A Cry for My Boys

So I'm reading the story of what happened with the Chapmans. Steven Curtis Chapman is a singer I greatly respect and I love his music. So when I heard of what happened with their daughter 4 years ago, it touched me. I felt so sad for them. How tragic that such an unpremeditated thing like backing into a driveway had such a devastating effect. I wondered what happened and felt such empathy for them. What an awful hardship to walk through. What a tragic loss. How would that son cope with this? How would the family cope? And now I am getting to find out.

Being a fan of this singer, one of my favorite performers, it's interesting to learn the inner workings of his family and life. I saw him perform in 2000 or 2001. It was a great evening and he even shared a powerpoint of his family. He talked to us as though we were good friends. He was humble. Real and a real performer. This is something I notice being a performer myself. When someone does it well and isn't about how awesome they are, I appreciate their talent even more. When they enjoy it and don't get caught up in being on the stage, it's a real treat. Anyway, how they dealt with it. What has it been like for them? And is it similar to the path we have walked?

And now I am learning that yes, there are other similarities that I have not found with the other mothers. Like how do you help your surviving children cope with the pain and grief. Mary Beth speaks of how she would cry out to God to be with her son who was involved. How she would cry out for Stevey Joy to be healed of the pain she had for seeing her sister die. I have done the same thing.

It concerns me how this will affect my boys. And what damage has been done? And I hope that God does a miracle in them so that they can become all that they should be. That this should serve only to strengthen them and give them a story that will point others to God in some way. In a way that we can't necessarily understand right now.

One of the Chapman sons said at the Memorial Service that it's like God is an abstract painter. When you are right next to the painting you can't see the picture He's painting. You have to take many steps back because His canvas is so huge. And then, when you've taken a lot of steps back, you can begin to see the beautiful work of art He is making. And like them, we are right now still pretty close to the canvas so we can't make out what's being painted yet.  We've taken some steps back but it still isn't necessarily clear to us what He's putting on that canvas.

I have haven't finished the book but I know I can pray. I knew that and have done it since before I read this book. And I can let them know that I am here to speak with them whenever they want to talk about it. But mostly, I just keep reassuring them that I love them no matter what. They have never had to do anything to earn my love. They are my sons and they have my love just from that. But I am curious what the last pages will hold as far as their son, Will, and their daughter, Stevey Joy, are concerned.

Oh God, you can turn all the bad into good for those who love you and are called according to Your purposes. We need for You to do that in the boys. In Your mercy, please protect them from the evil that this can become in their lives and make it a good thing that shows Your glory.

The Other Grieving Couple

Four months ago right now we were saying our good-byes to Andrew. The hospital we were at has a woman who donates her services as a photographer to capture mementos of last moments with loved ones. She offered to photograph our little one with his hands in ours and other meaningful things like that. The picture above is one of those. Mark with his hand on his Bible and Andrew's hand laid on his. I like to pretend he reached up and took daddy's hand for one last time. That's what it looks like happened. But Mark placed it there as he sobbed and doubled over. So precious. So painful.

And last night I held in my arms a baby girl that is 5 months old. Alive. Full of life. Drooling like crazy and wanting to practice standing on your lap. I had dropped off some dishes that they had brought a meal over to us in and me and the boys walk/biked to their home last night. We enjoyed the beautiful evening, the fresh air and the beautiful colors of the leaves.

This family was a huge blessing to us when we lost Andrew. Some of a handful that really just came along side us and asked how they could help. We were only acquaintances at that point. And their baby was only a month old. And they blessed us richly with food, babysitting, strength and prayer while we walked dazed through that first week forcing ourselves to live for the sake of our other children.

So I often their infant daughter and marvel at her growth. And I can never not think of Andrew. Where he was in development. She is about ready to pass his age and developmental level and it hit me in an odd way as I held her last night. Meanwhile, the mom and I enjoyed a few moments of grown-up adult, women talk as our kids played together outside.

