Help for the Wounded Heart

When we lost Joey, I found myself in a very lonely place. I had been blogging Joey's life to dispel some of my grief, and began to search the blog world for others who would understand. Blogging was still relatively new at that time, and so it was not such an easy thing to find others. About a year into my journey,  I was blessed, through a chain of discovery, to find three other women with whom I instantly identified. These women, whose beliefs overlapped my own, seemed to feel my same pain,  and I could count on them to regularly express their grief in ways that were healing to me. They were able to help me sort out the internal chaos that accompanied the loss of my son. It was a priceless gift of solidarity in anonymity, for none of us knew one another in real life. I also had one more dear bereaved friend, a stranger who was introduced to me by a third party, with whom I lamented on email, every other day or so. This was my therapy. My support group. I attribute much of my healing, however much I have,  to these four women. (Three of them are listed on my side bar to link: Metanoia, Katie's Family and True North).

What drew me to them? Two of them had lost grown children like me, very suddenly. They lived in the same world of almost speechless shock and unreality that I lived in. Two of them had each lost a daughter through cancer, and though our children's death experiences were dissimilar, their grief itself resonated with my own heart.  All of them had lost children within a year of our loss. A significant factor, I realize now.  I am pretty sure that the only ones who can help are the ones who have been there, or better yet, are there where you are right this moment.

In my search for kindred spirits,  it quickly became apparent that I could not identify with everyone. There were some grief bloggers that even repelled me, as harsh as that sounds. I was hyper-sensitized then and sometimes triggered by their words. I remember revolting strongly against something I read, exclaiming angrily at my computer, "I will never feel like that!!" Grief morphs with time. I know that now. And perhaps as time has gone on, I have felt those same things. But the true point of this is:  they were not what I needed then. And you must find what helps you right when you need it,  right where you are at that moment.

Finding people who truly walk in your shoes is the challenge. Recently another bereaved mother started a blog that solves the problem of finding people who understand. She has actually created a website that gathers the blogs of other mourners into one place, and this mother "curates" it in honor of her beloved son Graham. She is making it simpler for the bereaved to connect with others on the road of grief. The deceased children represent a variety of ages and causes of death. The writers represent a variety of world views and backgrounds. I think it's a beautiful hope-giving place--one that will most certainly alleviate the loneliness of many.

Here is the link: Grief and Loss.  Pass it on.

Disappearing Act

My wonderful pictures are disappearing from my blog after I post them. Do any bloggers out there know why this is happening? I need help...

Words to Live By

My son was a gifted writer. He wrote a very long and extremely entertaining blog along with Rachel about their one year Northern Hemisphere van trip. He wrote an occasional magazine or news article critiquing music or politics. But mostly he wrote bits and pieces. He wrote a smattering of journal entries, lyrics to his music, some poetry, and lots of witty, even hilarious emails and blackberry chats on whatever pertained to the docket of the day.

His writing is mostly funny, but now it's become poignant. His list of what he was thankful for on his last Thanksgiving, an April Fool's Day gag in which he told us that he was going to sail around the world, his emails on his last day of his earthly life--all of them are packed with new meaning for us now. In one email he told a friend that his mother (me) always believed him and that it made him feel good. It made me feel all warm inside to simply read those feelings that I hadn't known. In most of his snippets he is expressing affection to friends or family. He poured out a lot of love on people through his words and that is a gift that keeps on giving as we re-visit those words.

So I'm starting a new project. I am gathering up his words and putting them in a scrapbook. I plan to include pictures of the people, places and things about which he wrote. That way, on those days when the missing is so intense, we can pull it out and "hear" him speak to us again.

Proverbs 12:18
Reckless words pierce like a sword, but the tongue of the wise brings healing.

