Kids and Grief

It’s mid-June already. June is half gone and still the journey of grief has not ended. If you would have told me when he died that I’d still have days when grief sapped my energy over 9 months later, I would have thought you didn’t know me. You would be underestimating the fact that am not a curl-up-and-stop-living kinda gal.

But then again, I’d never walked this kind of grief. And I’d never been responsible to help four fragile souls walk it too.

My kids are so unique. They have been since my pregnancies with each. Each one is a unique person created by a loving God to do amazing things. My favorite part of motherhood is watching who they are growing to be each day. Each one has their own personalities and experiences and hobbies. And so it makes sense that each one also has their own unique means of dealing with grief.

My heart has ached for them since that sad night when tragedy forever altered their universes and I had to tell them Daddy was gone. This was not something I could shield them from or make go away. This was not something I could fix. This is life and this is the journey God entrusted to them, as painful as is it.

As I’ve walked the past nine months as a widow, I have had to deal with my own waves of grief and struggles to deal in the day-to-day with the loss of my husband, my partner, my friend. I’ve also had to deal with their grief. I have had to become head of the home, spiritual leader, and grief counselor all rolled up inside this one exhausted mama.

The week he died little things that he liked could reduce me to tears. Seriously I burst into tears when someone held up a bottle of Famous Dave’s BBQ sauce to ask if the kids wanted it with dinner and all I could say was this was his favorite. Sobs poured out and I remember collapsing against Chelsea’s shoulder feeling lost, helpless, sad, and a touch embarrassed that BBQ sauce caused this reaction.

Now I can make the bed and smile remembering how he loved the smell of the blankets fresh off drying on the line. Now I can laugh with Lucy about a day when Daddy swung on a swing next to her. Now I can appreciate the irony that the exhaustion of dealing with all this has forced me to give in to naps. Kraig used to say I needed to appreciate naps more. I rarely can shut my mind down to nap. Kraig could fall asleep at the drop of a hat.

For the most part now, the things that sap my energy and reduce me to watching House Hunters International when I should be cleaning are when grief sneaks up on my kids. When grief sucker punches my son and he confesses to me something that has bothered him since the funeral because he didn’t understand it. When one of my daughters still doesn’t want to talk about it much and I wonder how long I wait between asking how she’s doing. When my tiniest princess comes upstairs at bedtime and tells me she misses Daddy’s snuggles, again. When my son with autism confesses to me his fear that it’s his fault that dad died because he prayed for God to take Dad’s pain away and I told him there’s no pain in heaven.

That last one stole my breath and made me reach deep for a Biblically-sound answer. Five years of Bible college, don’t fail me now. But more important than any theology class I took is the journey God has allowed me to walk with Him and the time I’ve spent praying that I would not screw this up with my kids. These things have shored up my foundation and reminded me of the security of my faith.

I took time to explain to Ryan that, no, it wasn’t his fault. God is not like a mean genie waiting to twist our words. I explained that God sees all of the world and time like a big picture that we can’t see because we are tiny parts of the picture. God knows what is best and loves us. I trust He had a reason for letting Daddy go to heaven and He will continue to take care of us. Ryan smiled through his tears and told me he believes me. He even told me I could put it in my blog because he had read one of my blogs and it helped him understand how I feel missing Dad.

These things make me lose sleep. These things hit me in the gut. These things make me understand why someone would enjoy a glass of wine to cope. I can’t stand the taste so I settle for popcorn. But most importantly, these things drive me to pray.

God knew the kind of journey this would set my kids on. He knew the wounds that would show up on their hearts after losing a Daddy who loved them. He knew how this will affect their lives and He still promises He has plans for them—plans to prosper and not harm them, plans to give them hope and a good future. He has promised He will use even this for their good. I trust that with every fiber of my being.

So I continue to work on a more disciplined devotional time in the morning over cups of tea. I will allow myself the occasional House Hunters marathon to recover from the whirlwind of dealing with four unique people I’m guiding through grief. I will allow myself the expense of some Smart Fit Popcorn from Sam’s club the next time I go. I will allow myself a nap every now and again because these things help me recharge for the next time one of them needs to be sad and ask questions from wounded hearts.

