Parenting Through Grief

How do I parent from a point of grief children who are grieving? We are all stumbling through the dark trying desperately to find our way. One child seems to be functioning quite well. Another has uncontrollable anger and the urge to rebel. And the third child has thrown himself into a sport he loves and refuses to discuss what happened. I am attempting to put the pieces of our family back together when I feel completely broken and inadequate. How do I mend something which will never again be whole?  

Tears are like raindrops falling at the most inopportune times, soaking the soul, leaving behind a muddy mess. Our pain is raw and all of us are experiencing it in different ways on different levels. Can I allow my children to fully grieve when I have not allowed myself to do so? How do I give myself permission to let go and wallow in my sorrow when I know I must be strong for the three young people who look to me for strength and wisdom? I cannot even see past the day in front of me let alone into their futures. I am failing. And failing at parenting is not something I can afford to do.

I look to God for wisdom, yet sometimes His words are barely audible. Last night Haley told me that she cannot be strong although she feels she needs to be.  I told her that she does not need to be. Her job right now is to become weak so that God can carry her in His strength. Perhaps I need to take my own advice. God’s power will be made perfect in my weakness. Perhaps parenting will best be accomplished when I completely trust God to bear my burden and accomplish what I cannot.

Parenting through grief. My new “normal.” Still, I do not parent alone nor do I suffer in solitude.  Although I no longer have my partner in parenting to physically carry me through these trials, I have my spiritual companion to lift me over every obstacle. I need only remember where my strength comes from.

One Month Ago Today...

Today marks one month since that fateful day when our lives were forever changed. One month, and still I long for one more day—one more day to pray with you, to talk with you, to hold your hand, to hold you close, to love you completely. However, one more day was not to be, and I must hold onto the memories of the days we were given.

I have learned so much about myself during this time and about God and grief. I have learned what it is to truly mourn. I understand what it is to lament, to groan, and to feel completely hopeless. Yet, at the same time I have gained a clearer view of God’s grace and compassion. I have felt His Spirit with me every second of every day since the horrific moment you were ripped from our lives. I have learned that I am stronger than I ever thought I could be without you—evidence of God’s existence. My sanity would have left me that day without supernatural intervention. Most of all, I have learned how desperately you were loved—by me, our children, family, friends, and co-workers. You were even more amazing than I realized.

I have learned, too, that our children are remarkable. We did well. All of those late night conversations full of anxiety concerning their futures and all of those prayers for their spiritual and physical growth have come to fruition.  They have drawn closer to their Heavenly Father and have relied upon His power. They are resilient and faithful. I know you must be so proud gazing upon them from your new home. They miss you tremendously! But in time, they will learn to live life bearing the void that your absence has created. They will build upon the foundation we laid together and it will never be shaken.

I love you! I feel as if I have been walking through a fog since the day you died. I still use present tense verbs when referring to you. I still reach for your hand before falling asleep. I miss everything about you! There are moments when I can almost see a light flickering through the haze, moments where a glimmer of hope lies on the horizon. But those moments are fleeting and far too few to be of lasting comfort. In time, they will become more frequent. In time, God will give me new dreams to replace the ones which were shattered with your life. Until then, I will take it one moment at a time—occasionally, one breath at a time. And I will continue to rely on our wonderful God to carry me through until the journey leads me back to you.

My Dream of You

You visited me in my dream last night. We were lying in bed. I snuggled up to you, letting the heat from your body warm me through. I held you tightly, breathed in the scent of you. My heart was full. I felt so very loved—and safe. The pain of the past four weeks was a distant memory. In fact, it ceased to exist. We lay in silence, breathing slow deep breaths, standing on the edge of dreamland not wanting to close our eyes—not wanting to miss a moment. When I lifted my face to kiss you, you smiled warmly and your eyes sparkled. Soft as butterfly wings, our lips met, but something was not quite right. I looked into your soft brown eyes and watched as the light slowly left them.  “Woody?” No response. “Woody, what’s going on?” Still, no response. Your body which just moments before had felt warm and comforting suddenly felt cold and clammy. I shook you. “Woody! Woody, please don’t leave me!  Woody, you can’t leave me. You just can’t leave me! Woody—please!”

Suddenly, you were no more. My arms were empty, but my heart? My heart was completely vacant. The air became frigid; the darkness enveloped me in cruelty. “Woody!” I yelled into the emptiness, yet I knew it was too late. You were gone—just as suddenly as you had been ripped from our lives four weeks ago. You were no more.

