Still Growing Through Tragedy and Pain

For nearly two years I have pondered several times how I would write this chapter of our story. How do you reveal such darkness and deviance? How do you share a story that isn’t your own but one that has impacted you so deeply it has become part of your own? Now, after many hours spent on my knees asking for God’s grace and wisdom, I will share a snippet of what the last two years have been like, but first we must revisit the dreadful day we lost Woody.

Trauma like we experienced on the mountain is inexplicable. No one can understand. It is estimated that only 5% of the population has watched a loved one die a traumatic death. Add in the fact that while we held Woody on the mountainside our own lives were at risk, and you have narrowed the percentages even more. Post-traumatic stress disorder rewires the brain and arrests neurological and emotional development. All three of my children were at neurologically critical stages of development. Even with therapy, one of my children tried to take “their” life three times within the first two years. One of my children refused therapy at all and little did we know, he was the one who needed it the most. 

He began living a double life—his whole life became a lie. He began playing different roles for different people, and we all believed he was healing and growing. We did not notice that he was no longer being true to who he was or to anyone in his life. He married the young woman whom he had only been dating for a short time before Woody died. In fact, Woody never met her. We all thought things were going well—at least I did. I look back now and realize there were so many red flags. However, when you are healing from PTSD and trying to keep one child alive while helping another one navigate pre-adolescence, you allow situations that are not emergencies to continue on course. It was all I could do to breathe most days. My decision making was hindered by grief and trauma. I needed one thing to function normally, and my oldest child’s life appeared to be. Therefore, I averted my attention to the emotional upheaval that faced me at home with my youngest two.

Things came to light two days before Thanksgiving 2019 when the unimaginable happened. Through it all, we learned my oldest had been unfaithful to his wife and had engaged in unimaginable, uncharacteristic behavior. When it all came out in the open, he was completely broken. Destitute, he thought he was too far gone from God and grace. Our campus pastor visited him when he had finally hit rock bottom and reminded him that God is the God of restoration. That was the turning point for my son. Although he lost his wife, his job, and his reputation he finally gained true salvation. He has told me since that day he really does not believe he had been saved before that moment. Over the past nearly two years I have seen God work a miraculous transformation in this young man’s life and I praise Him every day.

My son was diagnosed with severe PTSD and avoidant behavior. He has been in intense therapy for nearly a year, and I am overwhelmed with gratitude for his therapist. I am also overwhelmed with the grace so many have shown him as he tells them his story. Every time he expects people to recoil in disgust, he is met with God’s mercy and understanding. And now he is in graduate school attending his dream seminary working towards his MDiv.

Although I wish we could change how this impacted the young lady he married, we know that God uses all things for his glory as he conforms us to the image of Christ. We know God has a very specific ministry for my son, and we wait with anticipation to see how he will be utilized. I am finally waking up from another nightmare and am cautiously optimistic. It has been a LONG six and a half years. However, I know God is not finished with me as I consider committing my entire life to living in God’s service. I am thankful for what this experience has taught me about people and about true believers in Christ. God is good even in the darkness, and every day we move toward his light and love.

Come to Me...

“Come to Me, all of you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.” –Jesus

I have read that verse a million times, especially during trials. After Woody died, I prayed those words repeatedly, begging God to give me rest. I was weary. I was burdened. I needed the comfort only Jesus could provide.

It is interesting that a more literal translation from the Greek is “Come to Me, all those laboring and being burdened.” How often do we labor through our suffering trying anything to relieve our pain? We self-medicate through substance abuse, relationships, shopping, work—whatever it takes to distract us from the unbearable heartache and affliction. And Jesus says all we need do is turn to Him and He will give us rest. It doesn’t mean He will remove us from our circumstances, but He will refresh our spirits and give us the strength to live another day. It doesn’t mean the pain will immediately subside, but He will expand our lungs to take another breath when the weight of our sorrow is crushing our rib cage. God’s mercy responds compassionately to the cries of the needy. It is an attribute of His infinite love. So why in the world do we keep laboring in an effort to stop the pain?