One Year Old

A few days ago, my blog reached it's one year anniversary. As I debate continuing with it, I am reflecting over the past year and can see that the blog has been a big help to me. I think repeatedly pouring out my grief has given vent to some of my worst pain, and just writing down thoughts and feelings has been therapy. Meeting others who also grieve--my kindred spirits--has eased my isolation and given me a special kind of comfort in community. And I am grateful for my readers who have faithfully encouraged me over and over again. It's been a true place of healing for me--my own little hospital room.

My blog started as a coping mechanism, mainly because I could hardly think or function. I would literally just sit my days away, staring into space, really just in shock, trying to absorb the truth of our loss. But now my blog is a daily habit that gets me going, and it's a soft way to start my day -- I don't do stress well at all anymore. I can't rush and hurry like I once did, I can't have a big to do list in front of me. I now simply ease my way quietly into each day.

Each morning I sit in the same spot in the corner of my couch near the fireplace ("my sacred spot") with my computer on my lap, and gather myself together for the day. It's quiet, and near the window, and I can see out, and see the weather and absorb the natural light. I wrap myself in cozy blankets. I glance at my email and then I read the daily devotional from Greg Laurie that comes in my email each day. Greg is a gifted pastor who lost his son about the same time we did, so he's a voice I have felt I could trust. His short and succinct devotional has kept me connected to God in my darkest days. It's been an anchor for my soul.

After that, about 7:30 am, I turn to my blog. When I'm up to it, perhaps once a week, I listen to the music on my blog page. It is a mixture of comfort and grief triggers, so I tend to be careful about when I listen and will spare myself unless I am alone, and have the time and strength to dip into all that longing and sorrow. If I listen, I cry, but on those days I feel better afterwards--emptied of my accumulated heartache.

Every day I check my blog roll to see if any of my grieving friends have posted, because their posts invariably strengthen me in some way--if only to help me feel not so all alone. I send little prayers up to God for them as I read. I care about their pain as much as if I had met them in person, and have had their tears on my shoulders. I am still not able to read anything lengthy or to even pray long prayers, so the short snippets of others' blog posts are just the right size. As I read, I send heartfelt "arrow" prayers to God, with the hope that He hears and will answer in His time and way.

I have yielded control a thousand times in the past year, and asked Him to do what only He can do --for me, my family, my friends, and my fellow grievers. I give God more leeway than I used to because now I know most things are out of my control.(How did I miss that truth before?) This planet and the human story are on their own trajectory, and only God can save the day. And He will. It is getting easier and easier to let go and turn things over to Him.

This blog represents many prayers, many tears and immeasurable loss. It's also been a very effective release for all of that. It's helped me to steady my rocking boat a bit. A side benefit has been that it's also forced me to focus on the here and now and the blessings in my life. When I first started blogging, I could hardly do that. I had to discipline myself to post anything beside pictures of Joey. I couldn't take my eyes off of him for a second. It was as if he was on life support and it was my job to monitor the machines to keep him alive. I couldn't leave his side. Now I feel he is safely inside--I carry him with me now. I always, always wish he were here, but now I know I will see him again.

So, on the one year mark, I am grateful for all that this blog has meant to me. It's a precious record of my long, difficult journey, interspliced with God's tender mercies. I'm just waiting to see what happens next.

Job 30:16 "And now my soul is poured out within me; Days of affliction have seized me.

Psalm 31:7 I will be glad and rejoice in your love,
for you saw my affliction and knew the anguish of my soul.

My Quilt of Comfort

When I started blogging in February, I did it as a way to remember our son, to keep him present with us daily through pictures and memories. Grief is full of turmoil and it's an agonizing and isolating experience. I found I could process some of my painful feelings through the blog and also interact with others on a simple level. It allowed me to keep facing and processing my grief, instead of running and hiding. I knew I would wear out those closest to me if they had to listen to my grief every day. With the blog, I could write it and they could choose to read it or not, and it relieved my sense of being a burden.

