What Could Have Been

  Oh the heavy heart of a mother who was already pretty sure she was messing her children up before the storm really ever ensued-- now what? Sibling rivalry within these four walls was something at one time I had prayed would "just stop!"  And now, I'd give anything in this life to hear it, between all three of my children--even just one more time.  For quite some time Joel had no one to contend with, and when his baby sister Alyssa made her debut, sibling love was forever set into motion. Her presence was soft and light throughout her infancy and most of her toddler years. I believe the only thing that may have bothered Joel is when she was napping. This meant no bouncing the basketball in the driveway of our humble abode, and no friends inside until she awoke from dreamland. As she turned five years old, he was turning fourteen... may I call it terrible fourteen?  This was when the yelling started, "Alyssa won't get out of my room!', or "What the Heck!  Alyssa ate all of my skittles!".  Alyssa's main complaint was "Joel won't let me in his room!"  followed by alligator tears and an incapability to understand that a teenage boy needs his space.  There were many times I had to use my mommy right to put myself into time-out!  Jace, our youngest son was born that year and by this time the rivalry was at it's peak because now there was a new sibling who needed mom 24/7, and I was less able to readily diffuse the quarrels of "who drank the last of the chocolate milk?!" And, "It's my turn to play X-box!" (tears were usually involved).  All in one moment you just might have been able to find me listening to the monitor, reading Joel's grades on the school website to be sure he handed in all assignments that week, and motioning a barbie in one hand as Alyssa had instructed.  This was me braving motherhood,  embracing the beautiful mess and hoping I wasn't messing up too bad along the way.

  Losing Joel in an accident was life changing, spirit crushing.  It was the most devastating time of my life; did I mess up?  What didn't I do?  What could I have done differently?  If only I had...(insert solution) , I've thought of it all.   There were so many things I was convinced I could go back and do, altering the past, changing the outcome.  I'm so thankful that God gave me such grace and endless mercy at a time when I could have continued to blame myself.  He surely is the river of life, sustaining us through all of life.  Over this past one year, seven months and six days, I have not only hurt for myself and for my husband. I have cried out to God in pain and agony over the loss my surviving children are also facing every day. I feel so inadequate in providing them comfort, so helpless and scared. My sweet daughter has so many questions, all I can say is that we face them head on together with God in our broken hearts. Many times as I listen to her I am simultaneously talking with God in silent prayer...proclaiming my need for His help. The toughest for me was when she asked me recently, "momma, how was Joel turned into ashes?" I sat there -- fighting back and swallowing the tears. Trying to table my own grief and be available to her is such a difficult but necessary practice.  I turned to her beautifully innocent soul and asked if she wanted to really know, because that is something I, at 9 years young don't believe I could have handled. But not my girl, she's so brave- my sage spirited and strong princess.  She told me she was ready and we had a talk about it...cremation.  I could literally feel my stomach turn, my lower lip quivered as each word required a deep breath behind it for deliverance.  Alyssa reached over and placed her tiny soft hand over mine to comfort ME!?  Aren't I suppose to be doing that for her?  Aren't I the one who ought to muster up some strength and show her my brave?  Perhaps not... after all, God uses our weakness in times that we feel we should be strong or suppress our all too real emotions.  "My Grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness." 2 Corinthians 12:9  I so long in my heart to be having a different conversation with her, any conversation really, just not the one where her brother didn't make it.  Alyssa took what we had talked about and put it somewhere in that beautiful heart of hers...able to smile and move from the conversation with such grace and understanding. 

  Jace's first question was at Joel's funeral. We approached Joel's casket; Jace in my dad's arms as mine were completely stripped of any strength. Jace asked in his two year old voice: "Why's 'Jo' sleepin"...  How could I answer that other than with tears!  WHY was this really happening?  I was so angry alongside of my sadness as I thought of having to explain death to my two year old, and his own brother at that.  I couldn't even piece together how I would tell Joel's bubba that he wouldn't see his 'Jo' again here on earth.  I could hardly explain that to myself or accept it, let alone my little ones.  Over time, Jace has had quite the questions and beliefs.  At very first he understood it that Joel was "at Kevin's", which is what he interpreted when we would tell him Joel was 'in Heaven'.  Boy did I wish he was at someone named Kevin's house... He has shared that Joel is a "silver football player in Heaven", and " I saw Joel playing football with Jesus in the grass."  He has said to us a few times,"my brother crashed into a tree and died".  What a painful truth and even worse that his little bubba is growing up without his big brother because of that tragedy. And I am always making sure to remind Jace of just how very much his big brother loved and adored him.

