through days.

I just didn't want them to think that because their grief journey was different than mine, that it was wrong. Some of the things that I have been learning, and wholeheartedly agree with but sometimes find my soul forgetting, is that everyone's journey is different and that you're allowed to feel how you feel. Period.

So I thought I'd try to give an honest glimpse into what this journey has been like so far on the off chance that it could help someone else that is dealing with grief and struggling.

The first few weeks were a blur. Dad's death was completely unexpected. He went from being completely fine, having had same-day surgery to have his gallbladder removed and literal minutes from walking out the hospital door to go home, to sick, then non-responsive, then coding, in a matter of 15 minutes. I was alone with him in the room and witnessed it all, as well as the entire code.

Those images haunted me for weeks. I basically stopped sleeping, getting at the most 3 hours of fitful sleep per night, sometimes less. And it wasn't that I was just seeing it, I was reliving it. I was a wreck. I lost 8 lbs in the first week. We got through the service, though I'm not sure how. The amount of decisions to be made and stuff that has to be done between death and burial still amazes me.

I received my 3 days bereavement time from work (is that ever sufficient time? I can't imagine), plus a few additional days due to Memorial Day and a few vacation days that I took. I went back to work exactly two weeks to the day from when Dad died, one week after his funeral. I was a complete mess. Still not sleeping, I couldn't concentrate. I was still frequently tearful at random moments and having those "reliving" flashbacks throughout the day. I was only able to work 2.5 days, and spent much of that time in the bathroom crying or trying to just regain my composure. Thankfully, I was able to arrange appointments with both a grief and trauma therapist and also my family doctor.

Upon recommendation from them, I took medical leave. I also agreed to start taking some short term medication to help with the sleep and the anxiety/depression issues. These meds, coupled with weekly visits with the (wonderful) grief and trauma therapist, have been a signifcant help. The therapist uses a method called EMDR to help with the flashbacks. I had never heard of it, although others that I know have, but read good things about PTSD patients that had success with it. She told me in the beginning the goal was for me to be able to remember the events without reliving it. There is a significant difference between the two.

Things are improving now. It's been 6 weeks since Dad died. I am routinely getting 6 or so hours of sleep per night. The flashbacks spaced further and further apart and I am now at a point that I can simply remember the events without feeling like it is happening all over again. Days are still hard, but less overwhelming. I miss him desperately. My brain seems less focused on the day I lost him and now spends its time trying to understand that he's really gone and figure out what life will look like going forward. Still having tearful moments and can get caught off guard by weird things that cause unexpected grief.

And I'm taking baby steps to help improve my health and healing. Light exercise, rest, diversion activities, keeping hydrated, prayer, time in God's word, time in nature. Even though at times I have had to make myself do some of these, I know they are in my best interest.

I have been released to go back to work on Monday. I feel good about this and am feeling like I can actually go back and perform my job, which I'm sure my coworkers will be glad to hear. I spend much less time worry about how I'm supposed to be feeling and acting, and more time trying to work through my actual feelings. But those judgement thoughts still creep in occasionally. I try to be accepting of what I'm feeling and honor those needs. Not feeling like being in a crowd? I stay home, even if it means canceling plans. Being at home alone allowing too many difficult thoughts in? I go visit someone or run to the store, even if it means abandoning housework that I wanted to accomplish. Need a nap? Need to talk? Need to spend an hour playing solitaire on my phone? Then that's what I try to do. And I am blessed beyond belief to have a wonderful support network, including my amazingly patient and loving husband, to let me do what I need to do.

So if you're grieving, or know someone who is, I hope that you've heard my message. Everyone's journey is different. It doesn't matter if your loved one's death was expected or sudden, if you were close to them or your relationship was strained, if they've been gone a week or a year. You get to feel how you feel. Take care of yourself. Get support, in whatever form you need that to be.

And you can always call me. As I have discovered, sometimes talking with someone who is on a similar journey can help.

Every Picture Has A Story

They say that every picture has a story. Think of all of the photographs that we see every day. National media, local news, Facebook, Instagram and countless other social media outlets flood us daily with images. Some have captions to give a brief description of the main narrative of the event. Some are published without words, leaving the viewer to surmise the story solely on what they can see from that one brief capture of time. 