And I will give thanks that for the most part, life is moving on in their worlds. Jarod is making his clay figures for his big summer movie. Ryan is trying to find books to enjoy so he can keep his Landscaping class at high school next fall instead of additional reading. Kati is excitedly getting ready for Rainbow Bible Ranch for insane amounts of horse fun. Lucy is trying her best to read to me so she moves forward in her reading level—her idea, bless her. They laugh. We live life. We fall into the new rhythm of normal.

I will keep moving forward because I know God goes with me. And if He is with me, as hard as this is, I have nothing to fear.

Glorious Unfolding

As promised in my last blog entry (Lightening My Load), here is the blog that I almost didn't post. Praying it provides continued encouragement to others struggling to continue walking through grief.

I sit here tonight doing what I’ve done often since Kraig died. I’m listening to songs that remind me of truths I know at the core of my very being. Tonight it’s Nicole Nordeman’s version of Turn Your Eyes Upon Jesus and Steven Curtis Chapman with Glorious Unfolding. Since the day after Kraig died I’ve turned to music when I’m struggling. When I’m feeling lost I’m careful to choose ones with words solid in their declarations of God’s promises and beautiful in their poetry. I rock out to other stuff on the good days.

Tonight the thread of hope seems thinner somehow. My friend, Chelsea, today reminded me it’s OK that grief seemed to grip my heart for no reason. It snuck up on me this weekend mowing the lawn as I was hit by the vast number of dandelions populating my yard. Realization that Kraig took care of them each year dawned on me. As I started to wonder how I’d figure out what he used the sob rose in my chest as my heart protested, “But I don’t want to have to take care of this…this one more thing I must figure out.” I was glad the mower was loud and the kids couldn’t hear me sobbing as I hurried to finish the yard ahead of a storm.

Both Saturday and Sunday had some hard moments in the midst of really good stuff. I think that might be why I feel lost—nothing other than dandelions seemed to cause this. Maybe stress of trying to prepare to move played in there as well. That’s stressful under the best of circumstances. And the best of circumstances these are not.

Tonight as I struggled to make it to bedtime, I had to deal with not one but three kids coming up between 9:30 and 10. One sobbing as the reality that Dad would not be here to share in the fun we have planned this summer. One looking for the bathroom and not knowing why she was crying—probably because her brother was. One asking for prayer because scary thoughts were plaguing him as he tried to fall asleep.

“Oh weary mind, Oh troubled soul, all the broken pieces that you hold, turn them over, give them up, and then watch what Jesus does. Oh heavy heart, Oh heavy load, lay it down and let it go, leave your broken yesterday in the open arms of grace….” Nicole sings these words and I reach for them like a salve for a wound. Not once has my faith wavered but this journey is long and exhausting and just when I think I’m emerging from it, another wave crashes on my shore.

“You will walk on waves again, when you have set your gaze on him.” Promise, Nicole? Walking on the waves seems so beyond the possible right at this very moment. “So look up, look up, this is a song about the morning after a long night. So look up, look up, this is a song about believing it’s gonna be alright, when you turn your eyes upon Jesus….” I long for the morning after this long night. I’m tired, so very tired.

As my exhausted body begs for sleep I turn to another song, a newer song. I hope to be able to meet Mr. Chapman at this summer’s Hills Alive music festival when I work it. As a DJ sometimes I get to do that. I want to thank him for the first verse of his newest song, Glorious Unfolding.

Lay your head down tonight
Take a rest from the fight
Don’t try to figure it out
Just listen to what I’m whispering to your heart
‘Cause I know this is not
Anything like you thought
The story of your life was gonna be
And it feels like the end has started closing in on you
But it’s just not true
There’s so much of the story that’s still yet to unfold
And this is going to be a glorious unfolding
Just you wait and see and you will be amazed
You’ve just got to believe the story is so far from over
So hold on to every promise God has made to us
And watch this glorious unfolding

Those words speak to my heart with clarity. I need to lay my head down tonight trusting that God is unfolding something beyond what I could ask or even imagine. How do people without Jesus cope with loss? I cannot fathom the despair that must be magnified without an anchor in the promises that I am not alone and I am not directionless. “Let us remember, this life we’re living is just the beginning of the beginning…” The eternal perspective Steven sings about is truth, is life, is hope.