I could have taken a million avenues to escape the torment that resulted from Woody’s tragic death, and at times I was tempted. However, God gently reminded me of the easy route, the one that leads to Him and rest for my weary, grieving soul. No, it did not change my circumstances, and yes, it still hurt like hell; but I had a peace that gave me the strength to breathe through one more day and stand when I could not feel the ground beneath me. So today, if you are laboring in an attempt to “heal thyself,” stop and turn toward the only one who can refresh your soul.

Three Years & Six Months

Three years and six months. How is that possible? I remember day one thinking we would not survive. For two years my heart was scattered and buried under an insurmountable mound of grief. The possibility of ever feeling whole and healed always dangled from a stick, but never did I believe we would reach it. And still yet I do not believe the children have fully held it in their grasp. But we now have it within our possession and hope is truly on the horizon.

Through it all, God has been just. I have pondered this truth relentlessly because there were many times within the past three and a half years I questioned that statement. Then I realized man’s definition of justice is egocentric and culturally defined. How can we truly understand justice? It will vary from person to person, and often it is emotionally laden and outright illogical. I can never truly understand the greater good when I comprehend what is “good” based on how it affects me. Only God can determine what is truly just.

And I believe it is God’s perfect and just purpose that has brought us through the darkness and despair. We have faced our biggest fear and we have survived and in a way we have been set free to live boldly, to take risks we never would have taken. We are survivors and we are stronger and wiser for the experience that devastated us three years and six months ago.

My Book and Why I Wrote It

May 10, 2015, altered the course of my life forever. It was the day I learned how truly temporal life is. It was the day I discovered how devastating trauma can be. It was the day my identity was forever changed. Grief and trauma are rarely addressed in society. We ignore that which is unpleasant. We ignore the harsh reality of death and destruction and scroll through Facebook and Instagram admiring pleasant photos with smiling faces rather than the newsfeed which presents the reality of dozens being killed in Gaza or some other piece of disturbing news. Chaos and death surround us, yet we choose to look the other way and remain in our little bubbles of existence because we are clueless as to how to face trauma and loss. Rather than educating ourselves in those areas we shun the unpleasant and cling to the very thin thread which keeps us far above the harrowing incidents occurring around us. I was part of that group until May 10, 2015, when I came face to face with trauma and grief.

My book, After the Mountain: One Family’s Journey Through Trauma and Grief, was written in an attempt to open the eyes of those around me and invite them into the private moments in our lives to witness what it is like to live through something so horrific. Yes, it was very therapeutic to chronicle our ordeal, but more importantly I wanted to shed a light on what those who have been traumatized may experience. One need only view the news to realize that with school shootings and random terrorist attacks, people are more prone to experiencing trauma and grief in our day than they were in the past. We can no longer turn a blind eye to violent death and believe, “Oh, it will never happen to me.” No one is immune!

I hope those who read my book become more understanding and compassionate to those who may be suffering the loss of a loved one through death. I hope they value life more and realize there is more to it than social media and airing their own views. I hope they will pray more, listen attentively, and speak with kindness. You see, no one ever knows when he or she may be faced with his or her own life altering date, as was May 10, 2015 for me.

The url to purchase my book is included with this blog.

For those in the US:

https://www.amazon.com/After-Mountain-Familys-Journey-Through/dp/1939761514/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1526395542&sr=8-2&keywords=after+the+mountain&dpID=41R4V5YMAKL&preST=_SY344_BO1,204,203,200_QL70_&dpSrc=srch

For those in the UK:

https://www.amazon.co.uk/s/ref=nb_sb_noss/258-4099051-9413820?url=search-alias%3Daps&field-keywords=after+the+mountain+one+family%27s+journey+through+trauma+and+grief

The Treasure of Healing

I recently made a discovery. It was almost like finding hidden treasure in a spot I had passed a million times before, never seeing it glimmer in the sunlight. Perhaps the shadows of sorrow had obscured my view. Perhaps it was only recently deposited there. Whatever the scenario, sometime within the past month I finally discovered it—healing from the sting of grief.