Every picture has a story. Some tell many stories. 

This photograph has many stories that aren't apparent on first glance. This shot could be captioned "Three generations enjoying a beautiful summer's evening." That is true, but it is not anywhere close to the full story, or even the most important story from the evening.  But the important stories need to be shared, nonetheless. Because these are stories of healing and progress and love and small steps.

The day this picture was taken was a hard day, similar to the dozens of days before it. It was made harder by the fact that this was the day that I had to pick up the report of the autopsy that was performed on my father 5 weeks earlier. I had to sift through all of the medical jargon to find the words that would give me the answer to why my dad was suddenly gone from my life. The answer was there, and even though not a complete surprise, it still involved more processing from my tired brain and broken heart.

That evening as I walked up the steps to drop something off at the kid's house, they were heading out the door to go for a walk at the riverfront and take some pictures of River to document his 7th month. Being ever thoughtful of me, they invited me to come along, hoping that it would distract me for a bit. I hesitated. Was I up to it? It had been such a long, hard day. But they insisted and I made a choice. I knew there were things I needed to be doing to promote health and healing, such as exercise and getting out of the house, so I grabbed my keys and headed with them. Small steps.

It was a lovely night in Newburgh and as we walked and talked, I could feel the tension in my body easing. As we attempted to get a squirmy, inquisitive, never-still-for-a-minute 7 month old crazy boy to pose for a picture, and smile at the same time, I laughed and thanked God for the evening. Healing.

Then my daughter did a crazy thing. She suggested, no, insisted, that she and I join in the photo session. Of course, I immediately started in with a litany of reasons why I didn't want to be in the pictures. The top of these reasons was that I had been cleaning house all afternoon, was in grungy clothes, had not a drop of makeup on and my hair hadn't seen a brush since the very early morning hours. She stopped me before I could get the last words out by looking me straight in the eye, saying "Mom, we said we weren't going to do this. We were going to start being present in the pictures and in life and stop worrying if our hair is right or how we look in clothes. We are here, together. Let's do this." So we did. This was a big step for both of us. To put aside our constant self-consciousness and be present in the moment. Progress.

This will be a memory I will always hold. It was hilarious - remember, squirmy baby. It was refreshing - there were no bad memories or haunting reminders there, only nature and fresh air. It was full of love - them for me, mine for them. LOVE.

So, when I look at this picture, I don't see the disheveled grandmother with her daughter and grandson, captured at just the right moment. I see an evening where my healing began, where we chose to be present in life, where I was surrounded by love and blessings, where life was busy weaving it's many stories together in that one moment.

(And for your viewing entertainment, I am adding a few of the 3 million outtakes that my wonderful son (in-law) had to sift through.)

Legacy

"The measure of a life, after all, is not it's duration, but it's donation." - Corrie Ten Boom.

The word legacy has been floating around in my head all week. It first popped up when I said to Ken, in a moment of deep grief and tears, that I wanted to somehow find my way out of this grief and trauma, because I didn't want my dad's legacy to be that he left behind pain and sorrow. That just wasn't my dad and not at all what I want myself or others to remember about him. So I've been going over in my mind about what is his true legacy. I looked up the definition of legacy in the Merriam-Webster dictionary and found this:

1. A gift by will especially of money or other personal property.
2. Something transmitted by or received from an ancestor or predecessor or from the past.
Also, a special footnote that said "...often a substantial gift that needs to be properly managed."

The footnote really struck a cord with me, as I'm currently feeling like the gifts that Dad left us, and there were many, need to be properly managed. Not only do I not want any of us to forget him, but I don't want us to forget his legacy, the important things he passed on to us.

The first of his legacies to register in my mind was LOVE. As I have done almost daily since his death, this morning I listened to the last voicemail that he left for me the week before he died. While it is painful to hear his voice, it also brings me joy, as it was a typical Dad message, full of his quirky sense of humor. As a definite gift from God, I have about 8 or so of these still on my phone (and now safely downloaded to my computer). After crying and laughing at the first one, I listened to a few more. As he always did, each message ended with the words "I love you". Every conversation that we every had, whether in person or by phone, ended with those words.

