Never Again

I’m not sure why it hit me so hard this morning, but out of nowhere a wave of grief came crashing down on me pulling me out to sea as I flailed, trying to catch my breath. For a moment I was buried beneath the weight of the water as it flooded my soul and squeezed any sense of contentment from my heart. It was a thought—one innocuous thought—that sent me reeling. We have a summer league swim meet tonight, which Haden will be participating in. A friend of mine mentioned that her husband will be out of town for it. When she told me, I was completely unaffected by her statement, but for some reason it hit me this morning that Woody is not out of town. That is not the reason he will miss this meet and every swim meet Haden will ever swim in. He is gone. He will never see his son swim again. He will not watch his oldest son get married in nine days. He will not see his only daughter mature into the beautiful, strong woman she is. He will never be here again.

Perhaps, somewhere deep inside, I had fooled myself into believing that Woody has been on an extended business trip. The last eight months of his life he commuted to work in North Carolina, which meant we only saw him two to three times a month. I think I had convinced a part of myself that just as he returned from all of those business trips, he would someday return. I think I somewhat expected him to walk through our front door and apologize for being gone so long and for causing so much grief. I knew he would never miss out on his kids’ big events. He was the most involved father I have ever known. Somewhere in the recesses of my mind, “he’ll be back,” has been playing on repeat. But not anymore. Woody is gone. We are on our own.

Therefore, I will crawl into my Heavenly Father’s comforting arms and wait for Him to soothe away the pain. I ache for what Woody is missing. I ache for what the children are experiencing without him. I ache for the life we had planned that will never be. Yet, I know God is here, and He will not miss a single breath. And that is the hope I cling to when grief washes over me and takes my breath away. God is near. We are not really on our own.

Back to Writing About Woody's Death

I know God has called me to write about Woody's death and how He has carried us through. It has been a long process, mostly because sitting down and reconnecting with all of those memories is brutally painful. However, I know it must be done.

Today, I have recounted Kathy's arrival (Woody's mother). The loss of a child has been termed the worst type of bereavement. Let me separate this from miscarriage. We suffered two miscarriages, one at seven weeks and the other at 15 weeks. Miscarriage is a difficult loss, but it is more the loss of opportunity. I never held those children in my arms and nursed them at my breast. I did not stay up through the nights they were sick and nurse them back to health. I did not cry at their weddings and beam as they had children of their own. Woody's parents held and protected and loved their child for 43 years. Their loss is one that I hope to never understand. Please keep them in your constant prayers as they continue to heal. 

The following is an exert from the book I am currently writing:

"So much of those first days is a blur. I felt as if I were walking through a fog, numb, confused, trying to process what had happened. There were so many people, yet I felt completely alone. There is no way to explain it. Everyone was so helpful, which is exactly what I needed because I could not function. My thoughts were scattered and incoherent. Someone arranged a service to pick up Kathy, Woody’s mom, and Dani, my sister-in-law, from the airport. Food was delivered. Conversations took place around me, yet I could not focus on what anyone was saying.

When Kathy arrived, the tears that I thought had run dry began anew. Woody had always been extremely close to his mother. He adored her. They were so similar in so many ways. They both enjoyed cooking, loved serving others, and were extremely sociable. He called his mother nearly every day. I wondered how she would survive the loss of her oldest child—the darling baby boy who had first made her a mother. For 43 years she had celebrated life with him and had done all she could to ensure his happiness and safety. My heart broke for both of us. I knew that I could not endure the loss she now suffered.

There was nothing to say to either of us to soothe the pain—no words can bring comfort when death shatters your world. We held each other and cried, spoke a few words about next steps and then collapsed in each other’s arms again. I wondered if the tears would ever cease. How could we ever feel whole again without the man who brought so much life and laughter into every day? He was the glue that held us all together and made certain that we spent as much time together as possible, even when nearly half a continent separated us. 

Two Years

Two years.

How is it possible? When I consider the valley I have traversed, it is truly a miracle that I am here, standing, and sanely remembering. There has been so much pain. My whole being has ached with the agony of grief. I have shed countless tears—enough to fill a small lake at least. And still they fall, intermittently, unexpected. There is no logical explanation for them.

Occasionally, I am stopped in my tracks as a memory clouds my view of reality. I am taken back to that day two years ago. I am once again on that hard, granite slope frozen in fear as the love of my life slides past me. We have locked eyes just as we did on that day until he disappears over the ledge. I do not know in that moment that I will never look into those caramel brown eyes again. I do not know that our lives will be forever marked by tragedy.

Father God, I am only here at this point in time by Your grace. You have carried me when I have collapsed in a heap full of fear and panicked. You have patiently listened to my ranting when my rage was directed towards You. You have held me all those nights as I tossed and turned reliving every agonizing moment on the mountain top. When I could not breathe as anxiety constricted my airway, You gave me peace. When I was buried beneath a heap of sorrow, you plowed through the tears and gave me comfort.

And now I stand at the two year mark and wonder, “How is it possible?”

One word—God