So tonight I will finish writing and head to bed, trusting once more that tomorrow God will help me care for my kids and direct my paths because I trust Him. He has never failed me and He won’t start now. He will bring the joy and help these wounds continue to heal. He will continue to send me friends and family to offer support and help. He will continue to direct my path because I have asked Him to. Where He leads, I will follow no matter where that path leads.

One day I will look back and see the gloriously unfolding story He walked me through because I kept my eyes on Jesus. For tonight all I need to do is trust Him and get some sleep.

Remember to Breathe

Standing in a half inch of water, stretched across the bathroom holding up the bobber in the back of the toilet to stem the rising flood, and sobbing is NOT how I planned to start my day. Though I’m sure you’ll agree that probably woke me up far better than a cup of tea, it just was not what I was expecting. Seriously though, in retrospect, I really did look like I was trapped in a bizarre game of Twister.

My 15-year-old son had discovered the toilet clogged the night before and had decided he would need to know how to fix that someday so why not now? He’d plunged it and thought it was fixed. I was relieved. Yesterday was a bad day for grief. I was spent so I just took his word for it. In the morning, when he saw it wasn’t quite fixed, he tried again, not wanting to bug me. Only this time the plunger didn’t work. It took him a moment to realize it wasn’t stopping—he needed my help.

By the time I got there, the floor had a good half inch of water. I stepped in with my slippers on and did the only thing I could think of—take the back off the toilet and hold up the floater-thingy so it would stop running. Now what? It’s the answer to that question that started the sobs. Kraig would know, I thought. But Kraig’s not here, came the reply. You need to fix this.

In that moment this was not an overflowing toilet. This was grief personified. This was all that I was missing, all that I had lost. I realized that later in the day as I started to feel ashamed that I’d completely lost it this morning. I was unable to figure out what to do. I know it’s nothing to be ashamed of but still the feeling lingered.

Thankfully my sister, Bethany, knew to tell me to turn off the water under the toilet. Thankfully the man who gives my son a ride told me which plumber to call. Thankfully the plumber who came was a worship leader at a local church, pastored by a lady who works at my radio station. Thankfully, it was a simple fix and when he found out who my husband had been, he offered to shovel the snow on my walk, just to be nice. Thankfully God intervened through people.

That’s a bunch of “thankfully.”

I felt so bad that my tears had stressed my oldest son. But again, I was thankful he helped feed his little sister and that the kids all got ready for school with minimal help from me. I am not a quitter. I am not a weak woman. But when those questions clouded my head, I was helpless for a moment.

I pulled myself together and got the kids off to school. I got the towels and clothing off the floor, soaked in water, and tossed them in the laundry. I brewed another cup of tea waiting for the plumber. And once he was done, I called the high school to see if they’d get a note to Jarod that all was fine. I didn’t want him to be stressed. The secretary sounded like she thought I was nuts. He never got the note.

I’m also thankful today is the day I scheduled to use my massage gift certificate. After all that emotion and stress, I needed it. It was good to relax and focus on the moment. Afterwards Bethany even called with some solid advice—make a how-to book to have on hand so that if an emergency arises, we know the plan. This our new reality. We need a plan to handle whatever may come. Wise words. Good idea.

I can do this. I know that. I have been doing this for the last seven months. I will continue to figure this out and I’m sure I’ll have other days when it all seems impossible…but it’s not. God did not abandon me here. He provides what I need when I need it. I just need to remember in the midst of chaos compounded by grief to take (my other sister) Alisha’s advice: breathe. Take a breath and figure it out. 

Now to go put the bathroom back together.