I can remember having a conversation with him about this once. I guess some friend of his had questioned him about why he said it at the end of every single conversation. Dad said that you just never know what's going to happen in life and he wanted to make sure that we knew how he felt. Each and every time. Although I do this a lot with my family, I can't say that I do it at the end of every conversation. But I want to now. Because these last few weeks have shown me that Dad was right, again. You just never know what's going to happen in life. And I do find comfort in knowing that they were some of the last words that we shared, even in the chaos of that day.

Dad didn't just use his words to show his love, but he constantly used his actions. As I said before, there was not a day of my 49 years that he wasn't beside me, and then my family, showing us that he loved us in a million different ways. I don't have enough space to do him justice right now, but maybe someday I can set some of that to words.

Another legacy of Dad's was JOY, as all who knew him will attest. Dad loved to laugh, he loved to joke and he loved for others to do the same. He was known for his good hearted pranks. Talk to Lauren about the year she was expecting a laptop computer for Christmas, especially after her sister had just opened a really nice camera from Pop, and she opened her box to find a smoked ham! After several minutes of Dad trying to act like that was her actual gift, he finally gave her the second box, the laptop. When I was in school, Dad loved to tell tall tales to my always gullible friends, to see just how much he could get them to believe before he finally told the truth.

FAITH was an important part of my father and one of his legacies that I pray is carried on like unending ripples through the family and friends that he was in contact with. He came to know Jesus as his Lord and Savior when he was a young boy, thanks to my grandmother and lots of what I'm sure were very patient Sunday School teachers. Yesterday we found what I can only guess was his first personal bible, given to him by a Sunday school teacher when he was about 9 years old. Dad, like many people, had times when he wasn't as close to the Lord and times when he really struggled through hard times. He and I had talked about how angry he was at God after my baby brother died. But he never stopped believing and after many years was able to reconcile his feelings and grew back in step with his Savior. Dad was not one to share his faith with many people, but I know that he and I had many long talks about our beliefs and that from time to time he talked to different friends and family members about how God had worked in his life and could work in theirs.

Dad had many many more legacies that will be carried on by the family. Like his need, over the last few years, to wear obscenely bright neon shirts. Everywhere. He came marching out of his house in a neon yellow shirt to wear to the hospital on that last day. I remember laughing out loud as I saw him come out of his house and he joked that it was the uniform that they now give to old people, so if he got lost he would be easy to find. My crew now seems to gravitate towards those bright shirts and I have taken over Dad's collection.

But the things that matter the most, LOVE, JOY and FAITH, those are his legacy. And I am doing my best to get past the pain and trauma and sorrow, so that I can work on managing these substantial gifts. Because that's what he would want.

**Man, God really shows up to get his message through! I had to take a break to go run an errand before doing my last proofread and hitting publish. As I drove down the expressway, there was a church with a sign that simply said "What is your legacy?" I realized then that God was not just asking me to think about preserving Dad's legacy, but also analyzing my own. Am I living a life that is leaving substantial gifts to the world? Are the things that I want to be my legacy actually the things that are taking priority in my life? More to think about...

Paralyzed

I have always believed that God prepares us ahead of time for tasks that we must deal with, in ways that we can't even fathom. But it continually amazes me to look back and see God's work in my life and see the truth in Romans 8:28 "And we know that God causes everything to work together for the good of those who love God and are called according to his purpose for them."

At the beginning of May, Ken and I spent a lovely week at the beach together relaxing. I was able to spend more time than usual in God's Word each morning as I sat on the balcony and admired his awesome power and creation as the waves rolled in. I tried to read a few chapters in the New Testament each morning. One morning I started with the 5th chapter of Luke, anticipating reading several chapters before I started my day.