  I hold onto the hope of Heaven.  I rely on God's promises daily, in each moment and even by the second.  I ask in prayer that our Great God would continue to guide me as a mom, that He would give me the answers when faced with the tough questions this sharp reality brings.  Since I can't take their pain away, I focus on letting my pain and weakness shine God's brilliant light.  I don't suppress my emotions because I want them to know that it's okay to not be okay~ that God will carry us for thousands of miles never once forsaking us or leaving us alone in our hurt.  Feeling is healing and in our home we feel together.  We share the questions that most are afraid to ask or even entertain.  We hold tight to each other, healthily realizing that we won't ever know all the answers but we do know the Who.  When I am overwhelmed as a mom and feel like I am messing up my kids, or that somehow I could have prevented the world of hurt we are in as a family, God reminds me of sweet Jesus.  The man who walked this earth Who can relate to my feelings of being overwhelmed and desperate...even to the point of death!  He was human and He is God, I can give this cup to Him, he encourages me in His Word to do so.  I can find comfort in Him as I cry oceans of tears over what could have been. I surrender and walk in His light.  He calls me to be brave, and of great courage.  Might I face each day with reckless abandon in my Faith, my LIFE SAVING FAITH.  I choose to breathe the breath of Heaven, the blessed assurance of a world with no more pain <3  

X's and O's to heaven they go <3 xoxo <3  

Amid the Noise...

Each night before I lie down to sleep I set my alarm for 7:01 am.  I do this because yes, I love sleep even one whole extra minute...  But a lot of times, I just wan't to stay there.  It's there that I feel safe.  It is as though nothing can be done or undone so long as I keep my feet off of the floor.  Could it be that my call to be brave is to get out of bed?  I suppose it is, perhaps being brave is more of a choice than I once understood.   

I left our home one evening, X-box turned up, my daughter reading aloud, my husband on a work call, and the television blaring.  I was heading across town to pick up dinner, by myself, excited for just a moment of calm--silence.  I ran into the restaurant and grabbed our dinner, got back in the car and again...silence.  Any mom can appreciate this word and all that it entails!  As I back out of my parking spot I stopped and became overwhelmed at what I was facing.  Right in front of me was the Orthodontic office where Joel and I had spent many afternoons after school.  Quite a few of those appointments were because of his love for skittles and bubble gum...brackets=0, candy=1.  For some reason the office was lit up this night, I could see the cappuccino machine, and the game room.  Tears began to fall from mine eyes as I could still see Joel pouring his 3rd cup of hot chocolate.  It became harder to breathe as I remembered him using the "magic wand" to relieve some of his pain from how fast his teeth were moving, he laughed the entire time, looking at me, shaking his head at my returned laughter and teasing.  My eyes closed and I remembered the treasure of him walking out of his last appointment.  He got in the car and with a very serious look on his face he said " I have to wait another 4 weeks to have them off".  For the first time he had fooled me!  I looked at him and said I was so sorry and to hang in there...he then burst into laughter and smiled that oh so handsome smile of his <3  That boy...That amazing son that I shared something beyond this world with... His request for two double cheeseburgers plain was made known, and we were off.  

There I sat, alone, sobbing in the parking lot.  If I would have cracked my window the noise of the world would surely pour in.  This noise of people living, rushing, conversing, seeking the next moment and what it holds.  Not only does my faith in God set me apart, but this loss too... I feel as though I am on an island most days.  A quiet island where the only noise is that of my reality.  The absence of our son is louder than any "noise" I've ever heard or even felt.  I pull myself together and drive home.  Warm food on my passenger seat, and the silence of my broken heart enveloping me.