I had no idea that it would turn out to be such a place of healing for me. I also didn't anticipate that I would meet other grieving mothers also walking this same heartbroken journey. These women, only two of whom I've actually met in person, are such a help to me--Gannet Girl, Karen G., Chris, Mary Beth, Sharon, Ruthie, Jenny, Kay, and Caitsmom, and others that I am still getting to know. They are all women of faith who, like me, are trying to come to terms with an upside-down world, an empty place, a trauma, and an aching loss that will never be fixed till this life is over. We weep together and are writing our own book of Lamentations.

These women are mirrors to my own heart, and like members of a support group who tailgate on one another's insights, they write eloquently about feelings that I often can't put into words. Sometimes they express angry feelings, sometimes they are wrestling with unanswered questions, often they are forlorn and full of longing. Other times they inspire me and build my faith and hope in God. At all times, they understand, support, and remove me from the lonely icy cold of isolation. They don't rush me, they don't judge me, and they don't roll their eyes. They don't get tired of hearing about the pain that never leaves my heart.

So this Thanksgiving, I send a very big hug and thank you to all of them. They are my patchwork quilt of comfort, for which I am truly, deeply, incredibly thankful this year.

What Happened to the Farm?

So here's the story for those of you who know us, and knew that our plan when we left Maui was to buy a little farm in the rural community of Pungo:

When we left Maui for Virginia, our emotional nerve endings were exposed and raw, and being in so much pain, we felt we needed a new way of life. We were seeking peace, tranquility and distraction, and that, in our city dweller minds, led to thoughts of open spaces, which led to thoughts of horses, goats and chickens. We found a 7-acre creekside farm back in February and went into contract on it.

The farm was supposed to close on April 30, but when April 30 came and went without a word from the sellers, we began to suspect that something was up. They are quite old, and (dare I say it in a public forum?) crotchety and cantankerous, and we were having considerable trouble pinning things down with them. It became clear to us that they were highly ambivalent. Although they needed to sell, and said they wanted to sell, and posted For Sale signs, they also wanted to keep their property, and we realized that this transaction might not go through. We set a new deadline for July 1, and made up our own Plan B, which was to move into JoAnne's soon-to-be available rental house, right down the street from Jaime's house.

July 1 came and we each had appointments with our respective lawyers, but the sellers still had not moved out of the farm property. Desperately down to the wire and needing a place to live, we moved into JoAnne's house, thinking it would be temporary. Then came more postponements and excuses. Finally two days ago, they contacted us again, saying they wanted to sign the papers that day, but still live on the farm for 2 more weeks. When we said that we would sign the papers once they were out of the place, they cancelled the deal!! Cancelled. Can you believe it??!! The nerve of some people!

Apparently they were looking for a way out, and took our terms as that opportunity! We were at first stunned, but then we were relieved. We had prayed fervently that God would lead us by opening and closing doors for us, and that is exactly, almost literally, what has happened.

So though there was some disappointment at being city dwellers again, (and shock and stupefying wonder at the craziness of this transaction) we have adjusted. Plan B saved our skin. We are very grateful for Plan B, and the fact that we have a cozy place to live right down the street from three of our precious grandchildren. It wasn't what we had in mind, but it seems a very soft place to land after our frustrations of the past two and a half months. Even the broken water heater and collapsing ceiling can't dampen our relief. We can finally get settled and that feels more than great after an unsettling year.

The moral to the story: this world is one big Plan A that has gone terribly wrong. Death, disappointments, and destroyed dreams abound and all of us get blindsided by one or more of those things on this journey. God's Plan B, Christ's death for our sin and the promise and consolation of Heaven and eternal life, while not holding the same initial appeal as our Plan A, will someday save our skin. And of course, because God is the Creator, it won't be second best. God reassures us that "Eye has not seen, and ear has not heard, neither has it entered the heart of man, the things which God has prepared for those who love Him."

So I've simply had another lesson in the aptly worded hymn: "This world is not my home, I'm just a-passing through. My treasures are laid up somewhere beyond the blue. The angels beckon me from Heaven's open door, and I can't feel at home in this world anymore." And I've got to say, I am really good with that.

Now all I have to do is rename my blog...any suggestions?