It Is Well

In 1873, Horatio Spafford sent his wife and four daughters on to Europe hoping to join them after attending to some urgent business matter. Unfortunately, the Ville du Havre, the ship upon which his family traveled, was struck by another ship and most of the passengers were killed. Horatio’s wife survived, but not one their daughters did. While traveling on another ship to join his wife in Europe, the captain pointed out the place where it was believed the Ville du Havre had gone down. After viewing the place of his family’s demise, Horatio returned to his cabin and penned these words: “It is well; the will of God be done.” Later, those words became the foundation to the hymn It Is Well.

What does it mean to be well in my soul? I have pondered that question for a year and seven months ever since the tragic day we lost Woody in a horrific hiking accident. We have suffered tragic loss, but even more than that we are suffering the effects of unmentionable trauma. One cannot comprehend the full force of the weight of which we have been under for so long, trying desperately to prevent it from squashing the very life from our bodies. The image of my children covered in their father’s blood while tears flowed down their dirt covered faces still haunts me. The look of fear in their eyes as we held Woody trying so desperately to hold onto hope and hold onto his life, will always be with me. Yet I still know that it is well with my soul. It is a knowledge that permeates every pore of my being. I know God holds my breaking heart and not once has He dropped a single fragment. He is with me—always! And as long as my eyes are fixed on Him, I have peace—not to be mistaken for trouble- and pain-free circumstances. No, peace is quite different. It is a deep seated sensation that no matter what I am walking through in this moment, eternity awaits my arrival and then my tears will cease and my heart will once again be whole.

I believe what Horatio did over 140 years ago when faced with harrowing circumstances; it is well with my soul because the God I have placed my faith in is just, and eventually He will turn my life's anguish into a beautiful hymn.

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.

Milestone Moments

It had been a tough week for Haden. He struggled to complete his school work each day, and I discovered several assignments that he had just “forgotten” to do. I had to repeat directions to him several times before he was able to complete a task. He shared with me that he had to ask his swim coach several times what the set was because he could not remember. “Mom, I can’t even stay focused enough to count my laps,” he revealed to me after swim practice one day. I tried to be patient, but by Friday, my patience was running thin. Nevertheless, I did not want to upset Haden. He had his second degree black belt test coming up on Saturday, and I knew he was feeling the pressure to perform well. “We’ll talk about it next week,” I thought. “It can wait.” Yes, it was a difficult week.

Saturday arrived and although Haden seemed rather melancholy, I attributed it to stress. However, as we were preparing to walk out the door to drive to his belt test I noticed that he looked rather downcast. Had I been too harsh with him concerning his lack of focus? He was sitting in a chair in the breakfast area. I approached him and leaned over and hugged him. “I’m sorry if I haven’t been extremely patient with you this week. You’re a great kid and sometimes I’m not the greatest mom.”

Suddenly, it was as if a pipe had broken. Haden started trembling in my arms. He was sobbing, deep guttural sobs that wracked his whole body. “I want Dad!” he moaned when he finally caught his breath. And then again, like a broken record, he repeated his wish. “I want Dad!” He was completely broken. I had not heard him cry with such terrible aching since the day Woody had died. Tears filled my eyes and my heart was broken in two, but I knew that now was not the time. I had to be strong. He needed to feel my steadfast comfort.

I rubbed Haden’s back and held him tightly. “I know, sweetheart, I know. It sucks! We will always want your daddy here, always.” I grew silent and listened to the moans of a child in deep agony. I prayed over him, pleading with God to give this precious child peace and to relieve his pain. It was brutal and though I wanted to fall on the floor in a heap with him, I couldn’t. I had to be his strength and God would have to be mine.

After about ten minutes, the sobs ceased. I gently wiped the tears from his face with my fingers and kissed him on the forehead. “You ready to go?”

“Yes.” I told Haden that I truly believed that God would allow Woody to see him as he tested for his second degree black belt. Yet, I knew it wasn’t the same as having Woody there beaming with pride and then afterwards giving Haden one of his big bear hugs. But, unfortunately, it is all we are left with—the hope that he is watching from the spiritual realm.

I know we have so many more of these milestone moments to endure; and I know each will be as painful to bear as this one. I also know that in a week or two the grief that I had to suppress in that moment will hit me, and I will struggle to get out of bed and wonder why I’m still here. But I also know that just like on Saturday, God will somehow carry us through these valleys and keep us standing. Perhaps it will never get easier; but as one of my sisters stated, we will grow stronger and—with God’s help—we will persevere.

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. 

A Nation Divided

I am concerned about what will happen to our country after the 2016 Presidential Election, not because of whom may be elected but because of the passionate opinions of the voters. Never have I witnessed so many people voting from hatred for the “other” candidate rather than supporting the nominee who most represents their values. I am shocked by how vehemently people endorse or oppose the candidates. Friendships and families are falling apart over differing opinions. I have seen posts on social networking sites such as: “If you are going to vote for “X” candidate, then unfriend me now. I cannot be friends with someone who supports “X.” Whatever happened to respectfully disagreeing? Whatever happened to appreciating the differing viewpoints that make our nation diverse and distinctive? If we do not find a way to civilly discuss our disagreements how can we hope to teach the succeeding generations how to work through conflict and find resolution? How can we ever hope to “Make America great again”?