I awoke realizing that the deep sorrow and agony I have experienced cannot be understood by those who have not experienced it. Until you have watched the love of your life slide past you over the edge of a cliff and then have watched as the life slowly drained from his body, you cannot understand the anguish that we as a family are experiencing. Before this happened, I thought I knew heartache. I was clueless, and perhaps as insensitive as some of the people I have happened upon since that tragic day. I did not—could not—comprehend this level of grief. It is too horrible to grasp unless you experience it. There are no words to describe the constant ache in my heart and soul. Until one experiences great trauma and loss, one cannot understand the flux of emotions and the devastating toll it takes. Comfort does not come easily. Tear brimmed, swollen eyes tell the story that words cannot express.

Yet I find comfort in the God of peace. I curl up in His lap and I let His arms wrap me in love. I cry into His all-knowing shoulder. And He does know! He alone truly understands. We will be okay in time. We are desperately missing you, but in time we will learn to find a way to journey through life without your physical presence. God will see us through. And someday, I will see you again. I will be held in your arms and feel the warmth of your lips against mine. Someday. And on that day, I will not have to dream.

Losing a Father and the Jenner Debate

My children lost their “daddy” on Mother’s Day. For three and a half weeks I have watched them mourn in various ways. I have seen the grief overwhelm and numb. I have watched carefully from the sidelines trying to determine when to step in and help them process their loss in a healthy, constructive manner. Losing a parent is difficult. It redefines your reality. It brings up questions of identity. A void has been left in my children’s life that may never be filled. Hunter will not be able to call Woody for advice on how to propose to his girlfriend and then how to be a responsible, loving husband. Haley will not be able to wait in anticipation while her daddy interviews a prospective husband and then years later, walks her down the aisle to entrust her life to another man. And Haden will not be taught to drive and shave and countless other things by his loving father. Yes, I lost a husband, friend, lover, constant companion; but my children lost their hero.

While walking through the dark I have only been slightly aware of my surroundings. I have ignored the news and the events happening around the world. I have been too concerned about my own sphere of influence. My focus has been on my children and ensuring that this trauma does not define or destroy them. Pulling my head from the sand yesterday, I was made aware of the fact that Bruce Jenner is now Caitlyn Jenner; and apparently everyone has an opinion on the matter. Some people are downright shameful in their behavior. Being someone who does not have any association whatsoever to Caitlyn, I have no opinion. I am too troubled by my own life and safeguarding my recently downsized family that I haven’t the energy or time to bother myself with the personal struggles of a complete stranger. I am wondering what is being neglected in the lives of others that they have so much time to devote to saturating social media with sentiments which will be instantly criticized by someone else who has even more time on his or her hands. Why, people, are you squandering precious moments on something that will most likely never affect you when I am sure there are people living with you who need your opinions more than your countless followers?

If you are going to concern yourselves in the whole Bruce/Caitlyn debate, then please consider the people who matter most in this event—six children who just recently in a very public way lost their father. Kylie, Kendall, Brody, Casey, Burt, and Brandon Jenner just lost a father who, regardless of how well he did the job, was their hero. This has to be a confusing time for them whether they publicly admit it or not. Can we demonstrate a little compassion for these young people whose father, in a sense, has died? When I consider my own children and what they have just endured with their father’s death, the one thing that has been a tremendous help is hearing the stories from countless others as to the quality of the character of the man whom they knew as “dad.” Such positive feedback has aided them as they process their loss. I cannot imagine what it would be like for them if every day they had to read degrading comments questioning their father’s integrity. The Jenner children can no longer identify Caitlyn as father. Yes, one may argue that technically he is still part of their lives. But Bruce himself no longer exists. He was living a lie. How is that reality any better than a physical death?

As someone who has just had her life reprioritized by a very tragic incident, I ask you to focus on what really matters. Does a stranger’s sexual identity have anything at all to do with you directly? How will it affect your spouse and children? Is the whole fiasco distracting you from remembering who or what is truly worth your time? What if your spouse slid down a mountain as you stood helplessly to the side and left you a widow and your children without a parent? Would Jenner’s gender really matter? Please, for the sake of all that is truly important in your life, voice your opinions where they will be relevant—with your family, not your Facebook friends. 

How Are You? Really?

“How are you?” My guess is you really do not want the truth; so I respond with a polite “fine” and we both avoid the awkwardness of your question. How do you really think I am? I watched my husband slide down a granite slope and over the edge of a cliff and fall approximately 100 feet until a tree stopped him from descending any further. Then, with the help of two of my children and a random hiker or two, I pinned my husband to a steep slope for nearly an hour while he wrestled against us. We were trying to prevent him from plummeting 60 more feet and possibly taking one of us with him. And all the while, blood gushed from the back of his head no matter what we did to try to stop it. I am not fine. I may never be “fine” again. However, to save us both the pain of recounting my horrible plight to you, I will give you the pat answer and move on wishing people would quit asking me, “How are you?”