Everything we do has an echo of our Joel, missing the way we once knew life to be.  Some people might assume that we're better now, or that we've got it figured out in some way--and I need to pray for them.  I need to ask God that He would give them a better understanding of just how life long this pain truly is.  I would never ask that they know this feeling of despair, but that they would just respect it's presence and how very real it is.  That the people we once were, has forever changed.  Change isn't always comfortable, and it can actually be such a great blessing in disguise.  My faith in God has changed in measure--I seek His face more and more, and recognize His strength in my frailty and weakness.  More importantly, others can see How strong our God is, through anything good they might see in me.  He shows me that there is still so much beauty ahead of me and that the ashes are a reminder of His resurrection and our Salvation.  So amid the noise, I am thankful for the silent moments...the silence that surrenders my pain and allows a space-- precious time for me to remember the many treasured moments I have spent with our son--memories that bring tears of both sadness and profound joy <3  Through it all, God is so good <3

Who could counsel this?

The time came about 6 months after our son Joel had died that I would find myself on the desperate edge of needing help.  In my mind and heart, I truly did not believe that any human could ever reallllly "counsel" me through this great loss.  I wondered if they could really tell me something about my pain that I didn't already know, and know much more deeply than they.  After some thought, and some prayer I decided that I truly stood to lose nothing, By the grace of God my mother in law, Joel's grandma, gathered some information about a local counselor for me to see.  She was in town from Seattle and could see that things at our home were so very different than they had ever been.  I spent most of my time on the couch, sleeping, crying, and with a genuine dis-interest in participating in life.  In hindsight I can see myself burrowing my head into grief's heavy cloak.  Two weeks of her stay had come to an end and we were on our way to the airport to drop her off.  I never want her to leave when she visits, but now I especially don't.  There is something so comforting about being surrounded by family that truly understand and accept your pain.  Not only do they understand and accept it, they see it for what it is, raw, painful and something that they can't fix.  Though given the opportunity to "fix" this I am sure anyone would.  When I arrived home that day from the airport, there was a list waiting for me on a desk that I once ran and organized our lives from.  As I sat down in a chair that I had avoided for many months, before me was the very first list I had looked at since our son went home to heaven.  The separation of time for me is black and white, before and after...divided by these words from the coroner ; "Your son didn't make it."  As my mind went back to that one sided conversation I stared blankly at the list before me...Number one: call this counselor, at this number, and here is the address.  I started sobbing.  Thoughts were racing through my head, "she saw what a mess I am ... She's so selfless....she did this research for me?! Does she think I am a bad mom? Noooo, I just don't know what to say! Does this mean I am going to get help?"....
I wiped the tears from my eyes and continued to number 2 and then 3 and so on. This list was comprised of love in it's purest form. My mother in law paid the kind of attention to me that God knew I needed.  I wasn't a bad mom, in fact my surviving children were loved, fed and bathed...back to basics so to speak.  But she knew the kind of mom I was before our tragedy.  She knew that the "old" me had so much more to give and that there was a fight in me... somewhere, I had just lost sight of that mom and woman amid the pain among us. So here began the motions of my heart and soul, to take hold of what Jesus died for me to have.  I picked up the phone and dialed the counselors number.  Each ring seemed to grow louder and louder in my ears...she answered.  I thought for a brief moment that I would just hang up and find another way.  Did my attempt at counseling propose that I didn't know Who my true counselor was?  Was I stepping out side of my faith for answers?  I answered back, with broken breaths, "my son died and I need help".                             

