Weary

I am weary. When will the storm clouds clear? When will the ache in my heart dull? When will the tears stop flowing?

Yesterday while driving through the neighborhood, a young couple sat in their driveway supervising their three young children. It brought back a flood of memories—the years we spent raising our three young children and how we cherished our time together, playing, laughing, loving. “Why can’t we go back?” I sobbed. I wanted to turn back the hands of time and relive those years with Woody by my side. I wanted another chance to live and laugh with the love of my life.

Tears. They have a will of their own. They sting and stab at my eyes. I cannot control them. Grief is an unpredictable monster devouring everyone and everything within its stead.  It consumes and confounds. And I find myself floundering within its menacing grip. Why can’t I escape? Why does it persist for so long?

I know God is with me, but even David—a man after God’s own heart—occasionally felt abandoned and alone. I am well aware of that emotion. I am living that reality. It is difficult, at best, to recognize God’s loving hand in the midst of such deep sorrow. Yet, I continue on in faith knowing that eventually I will once again distinguish God’s perfect presence in my life.

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.

My Season to Mourn

“To everything there is a season…A time to weep, and a time to laugh; A time to mourn, and a time to dance;” Ecc. 3:1, 4

A season for everything—this morning You gently reminded me of this infallible truth. If there is weeping now, there will be laughter in the future. I may mourn in this moment, but at some point I will feel carefree enough to dance again. You will cause me to laugh and dance. You will give me joy someday; but for now there is a purpose in my pain. This is my season to weep and mourn. I do not know how long I must endure this sorrow. However, I can rest in knowing it is but for a season in my life. I will not always know this overwhelming sense of sadness. I will not always feel this hopelessness. You will shelter me through the storms that gather during this turbulent season until it is time to bask in the sunlight and dance with the wind. For now, I must persevere through the long, harsh winter; yet soon spring will arrive with new life and hope for a future full of laughter and light.

There Is No Way To Explain It Adequately

There is no way to adequately portray what we endured that fateful day on Mount Yonah. The trauma was too great. Your imagination will not allow you to reach the depth of emotional suffering that we endured that day. It was surreal. I remember thinking the whole time, “This is not happening! I will wake up. This cannot be real!” The nightmare was far worse than any drama I had ever seen on the big screen. I just knew that God could not possibly allow something so horrific to inflict our family. And yet, it did.

I will never get the look in Woody’s eyes out of my head, as he slid belly first down the granite face of the mountain right past me. I felt so helpless. There was nothing I could do except scream. “No! No! No! Woody! Please, Lord, no!” His hands and legs were outstretched as he tried desperately to find a hand or foot hold. His eyes were full of fear, yet his voice was silent, and then he disappeared over the ledge. Haden, our youngest son, was at a higher vantage point and watched as his dad tumbled head over heels approximately 100 feet until hitting his head against a stump which stopped his fall. I heard Haden’s cries, but they sounded as if they were travelling through a tunnel. He immediately started running down the mountain to reach his dad. Hunter and Haley, who rejoined us once they heard the screaming, started down the mountain, too. Hunter kept shouting, “Someone call 911!” I couldn’t move. I looked over the edge and saw Woody’s body in a crumpled heap and was stricken motionless. I sat down. I wanted to cry but was completely numb. My mind reeled.  “Where is the trail? How do I get down the mountain? I don’t know what to do.” I could not even call 911. My mind could not communicate with my fingers.

Haden had reached Woody by time I started to come out of the fog. “He’s unconscious but he’s still breathing. It sounds like he’s snoring!” I yelled down not to move him in case of spinal cord injury. My brain started to compute the information. I immediately thought that either Woody’s trachea had been crushed or was blocked. I stood up and slowly, recognition came back to me. By time I made my way to Woody’s side, all three of the kids were there along with two women hikers who had been in the area. Allison was one of them. She stayed during the duration of the ordeal. After Hunter and I quarreled, he agreed to make his way down to the trail head to meet the EMT’s. He had wanted me to go, but I explained to him I was not going to leave my husband under any circumstances. Emotions were raw. We were frightened and Hunter was trying to control a situation he had no control over.  Allison, Haley, Haden, another woman and I stayed and tried to hold Woody. He was still on a steep incline with about 60 more feet to fall. By this point, he had become combative as he regained consciousness and was attempting to escape the pain. His visible injuries were severe, especially his head. His eyes were swollen shut, he was bleeding from his nose and mouth, and blood was gushing from the back of his head. He was attempting to stand up although he was not cognitive of his surroundings. We kept shouting at him, hoping he would hear us—hoping he would understand; but there was no recognition. I noticed that Haley was downhill of him, putting the weight of her body on him trying to keep him still. I made her trade me places, immediately recognizing the danger she was in. I held onto Woody’s hand. I prayed. “Woody, I love you! Please stop moving! We will all fall down the mountain with you!” It was intense. We were all in jeopardy of falling every time he sat up and groaned loudly. He was strong and he was fighting—fighting the intense pain, fighting for his life.  I looked down and noticed the steady flow of blood. We were all covered in a mixture of blood and dirt. I tried to discover the source. At that point, Woody lifted his head in such a way that I finally caught a glimpse of the back of his head. His scalp was completely removed from his skull. Allison asked, “Does anyone have an extra shirt?” No. Haden took off his shirt and handed it to me. I feebly tried to piece his scalp back together and then applied pressure with the shirt to the back of his head.

I’m not sure how long this went on. We heard the sirens long before anyone ever arrived. “When will they get here?” Haley repeatedly cried. Haden wept as he tried in vain to keep Woody’s head from bashing against the granite slab as he continued to wrestle. And we all struggled to keep him from taking us down the mountain with him.

