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 Prayer This Morning

My God…

You have taken me on a journey through the depths of hell. My heart has hurt with pain so intense that even now the memory of it takes my breath away. I have cried oceans of tears and have fallen flat on my face in deepest despair. My soul has been splintered and severed from all solace…And yet You were there. Somehow you found me in the trenches of sorrow under the refuse. You gently pried me free. Oh, how intensely I have known anguish! Yet, never have I known your love so intensely. Even now as I reminisce on the past three years, I plead with tears in my eyes that I never walk such a journey again. I am not sure I could survive the harrowing grief again. I do not know how I survived it in the first place, other than the fact You—and You alone—carried me through. You held my shattered heart and gradually brought me back to life. You gave me strength to breathe and taught me how to laugh and love again.

Thank you, God!

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

Is There an End?

“Is there an end to the sadness and grief?” As I read my friend’s text, I paused. I wasn’t sure if I could honestly answer. I am healed from the grief, that much is clear, but is it ongoing?

I pondered the question for quite some time. While doing so, my mind drifted back to the previous week. Haden had been distracted and moody. I was on him several times a day to stay on track and complete his school work. Tuesday it had come to a head. As he headed out the door for his piano lesson, I wondered out loud how prepared he would be since he had hardly practiced the previous week. On his way home, I discovered just how unprepared he was. He called me in tears. “Mom, I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Ms. Tomi was worried about me and didn’t even want me driving.”

“Why? What happened?”

“I just started crying,” he muttered through sobs. “I just miss daddy so much!” and then the floodgates opened.

“Haden, please, don’t do this now.” I was very concerned about my teenage son driving while tears blinded his eyes. “Pull yourself together and wait until you get to swim practice.” I listened as he gradually gained control over his emotions. “What triggered this?”

  

He was silent for a moment. “I just wish dad could see me swim. I didn’t even take swimming seriously when he was alive.” There was catch in his throat.  “I just wish he could see me now.”

How did I respond to that? He was justified in feeling cheated and wanting his dad to see the young man he has become. “Haden, Daddy was always proud of you no matter what. It wasn’t your ability to swim or play the piano or anything else that made him proud. It was your heart.”

Another pause. “I know, but I have no one. I just want a dad here to watch me and cheer for me. I know God’s my dad, but I can’t hear Him.”

We spoke a few more minutes until he reached the interstate. “I love you, Haden.”

“I love you, too.”

He reached swim practice safely and he made it through this week and even through this weekend and the swim meet he had so desperately wanted Woody to see. Today he stood in church and worshipped whole-heartedly as the band played his favorite worship song. One would never suspect the brokenness which had arrested him in anguish only five days earlier.

Perhaps grief is ongoing, even though we will heal and have healed. However, what death steals from those left behind is a perpetual loss. Maybe that is what gives grief its lasting power, although it becomes intermittent and less severe. Those left behind learn to bear the burden with God’s loving assistance, and eventually they learn to put it down. Possibly, that is the end to sadness and grief, when we completely relinquish our control to God. I really do not know, but I do know the losses my children will accumulate due to the death of their father will always be ongoing. To that there is no end.

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

From a Place of Deep Anguish

This post is from the book I am currently writing about Woody's death. So, why am I posting this particular excerpt? Because I believe American culture has a problem with grief. We expect people to hide it after a week or two and for everything to go back to normal. We do not embrace it and accept it as a normal part of life. Death is the only thing we all have in common, yet we pretend that somehow it's avoidable. Therefore, we feel very uncomfortable with the grieving process and the mourners are left feeling as if it is their responsibility to make those around them feel better and to ignore their own need to mourn. As a result, the grieving family members often hurt each other.

I want people to realize grief is ugly and messy and quite normal. I hope the incident I am sharing today helps someone realize that anger is a normal part of grief, especially when accompanied by trauma....

I had been struggling to connect with Haley all month. She often complained about how she felt around her friends. She believed they expected her to be the happy-go-lucky person she always was. So, while she was with them, she would put on a smile and feign happiness. As soon as she arrived home, the façade would fall away and I was unfortunate enough to bear the brunt of her anger. Her outbursts towards me became more vehement by the day.  Nothing I said or did was appropriate. I didn’t know how to parent her in the midst of my grief. We both were on edge, and I did not have the strength or patience to be the consoling mother she needed. While Hunter was home, she began to belittle and openly defy me. Hunter, being my self-appointed protector, jumped into the middle of our argument, which caused Haley’s rage to escalate. She locked herself in her bathroom and yelled out to me, “I wish you had died rather than Dad!” Her words struck me like a fist in the gut. My breath left me and the room began to spin. I knew she was speaking from a place of deep anguish, but it did not soften the impact of the words.

            Hunter and Haden both roared at Haley, condemning her for her words.
"It’s true!” was her furious response. “I wish Mom had died!”

“Shut up! You’re so stupid! How can you say that?” Hunter’s voice was full of shock and fury. He smashed his fist against the bathroom door. I heard a thud and crack. He had knocked a hole in one of the panels on the door.  

I immediately fell to my knees in tears. “Please, stop!” I weakly cried. “I can’t take this.” Hunter and Haden immediately came to me and feebly attempted to comfort my breaking heart. What was happening to us? The seams of our lives were quickly unraveling and I was clueless as to how they would ever be mended. “Please, God!” It was all I could pray. There were no other words. My thoughts were too jumbled and my heart was too damaged. I could not see an end to the anguish that permeated our lives. 

Kathy's Fall

On the day of Woody's celebration of life, his mother Kathy fell flat on her face. It was terribly traumatic. When we were able to get her to her feet, blood covered her face and her eyes were starting to swell shut. Woody's dad Rick took her to the ER to discover the extent of her injuries. Kathy's fall revealed how fragile we were. We had been hiding from the way in which Woody died, focused instead on the devastating loss. But when another freak accident touched our lives, we were instantly back on the mountain, holding Woody, frantically trying to prevent him or ourselves from sliding down any farther, knowing we were at risk of injury or death. Once again the agonizing groans, the blood gushing from his nose, mouth and head were unavoidable facts we had to acknowledge. When I went to bed that evening, my chest ached and I struggled to breathe. Every time I drifted off, I woke to quick breathing and the tightening in my chest. I was terrified. How would I ever live with the images of that day seared in my brain? How would I learn to reconcile the reality that had been dealt to us? I did not see how life could ever hold any hope, not with those memories. One would have to be eliminated—either hope or the haunting images that plagued my every waking and sleeping moment. When would I ever feel anything other than heartache? Again, I fell to my knees in uncontrollable sobs. “God, why? You could have stopped this and You didn’t. I don’t understand. How is this love? How is this Your best?” Every nerve ending felt as if it had been ignited. My heart was so broken and I could not see how it would ever be whole again. Still, as I cried out to God I felt His presence rest on me, as if He were holding me close, and I was consumed with indescribable warmth. I crawled back into bed. No, I could not see any way through the gloom. I could not see any path that led to happiness and light, but deeply buried in the recesses of my mind I knew that God would guide us through and somehow bring beauty from the ashes accumulating in our lives.

Now, I have hope and have learned to reconcile our experience on Mount Yonah with a world controlled by a benevolent God. It has been a journey which I am continuing to write about. Just know that no matter how hopeless life may seem, it will get better. There is always hope somewhere in the future. Sometimes it just takes a while to discover it.