She asked how I was doing with, you know. And I told her that since the move, the grief is more present. I don't have a million things to do all at once anymore or a goal of this huge life event called buying a home and moving to look to. So naturally, I am struggling a bit and am finding it hard at times. She was not surprised and just spoke kind words to me about it.

Her husband was nearby and mentioned the couple that lost their son around the same time we lost Andrew. You see, their son was 21 and died by jumping into the river. And, by their own admission, they did not have a faith in God. I imagine in this situation they were probably really questioning God, His Plan and His goodness. So they did not have that faith to draw upon for strength and hope during this time like Mark and I did. I can't imagine. It was so awful losing Andrew. So painful. And you wonder why but my goodness, losing your child who is a young adult who decides to end their own life, that is a whole different matter altogether. Regardless of whether you believe in God or not that's a tough pill to swallow. And make it a bit harder to deal with.

He mentioned them because I was talking about our struggle with dealing with the grief and the loss and all the pain. And he shared that the husband of the couple, who is his friend and coworker, just returned to work. It's been about 4 months for them too and he just returned to work. That amazed me. Wow. This was hitting them REALLY hard. I felt such sympathy for them.

He described that his friend shared that they pretty much didn't get out of bed that first month. They're on medication so that they can deal with the depression. But it's a huge struggle for them. Very difficult. Very painful. Devastating. This saddened me greatly.

I hesitated and then thought about that mother. How much she hurt that her son was gone now. And how much she needs someone to talk to. Although she didn't necessarily want to talk but she was hurting and might like to know that someone else knows the path she's walking. So I told him that he could feel free to pass on my contact information in case the wife would want to call me to talk since we both lost sons. Different circumstances completely but still a child. Still a son. I don't know if I can handle that but I felt so bad for them that I wanted to make sure that they knew that I would talk to them if it would help. Well, I anticipate I'll more listen than talk. They don't need to hear any insight I may think I have on the situation. It's not like I've figured this all out or am the model griever. The listening thing is needed and great right now. No commentary necessary. Just someone to listen is good. Say they care. Remind you they are there no matter what you're thinking and feeling without saying if they are thinking of feeling wrong. Because that's the last thing she needs or that anyone needs when they're grieving. I can at least understand a bit of the grief they are experiencing. And tell her that. Maybe she's even felt and thought some similar things and I can say that too.



And then I hear about how this couple is coping. Their struggle and pain. And I feel so sad for them. A part of me wishes I could take away at least part of their pain. But I am powerless to do that. But I know One who is not powerless to comfort and bring peace. So Lord, You know better than anyone what they need. Comfort them as only You can and give them the strength to keep going. Heal in the way that only You can.

Being Heard

The summer air is thick with moisture and heat. Night has fallen on another day and my body aches with sorrow and longing for Andrew. Last week I did so well. But since Friday, my mood has fallen and collapsed, risen a bit and then gone deep into sorrow again. Such is the nature of life right now for us. For me.

We received the deed for the cemetary plot. That wasn't so bad necessarily. It's more that it came on the same day we received the final findings of the investigation by DHS. Since we live in a world where some adults do awful, unspeakable things to children of all ages, our son's accident triggered certain cultural procedures that just brought additional difficulty to an already stressful and shocking time for us.

My husband, myself and our second oldest were interviewed by the police and DHS. It was awful and just added to the pain of Andrew's accident. Granted, for those that really do not take care of their children or think they have a right to hurt them and rob them of their innocence, I am grateful these services exist and can sometimes catch those people that should not be taking care of children or near them. While we are parents who do take care of our children and love them greatly, and knew that these two entities should not find anything of guilt with us, our concern was that there are times when you hear accounts of them finding guilt where there is none. So we walked through that additional scrutiny while we tried to stay strong for our children and for our precious little special who lay in the hospital and then tragically passed away.