I could go on, but I won’t. When I think about how harrowing that day truly was, I am grateful because I know that God has protected us from the full force of the blow. If he did not, we would be crushed. There is no way to survive that sort of trauma without His protective shield. We are truly loved. However, when you are wondering why I’m not over this yet; or why I struggle to sleep; or why I do not want to be alone, reread this. Try to live that nightmare with us and ask yourself, how quickly would you “get over” it? 

Our Wedding Anniversary

It’s 2:00 a.m. I thought I was finished reaching over to your side of the bed searching for the warmth of your body. But here I am. My hand glides across the cool sheet finding emptiness, and I remember. Today is our wedding anniversary—a day we would have celebrated with joy as we did every year. We realized the value in celebrating another year of dedication. Marriage is work! It doesn’t just “happen.” We both understood this concept better than most. We had toiled through years of drought and plenty to glean the harvest we were finally reaping.

You loved to celebrate. I wonder how we would have celebrated our day. Last year we spent the weekend in Chapel Hill. You surprised me with a new wedding ring to replace the one that I had lost. “Let’s hope I don’t lose this one, or at least not for another 20 years!” I teased. We laughed. We loved. We lived. You were my joy and my security. You made every day a celebration. I knew how blessed I was to commemorate another year of marriage with you. You asked me once again where I wanted to go to mark our 20^th wedding anniversary. We decided on New Zealand. You loved to celebrate, but you loved “us” even more.

Today will not be a celebration, but I will remember—I will remember a lifetime of love built on a foundation of faith. I will honor you by continuing to push through the pain and find laughter. I will survive. Although half of my heart died May 10, 2015, I must live on. I will find joy in our children and the memories you gave.

Happy anniversary…well, not happy, but it is not cheerless. I miss you, but I am so grateful for the love we shared. I will never forget.

For now, my life may feel as if I am reaching into the empty darkness, yet I know I am not alone. God has carried me every step of the way and today will be no exception. Perhaps someday the pain will subside enough that I will find a way in which to mark our anniversary once again with laughter and love. For now, I just need to breathe and remember to live.

Now Is Not the Time to Enlighten Me with Some Profound Truth or Theological Argument

Now is not the time to enlighten me with some profound truth or theological argument. Although there are times for such things, true wisdom is recognizing when. When someone is grieving, all she truly needs is a sympathetic ear and a word or two of encouragement. Please do not use this time as an opportunity to flaunt your philosophical prowess. This has nothing to do with you. Yes, I understand your intentions are good, but tremendous destruction has been wrought in the name of “good intentions.” Look at the crusades or the Spanish Inquisition if an example is needed. If your desire is to truly bring me comfort and you haven’t the words to speak, then don’t. Sometimes solace can be found in silence.

I have been guilty in the past of causing such sorrow with ill-fitted words. Reflecting back on things that I have said, I can now see how insensitive my words were. How I wish I could go back and clutch those words out of the air and swallow them whole before they had the opportunity to inflict more pain upon the hearer! We are too quick to speak. Why? Because we are too prideful. We includes me. I am not immune to this crime. You may be thinking, “No, it was not pride which moved me to speak.  It was the Holy Spirit who requires me to speak truth.” But let me ask you this:  does God kick us when we are down? Yes, I know there are times when He allows us to walk through deep valleys, but would He knowingly speak words that would wound one of His children even more? When your child is in pain, do you offer words of comfort or do you take that moment to speak “truth” that will deepen the sorrow? God is a good Father—a far better parent than you or I will ever be!

I am hurting enough. I should not have to use my rapidly depleting supply of energy to defend a truth that God has given to me during this time. I have clung to Him desperately seeking Him in every waking hour. But even more importantly, before this tragedy ever struck, I sought Him—I developed a lasting relationship with Him. This intimacy was not built in a moment of tragedy, although it has been deepened immensely. The relationship I have with God was built on years of seeking Him first. And now His words are the only words which have brought me true healing. God has revealed things to me that He may not have revealed to you because it has not been necessary. You have not walked through something so harrowing.  Your interpretation of God’s word may be more clinical where mine is painfully raw.  Please try to understand that until you have literally walked in my shoes, you cannot understand God’s word and love the way I do. That is not a prideful statement. I paid the price for that wisdom.  Having this sort of intimacy with God comes at a price that most would not be able to survive.

Give me time to grieve. God will bring me healing, but it may not be on your time table. It may be a year from now when you are wondering to yourself, “Shouldn’t she be over this?” and yet I will still be painfully broken. If it is uncomfortable for you to witness, then don’t. I get it. As a society in general, we do not do “awkward” well. I will survive this because God has protected me from the full force of the blow. He will not allow this dreadful experience to destroy us; and someday I may once again be ready for your words of wisdom and theological arguments.  Someday, just not today….

Grief

Sometimes I cannot escape it. It grabs me by the throat with icy fingers and squeezes while stabbing my heart with shards of glass. I cannot breathe; the pain is excruciating. I feel as if an elephant is sitting on my chest.  I panic and begin to hyperventilate. The reality--the finality--of my loss is suffocating and too frightening to bear.

Grief. It is an ugly beast that threatens the lives of those who survive. It is predatory in nature. It stalks its victim tirelessly, waiting until its prey is weakened by fatigue and sits for a moment to rest. Then it strikes with deadly accuracy. There is no escaping this monster. There is no hiding. Eventually, it finds those it seeks and reeks havoc in the heart and mind. It is inescapable, though many try through various methods to escape its deadly clutch, they only prolong the inevitable. Grief will have its prey.

I will eventually wade through this ocean. God carries and comforts me each and every step of the way. When I find that I have succumbed to my attacker, God wrestles the beast for me and provides hope for the future. For now, the journey is darkened by storm clouds that seem infinite; but at some point the clouds will break and the sun will shine on my face again.