It’s a funny thing. While walking through the gloom of despair after Woody’s traumatic death, I wondered if the sun would ever shine as brightly or if the birds would ever sing as sweetly. I wondered if the raw ache settled deep within my soul would ever relinquish its unyielding grip. Recovery seemed so distant, like an island in the middle of the Pacific Ocean that I must swim to after being abandoned on the beaches of California, all the while battling a tropical storm. I could not imagine a life again without sorrow tainting my every experience. Yet, here I am, finally laughing and living with joy in my heart. Don’t misunderstand me. It does not mean I do not miss Woody and the life we had together, but I have learned to survive and thrive without his bright light shining upon me. I have learned to lean in to God and allow His love and light to fill my sails as I soar into the future. The constant thud of grief's relentless hammer has finally been laid to rest and resounds no more.

I still do not know what my future holds, but I can finally look forward with hope. Who knows how valuable my little treasure will be or what other discoveries lie waiting for me, but I do know I will never be alone even when the storm rages and conceals the sun. God will never forsake me and I will persevere.

“Blessed is the man who perseveres under trial, because when he has stood the test, he will receive the crown of life that God has promised to those who love him.” James 1:12, NIV

King to Queen

I saw the advertisement on a Facebook page dedicated to our neighborhood—“Antique French bed includes headboard, footboard, and side rails. Good condition.” Hmm.... I thought about it for a week before making inquiries. Another week passed before I heard a response from the owner. Today was the day I finally made contact with the woman who was selling it and arranged a time after church to see the bed. Today was the day I officially decided that it is time to exchange my king sized bed for something smaller.

When I drove up to the home to examine the bed, an older couple was working diligently in the front yard, taking advantage of the unseasonably warm January day. I immediately liked them. They both had smile lined faces and the lines around their eyes told the story of all the joy they had shared over the years. “Hi, I’m Kim. I texted you about the bed.”

“Hello, I’m Renate,” the woman spoke with a thick South African accent and extended her hand to take mine. “It is a pleasure to meet you.” We made our way to the garage where the head board leaned against a wall. Renate showed me a stamp near the bottom. “See, this is the stamp showing it was made in Paris.”

“Where did you find this?” I was curious to know more.

“I bought it 42 years ago in South Africa when we were first married. It was in an antique store. We just recently bought a bigger bed.” Her husband joined us in the garage. Their mannerisms demonstrated a love and intimacy that was over forty years strong.

“I’ll take it.”

Her husband spoke up, “When will your husband see it? When you get home?”

“No,” I hesitated a moment, “my husband is dead. That’s why I’m buying this. I have a king bed and just decided it’s time to downsize. I don’t even use half my bed.”

There was an awkward silence. “I’m sorry,” he responded, eyes downcast.

They helped Haden and I load the bed into the back of our Expedition. They gave us pillows to provide padding between the pieces, and then Renate followed us home so that we would not need to return them. We spoke a little and with every word I liked her even more. Before she left I told her, “Now I have a piece of your story.”

She smiled and her eyes twinkled. “Yes, you do.”

Marriage is such a gift. It is the covenant relationship that God uses to demonstrate His connection with the church. I believe wholeheartedly in marriage and value it even more now that Woody is gone. It is not something to be taken for granted but to be cherished and preserved. Renate and her husband reminded me of what Woody and I had hoped to have in another 22 years. However, our story was rewritten and now I have learned to lean on God as I adjust to a life that does not include a husband to have and to hold into old age. It means a life of transitions, such as downsizing from a king to a queen. But with every adjustment, with every change I grow stronger. God is slowly removing the clouds to reveal His brilliant sunlight.

Hopefully soon I can begin the work of restoring the queen bed, and as I do I know I’ll remember Renate’s beautiful smile and the marriage that began in South Africa 42 years ago. I will also remember how God has faithfully carried me through the darkness and continues to restore my heart. King to queen—another step forward.