But then I got to Luke 5:17-26. The story of the paralyzed man that was lifted down through the roof where Jesus was teaching. Something just drew me into this story. I read it and reread it. I put it down and then came back to it. Here is some of what I wrote that morning:

While Jesus was teaching, there was a group of men trying to get to him so he could heal a man who was paralyzed. It never really says that the man himself was trying to get to Jesus. Maybe he wasn't. Maybe he was so lost in despair and disappointment that he had given up. Or he didn't even really know what being in the presence of Jesus meant. Or maybe he did. Maybe he was yearning to be in the presence of Jesus more than anything, but just couldn't get there himself. Scripture doesn't say. It just says that the men were so desperate to have Jesus heal the paralyzed man that they went to the roof and lowered him down through the tiles.

I had always assumed that they were his friends. That they had been witnesses to his life of suffering and cared about him on a personal level. That they were doing everything in their power to get their friend into the presence of the man that everyone said could heal. But maybe they weren't. Maybe they were just passing by on their way to see this Jesus person that everyone was talking about and saw a paralyzed man on a mat. Maybe they just had it laid on their hearts to help this man and went above and beyond to get him where he needed to be. Either way, it is a beautiful story of people helping others by carrying them into the presence of Jesus.

Don't we all know someone who desperately needs Jesus? Maybe someone we know personally or someone we happen to pass on the street? Someone who can't get there themselves? Someone paralyzed by sin? By fear? By being trapped in worldly ways? By addiction or illness? But the good news is that we can bring them to Jesus! 

Three short weeks later, I was the paralyzed man. I couldn't get to Jesus, even though I desperately wanted and needed to run to him. He was there, but I was paralyzed by grief, by fear, by pain, by emptiness, by shock. My core knew that I needed to run to Jesus and find the only peace that I knew to be available as my world fell apart. But I just couldn't get there.

Then, one by one, as my family and friends, and even complete strangers, prayed for me and with me,  Luke 5:19 became real to me. And I found comfort in knowing that each of these people were working to lift me through the roof, through the barriers of pain, to get me into the presence of Jesus. 

I am grateful for every single one of those people, more than I can even express. And I am grateful for a Savior who works all things together for my good, and for the moments that he allows me to see glimpses of his work on this side of heaven. I don't always see how his plan is unfolding, but I rest in the fact that I know that his perfect plan is there.

Lessons learned during new grief

Because writing is what always helps me process life and centers me, I've been throwing some thoughts down the last few days. Still not processing or centered, but I'm hoping these are the first steps.

LESSONS LEARNED

1.     You just can’t understand until you’re really in that spot.

2.     As I had read over the years, offers of “let me know if there is anything we can do for you”, while very well intentioned and from the heart, really aren’t helpful. I can’t even wrap my brain around what I really need right now. Do we have toilet paper? Have I eaten today? Can I decide what funeral songs are best by myself?

3.     At least now, knowing that he is with Jesus and that I will see him again one day is not making up for the fact that I am not seeing him now and miss him desperately.

4.     It is possible to simultaneously feel completely justified in my level of grief and also feel that I should be able to pull it together better than this. Also to need to be with people and need to be alone at the same time.

5.     I have the best husband on the planet.

6.     I raised great kids.

7.     My mom is awesome.

(I already knew the last three, but this has solidified the facts.)

8.     Guilt over even short moments of laughter and happiness is real.

9.     I am surprised how the littlest things at the oddest moments can bring the deepest grief. (For a split second, wondering if the ringing phone might be him. When talking with my kids, no longer having to distinguish whether I’m talking about my dad or their dad. Seeing his undelivered birth present on the table.)

10.  There are 9 million things to be done and decisions to be made between death and burial. And I’m assuming in the weeks after also.

11.  Some things you just can’t unsee. It’s like a permanent etching in my brain that flashes past my eyes at random and frequent moments.

12.  You don’t realize how many times you have to deal with giving the explanation “My dad died suddenly this week and …” to the bank and the utilities and the pension plan and etc etc etc and how each time it’s a fresh stab of pain.

13.  How you can pray and wish for the pain to go away and then, in the rare moments of exhaustion when the numbness sets in, wish for the pain to return because of the completely unexplainable void the numbness leaves.

14.  How, when you suddenly feel like the paralyzed man in the book of Luke that couldn’t get to Jesus himself, it is comforting to know that you have friends that carry you and lower you down through the roof to put you into the presence of Jesus. Thanks to everyone of you who has lifted me in prayer this week.