I know you are uncomfortable and do not know what to say. I realize it is unpleasant and puts you ill at ease; but if you do not want to know how I really feel, please do not ask. Just say, “I do not know what to say, but I’m praying for you;” or “thinking about you;” or simply, “I’m sorry.” I am feeling exactly as I should be—devastated, lost, frightened, confused. God is slowly helping me process every one of those emotions. But it is going to take a long time. Bear with me. I may not give you the response you want; I may even burst into tears. I am sorry if I am unpleasant to be around or say something that is politically incorrect. You will have to give me grace. I give it to you every time you ask, “How are you?”

Please know, though, that even as I walk through the gloom, I am filled with God’s peace. Eventually I will be okay. But do not expect too much too soon. Give me time. Give me space. And if you do not know what to say, do not say anything at all. I will laugh again. I will find my way back into the light—all in good time. Until then if it makes you feel uneasy to be around immense grief, then avoid me at all costs. I do not mind. It will make it easier for both of us because “how are you?” is just not what I want to hear right now.

From "We" to "Me"

Today is a struggle. While out for my morning run, my mind drifted to us. I thought of how we had celebrated when the year 2014 was over. It had been a year of personal and professional challenges. You had lost your job of fifteen years with a company and people you loved. It took eight long, stressful months before you found a new position which offered the opportunity for a new career. We celebrated all that 2015 would bring, knowing that it would be a year of promise and peace.

Working in Raleigh was tough. You, a family man to the core, had to be away from home five to six nights every week. Yet, we tried to make the most of every minute we had together. The best weeks were the ones when the kids and I joined you in North Carolina. We explored the area we knew was to be our new home. We tried different restaurants and boutiques. We laughed. We were building the foundation for a new life in a new city. We were excited to join you full time. We researched the different suburbs until we settled on Chapel Hill. We had it all planned out. We were once again developing dreams of a new future, one that would see the kids moving out and into lives of their own. We thought of future marriages and grandchildren. We were excited to grow old together. And everything was centered on “we”.

There is no “we” anymore. It hit me like a brick smashing into my thoughts and fragmenting every hope I had for the future. How do I do this without you? How can I grow old when it will no longer be “we”? I can barely even get out of bed in the morning; so how do I walk into the future without the love of my life standing beside me, affectionately holding my hand? We were one, and now half of me has died. I left my sarcastic, jovial, gregarious half on the summit of Mt. Yonah. I am truly feeling lost without you. How is it possible that on one fateful day life was drastically altered and went from "we" to "me'?

I love you, Woody. Death cannot defeat love, nor can it steal the lifetime of memories you gave. I will, with God’s loving assistance, walk through this valley until I am once again standing in the light.  I know that eventually I will grow accustomed to the loneliness of “me,” but even then I will always miss the fulfillment of  “we.” 

For a Moment

While searching for our American flag today, I had to stop myself from calling Woody to ask where it is. For a moment, I forgot. For a moment, I was a devoted wife whose husband was once again out of town on business. For a moment, life was normal. But my moment was very short lived as the floodgates opened and I remembered that my loving husband was tragically ripped from my life exactly two weeks ago. Two weeks ago, I stood on a mountain trail, watching as EMT’s struggled to stabilize Woody so that he could be lifted on a board to where the life flight crew waited. Two weeks ago I stood pleading with God to spare Woody’s life and bring about a miracle. Two weeks ago, God said no.

I still do not understand why this is my story. Why is this my incident to record? Why have I been appointed author to a tragedy? I wanted to create a romantic comedy, with a few glitches here and there. This was not the story I wanted to write. This is not the story I should write. Yet, here I am penning my thoughts, recording my tears, relaying my fears. And still, I lack understanding.

I am leery of the future. I cannot imagine living life solo. My partner is gone. The one who annoyed me with his sarcasm while I was attempting to have a serious conversation will never again laugh at my frustration. The one who cheered me on through all of my creative endeavors even when he hated what I had created will never again cringe at one of my paintings. The one who held my hand every night while I drifted off to sleep will never again cup my hands in his. The one who calmed me and held me through the storms of life will never again assure me of peace. However, I am not without hope. Yes, my future looks lonely without Woody. Yet, I will never be alone.

I could not find the flag today. Still, what I did find in the moment after reality hit was a peace as God held me in His arms and comforted my soul. I found rest as God reminded me that He knows my pain and not once throughout this whole ordeal has He left my side. I may never understand why God said no up on that mountain peak—nor will I ever stop hating that “no.” Nevertheless, I will always know that I am deeply loved by a God who will continue to embrace me while I grieve through this storm.