Dreams

It’s the dreams that kill me. I can manage the days so well, in complete control of my environment and my thoughts and then the night comes. My mind is no longer being directed by my consciousness and it ransacks my memories and creates illusions that, although pleasant at the time, remind me of the loss and loneliness. I am startled awake by the chimes of my alarm clock; and I have to take a moment to remember where I am, why I set my alarm, and what day it is. As consciousness awakens to reality, I remember that the security and comfort I was enveloped in only a few moments before as I wandered through the dream state is not real. That is not my reality anymore. Instead I am left with a longing—an aching really—for the only man whom I have ever loved.

Grief is a process and unfortunately, there is not a manual that can adequately guide anyone through it. It is not a “one size fits all” item. It cannot be analyzed, categorized, and placed neatly on a bookshelf ready to be perused at leisure. It is as unique as the individual who experiences it. There are no words which can minimize the effect, although people try in vain to do so. And unless you have been thrown into the gloomy, desolate pit that grief creates and have had to fight for every breath, you cannot fully comprehend or appreciate just how debilitating grief can be. The only glimmer of hope I have had through the whole process has been found in my faith. Although I have been absolutely crushed under the weight of despair, I have felt a peace that can only be explained through the existence of an omnipotent God. However, even faith cannot shelter one from the anguish of loss and horrific trauma. It merely keeps one moving in the face of an overwhelming desire to quit. Faith helps keep the process of healing moving forward.

I am hopeful that someday the dreams in which Woody is alive and well and doing life with me will be as pleasant visitations rather than sorrowful reminders. I am hopeful, too, that I will continue to find joy in the moment. On the tenth it will be one year and six months since that fateful day. Although I am still damaged, progress is being made. I need only look back through my blog posts to see that. I am moving in the right direction. There will just be days when it feels as if I am going nowhere, and today is one of those days because of a dream. But someday not even the dreams will slow me down. I’m just not there yet.

Broken But Still Blessed

Looking back on last year I can see now just how completely broken I was, and yet somehow my head remained above the waves and my strength was renewed. God did the miraculous and kept me alive and somehow I continued to thrive; but my goodness! I was so very damaged—fragmented, really—scattered into a million pieces desperately attempting to maintain control. I was so buried in grief, mine and my children’s, that I could not see how broken-down I truly was.

I reminisce and I am in awe of how God kept it all together. He alone deserves the credit. I could not have survived that first year along with all that transpired in it. We moved from the home we shared with Woody because the memories that floated through every room in our home only served to remind me of what I had lost. I immediately began cosmetic renovations to our new home transforming it into a sanctuary for the children. Hunter lost his scholarship and had to come home for a semester until we could figure out what God had in store. Haley tried to take her own life and told me that she wished I had died rather than her dad. Her attacks grew vicious to the point that at one point I thought I would have to find other living arrangements for her. She was so angry with God that she had pushed Him far away. And all the while I was trying not to let my grief bury me in a grave of defeat and despair. It was a year of pure hell.

Then spring came with the promise of hope. God continued to demonstrate His love for us through His church. Our 12Stone family continued to love us in practical ways, even arranging a weekend away at the beach for Mother’s Day weekend, knowing that we would be marking one year since Woody’s tragic death on Mother’s Day 2015. Our Swim Atlanta family pitched in providing gift cards and cash to ensure that it was truly a weekend to enjoy. Hunter’s scholarship was reinstated. Haley was awarded a dance and academic scholarship that would cover half of her tuition at a private, Christian college. Then she went to Haiti on a mission trip and God transformed her heart. She is finally on the path that will lead to God’s best for her. And Haden did well enough with his swimming to move up to the level of training he had been diligently working towards. By summer’s end, I knew we would be okay even as we sold the house we had been living in and moved back into the home we had shared with Woody.

However, I still stand in awe that we made it through last year; and I am quite positive that a year from now I will look back and wonder how I survived this coming year. This I do know—whether I am conscious of His presence or not, our ability to persist is wholly by God’s power. We would still be shattered and shaken if it were not for His constant care. So whether the day is full of sorrow or joy, I will praise Him for infinite faithfulness. 

Survivor's Guilt?