The police closed the case weeks ago finding no crime. But DHS seems to take longer with their investigations. So upon receiving our separate reports, my husband and I both read through the them trying to understand their findings. It was not the most clear document we have ever read. And unfortunately, in some respects anyway, it documented every last little detail of what happened from our last night with Andrew through the exact time on Saturday when the DHS investigator was informed by the police that Andrew died to the medical findings showing it was an accidental death. I began to go numb and tear up as the wound was ripped open again.

At the conclusion of the report, we figured out they had found us innocent even though they couldn't really call it that. It's all strange to me and still unfathomable in some respects.

I turned the last page on my report and sighed that that awful account was over and the case concluded in our favor. And then my eyes fell onto another report adressed to Andrew, the victim. That just hit me between the eyes. My head dropped so that my gaze came down to my lap as my heart grew even heavier. They had sent me Andrew's report since I was his mother. Afresh I was reminded of what I can never forget. Andrew wasn't here anymore.

The rest of the day I was out of sorts. I did play with the boys a bit. But I was very emotional and very distracted. As the sun set, my dear husband sensed I needed some space and was willing to put the boys to bed so that I could go for a long walk. And I called some dear women that I am so grateful to be friends with. 

Both listened.
Both cared.
And I cried. I cried hard.
And both heard me.

That Funny Thing Called Grief

I am amazed. Other than being unable to concentrate very well yesterday and today, I have felt pretty good all week. I have gotten to do some walking. I have had a few opportunities to have some time to cultivate being me. Silly me. I was a little proud of myself and feeling good. I actually thought I might be done with grieving. Gosh is that funny. I'm chuckling now as I think of how ridiculous that thought is.

And then it happened.

I was speaking with a consultant I haven't seen in awhile and we were having some small talk when he asked me if I have been able to enjoy the summer. I was thinking of giving a pat answer but then I realized as I opened my mouth to reply that the answer to that question is not simple. While it hasn't been an awful summer or the worse summer, it's definitely different. So I responded, "Well, I lost my son last month. The baby I just had. So it's been an odd summer."

Of course this caught him off guard. He expressed his sympathies and seemed almost speechless. I'm not surprised. It's not like you hear this news and start rejoicing.

I continued, "There was an accident and he didn't pull through." And my voice weakened and cracked. A ball of emotion caught in my throat and I wanted to walk away and cry. "So it's been an odd summer."

In disbelief he asked, "This was the one you just had?"

I thought tears were bound to start coming and I didn't want them to in front of a consultant I have worked with. I clasped my lips shut and nodded my head.

"Yes, the one I had in December." I struggled to say, "He was five and a half months old." His jaw dropped in shock and I felt all the sorrow and pain of his loss rise up again as though new.

Grief is a Funny Thing
by Kristin Knoke

Yes, grief is a funny thing, my friend.
Yes, grief is a funny thing.

One moment you can sing all things
and then you can't do anything.
One minute you are flying high
and then you find there's no reply.
Yes, grief is a funny thing, my friend.
Yes, grief is a funny thing.

One moment you feel like a ton
and then you're light just like a bun.
One minute you can eat a cow
and then you find that's not so now.
Yes, grief is a funny thing, my friend.
Yes, grief is a funny thing.

One moment you feel calm and tame
and then you swear you are insane.
One minute you can solve world peace
and then you slip and lose that lease.
Yes, grief is a funny thing, my friend.
Yes, grief is a funny thing.

One moment you feel all the bumps
and then you try and do some jumps.
One minute you just feel alone
and then you see God on His throne.
Yes, grief is a funny thing, my friend.
Yes, grief is a funny thing.

One moment you feel great resolve
and then become a fetal ball.
One minute you can see the Light
and then you run right out of sight.
Yes, grief is a funny thing, my friend.
Yes, grief is a funny thing.

One moment you feel anger strong
and then you tell it go, so long.
One minute you ache along your veins
and then the Lord relieves the pain.
Yes, grief is a funny thing, my friend.
Yes, grief is a funny thing.

One moment you will ask "oh why"
but God is always standing by.
One minute you may want to die
but God will heal and let this lie.
Then, grief was a funny thing, my friend.
Then, grief was a funny thing.