Then there’s the “race” problem, and yes, this is a reality. Too many people harbor implicit prejudices. If you don’t believe me, take the Implicit Association Test (IAT) developed by Banaji and Greenwald (2013). You can find the test by following this link: https://implicit.harvard.edu/implicit/takeatest.html .  Research has proven that suppressed prejudices do occur in this country. Look at the case of Barak Obama when he was running for president and the hoopla over his birth certificate. You see, with suppressed prejudices, people justify their dislike for someone in the target group by covering up the biases they carry with other “valid” excuses because to be transparently prejudice is not socially acceptable. So, instead “he wasn’t born in the US” or “he’s Muslim” became the banner argument. In all reality the fact that he was a black man stirred emotional dissent in a lot of people who subconsciously harbor prejudices. If you don’t believe me, read the research that has been done for yourself.

And speaking of that, let’s take a look at police shootings. The most fascinating research that has been conducted on police bias was conducted by Correll, Park, Judd, and Wittenbrink (2002). Their experiment involved participants viewing videos of men (half of them were white; the other half were black) who were in realistic settings holding an item (half were holding nonthreatening items such as cell phones; the other half were holding a handgun). The participants won or lost points based on how they reacted. They gained 10 points for shooting someone who did have a gun, and if they failed to shoot someone holding a gun, they lost 40 points. They found that white participants were more likely to shoot when the men in the videos were black, regardless of what they held in their hands. This is disturbing!

Prejudices lie quietly below the surface until provoked and then they can be fatal, as we have seen too many times this year. Why aren’t police officers evaluated with an IAT test? If someone has implicit prejudices, training can be conducted in order to help the individual overcome those prejudices, which could very well lead to saving the life of another innocent black man. However, I am afraid this problem has been at a boiling point for far too long. Being black in this country is still a disadvantage in many areas. And please do not argue this point! Research proves my statements. Unless you can find peer reviewed, unbiased research that says otherwise, you are merely stating an opinion. My declaration is not based on my personal viewpoint but on hard evidence. I wish more than anything it were just an opinion! I have believed for far too long that equality was the reality, because that is how I feel. I have never judged a person on ethnicity, religion, or socioeconomic status. Therefore, I believed that my reality could be generalized to society as a whole. I was wrong.

We all should be praying for resolution and asking ourselves, “What can I do to change my little part of the world?” For a start, we can learn to cordially discuss our differences, come face to face with our prejudices, and then start the healing process. Otherwise, we will be a nation divided. 

When Will Acceptance Come?

I dreamt that Woody was alive last night. We stood in the kitchen, laughing and talking as if nothing had happened. I was relaxed and content. He told stupid jokes and I rolled my eyes. Woody was home! “Do you want to sit on the deck and have a glass of wine with me?” he queried.

I smiled ready to respond, when something snapped. “No, we can’t! If we do, you’ll die tomorrow.” I rushed toward him. I wanted to hold him tight and feel his heart beating steadily in his chest while his warm breath caress my cheek. But when I reached my arms out to embrace him, he vanished.

I woke up suddenly, shaking with tears in my eyes. It was just a dream. Woody is never coming home. I will never snuggle up to him on a cold night and laugh as he jumps out of his skin as I touch him with my icy fingers. I will never smell him again as I pull one of his shirts from the laundry basket. I will never gaze into those caramel brown eyes with flecks of green as all my resistance rushes out the door. No, I must accept the fact that he is gone

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And yet occasionally in my dreams he is still here and very much alive. It is as if my mind were playing some cruel joke on me. I want to scream and cry. Why can’t my subconscious accept the fact that Woody is dead? It is in constant denial, even after a year and four months. I wonder when acceptance will penetrate every part of my being, even the dark recesses of my brain.

But for now, I live in the reality of the daylight and know that even in this God will carry me through.

Sixteen

Last night I cried myself to sleep. Tomorrow Haden turns 16, and the thought of celebrating another birthday without his daddy’s boisterous laughter and over the top antics was just too much to bear. Woody loved birthdays. Celebrations were his forte. And now, it’s just the two of us. Hunter and Haley are both away at school, and though I invited a friend to have birthday dinner with us and watch Haden open his gifts, I know it was a poor substitution

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I often wonder how Haden truly feels. He was so close to his dad. He admired him so deeply. Of all my children, Haden is the most like Woody. He is sensitive and empathetic; selfless and kind. He rarely speaks about Woody and the day he died. He has buried that day beneath a mountain of rock. It’s as if Woody is on a permanent vacation. However, what can I expect? That day was too horrific. How can I expect him to deal with the emotions of watching his dad fall like a rag doll over 100 feet until his head smashed into a tree stump? How can I ask him to talk about the terror of holding his dad on the side of a mountain for over an hour watching him slowly die, with injuries too gruesome to adequately articulate? No, we will not bring up that day. It is better to deny its existence and deal with the loss.

I know Haden’s faith is what holds him together. He is so firmly rooted. Not once has he doubted God’s love or faithfulness. However, that doesn’t take away the pain. So, Haden swims and throws himself into a sport he has grown to love. Rather than striking out, he works on his strokes. In the pool he forgets and convinces himself that he is just like any other swimmer. There he has found physical relief for the emotional pain that haunts him daily.

And I watch and I wish desperately that Woody were here with me to see the young man Haden is becoming and the progress he has made. All the success in the world cannot replace an amazing dad, but perhaps it makes the grief more bearable.

Sixteen. I pray that God brings Haden healing and hope in this year of his life. I pray that I can be the mother he needs in order for him to grow into the man that God desires him to be. I know there will be many more tears, but perhaps this year there will be more laughter.