“Who would like to go?” was the question that accompanied a dear friend's post on Facebook. She had attached a link with information about the “Taste of Georgia.” Impulsively I responded that I would love to go, and then before I could change my mind, I followed the link and purchased a ticket. Later while communicating via text with the same friend, I admitted that this future outing will be the first time that I have socialized with friends sans children since Woody died.

I am conflicted in my emotions. Part of me is excited at the prospect of grown-up interaction in a relaxed atmosphere with people I thoroughly enjoy; yet the other half of me feels guilty—guilty for allowing myself to live and laugh without Woody. It has been over a year, yet I still feel as if I will wake up one morning and find him lying next to me in bed with a mischievous grin on his face and explain how it was all a horrible hoax. I still struggle at the thought of allowing myself to engage in life, enjoy new experiences, and make new friends without him. I still miss him with every fiber of my being. Sometimes the feelings of loneliness and loss overwhelm me, until the pain is a physical ache deep within my chest. However, at the same time laughter comes quickly. Smiles grace my lips; and with every bit of joy I experience there is also a twinge of guilt for allowing myself to be happy.

Perhaps this too shall pass. I really don’t know. What I do know is that God has carried me through the worst season of my life, and He will somehow assist me as I navigate through this next phase of grief.

Snapshots of Our Lives

So many pictures of smiling faces, laughter, and moments of joy fill my Instagram and Facebook accounts. From the outside looking in we seem to be adjusting remarkably well. And we are. God is good. He continues to gift our days with small treasures of delight.  I find myself taking more photos realizing that before tragedy struck our family, I had become somewhat slothful in capturing our memories on film. Not now. I want to seize every moment and never forget how we rebuilt our crumbling lives. Every smile is a building stone—every bit of laughter a footing.

However, there are snapshots of time that the public will never see. The sobs and screams. The fears and falls. No one will see the messy work ensuing behind the scenes, such as this morning when I fell to the kitchen floor in a puddle of tears, sobs racking my body as I began to hyperventilate. No one will hear the soft footsteps approaching as Haley knelt beside me and wrapped me in her arms and soothed me with her gentle spirit. No one will see the evenings Haden comes into my room with tears in his eyes worried because I am not sleeping, or the times Haley crawls into my bed weeping. These are episodes that no one wants to see or acknowledge, yet these events are just as crucial to the healing process as the smiles and laughter. This is the construction stage that is unpleasant and untidy. It is the phase we want to overlook and avoid, but without it, we cannot continue to build.  Without it, restoration will never occur.

These snapshots comprise our journey, every aspect of it, the good, the bad, and the ugly. I treasure every moment, knowing that it is a gift from God. I will praise Him even in the midst of the storm that threatens my life and the sorrow that fills my soul.  Furthermore, I will continue to capture our flashes in time—all of them—either on film or in my mind knowing that through all of these moments we are rebuilding our crumbling lives.

Hope

I walked into Woody's closet yesterday to retrieve the dirty clothes from the hamper. Instead, I found myself running my hand through his shirts hanging from the rod just as he left them. I then stood in front of the shelves where his folded clothes rested in neat little piles.  My hands ran over the course denim and smooth cotton blends. I caressed a shirt that had once covered the chest of the man I loved, and I felt my heart ache inside my chest as I longed to caress the man who once wore the clothing I fingered so lovingly. Finally, I laid my head down on a pile of shorts and began to weep.  

It is getting better.  Somedays it doesn't appear that way, but I am gradually accepting my new role. I am always filled with God's peace.  Yet the sorrow occasionally overshadows the serenity that rests deep in my soul.  I feel completely loved and protected. God has given me a church and community full of people willing to be His hands and feet.  Time will bring healing and new hope. However, in the moment there is unbearable pain and longing.

I quickly departed Woody's closet and descended down the stairs to find Haley sitting in the hearth room with a sweet smile gracing her lips.  While in the midst of the dreariest night God continues to provide a precious reminder that Woody lives on through the three amazing children He so graciously gave.    There will always be hope.  And eventually more smiles than tears.