The phone call that I was terrified to make was somehow making Joel's death more real.  I was hyperventilating as I agreed to meet with her in an immediate opening that afternoon.   I was feeling divided, like part of me wanted to face my grief head on and the other half, by ignoring it, would somehow disprove my reality.  I showed up.  I showed up in my mess and in my weary walk, but I was present.  Most of what I had to say was filled with pauses for sobbing, but I was working through it, and she was listening...hearing me, allowing me to be this blubbering mess, I so needed to be.  For the first time in 6 months, I finished crying and actually felt like I was done crying for the day.  Every day preceding this counseling session, I often wondered when would I be able to stop crying , even if for a few hours! There was also a time where I tried to count the days between cries, almost like a challenge between my mind and heart.  I scheduled another session before I left, and I was on my way.  Heading home in my car that night I prayed.  I thanked God for using my loved ones around me to deliver me from the all consuming grief that laid atop me.  I thanked Him for the unbiased counselors of our time, who could offer the practical applications we need in our humanness. And then I praised Him.  I praised God for being my All Mighty Counselor.  His job is so infinite, and His love is so paternal. I felt cared for, I felt hope enter into my heart and take root.  I felt like my tears had been wiped away by the King who knows my pain and that the real healing would now commence.  I was able , in prayer, to realize that I had lost sight of some very powerful truths.  That I am a daughter of a Mighty King.  That He promises to wipe away all of my tears. And that He will take what is broken and make it whole again.  God's promises...the poetry that is woven into the very fabric of our lives.  This fabric, this cloak, is what I would much rather burrow my head and heart into. As I have said before, we have a choice.  We are given this free gift of salvation and redemption by God, or we can unknowingly remain under the spirit of grief .  Surely the enemy can have his way with our lives if we choose grief and lonliness.  "The thief comes only to steal, kill and destroy: I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full." John 10:10.   Jesus tells us to take heart!  The exclamation pointing to the victory we can have through Christ!   "And he will be called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace."  ~ Isaiah 9:6 <3  You all have my heart and prayers <3 Love, Sarah    

                                                                                                 

Walk with me...

 

I write this with a heavy yet hopeful heart <3  I don't need to even know your very names to tell you already, how truly sorry I am for your loss'.  Among the many messages that have been delivered to you by way of others in your own communities, I am sure you have hear about "The Club".  It was one of the first messages I received after losing our son Joel at the all too young age of 16.  In an envelope from my sweet aunt, there was a message for me...One I am sure she wishes I would never had needed to hear.  That I am in this club now.  A club who's membership rates are too costly, and that I cannot un~join.  That we aren't accepting new members and so on.  I wrestled with the "why's", I screamed and kicked like a child more often than not.  I wanted to tear this club down to its very foundation and dismantle it brick by brick, as though it could change my painful reality.  Months of the hard work of grieving passed by.  "New normal" conversations resounded within our four walls, and tears spoke so very loudly for us as a family in great desperation. So desperate for the way things were BEFORE, and desperate to know what was to come in the AFTER.  I couldn't see outside of the very moment I was in for what seemed like forever.  My eyes had adapted to the permanent wall of tears that welled all hours of every day, perhaps this was my spirits protection from watching others lives just carry on as usual after things had "settled" around us.  What did settled mean anymore?  In fact, I felt as though all I was doing was settling.  Settling for the sharp and overwhelming fact that this indeed WAS our reality and that Joel was never going to come home.  This was certainly a time in my life when I needed to hear that I wasn't crazy or losing my mind because there were days that I truly did believe Joel would come walking through our front door.  That by a huge stretch of the imagination, this was all just a nightmare and I would soon wake up. Acceptance.  Never before did I ever ignore a word so much.  Accepting would mean living forward, letting go of this pain piece by piece along the way.  I had this fear that I would forget to miss him.  That all the love, and tears and prayers I had poured into Joel as I raised him wouldn't count for anything.  I have never been so glad to be so wrong.  It has been one year, eight months and 11 long days without my boy.  I have reached the seemingly impossible point where I can smile at our memories together...it's not to say that there aren't tears because there are many.  I haven't forgotten a thing, and I thank God for enabling me to still hear his laughter.  I thank God for giving me the gift of memory <3  These memories I consider the treasures of my very heart.

  "Not many people would ever intentionally stick their hand into a fire, but that's what we have to do, in order to begin to heal   '.  ~ A dear friend of mine who is also an angel mom said this to me while sharing our stories with one another. Those words are so profound, so heavy with meaning, so laced with  purpose.  We have a choice to make.  Every day is so different now, and I find it so important to take a day off from week to week.  Not a day off from work, but a day off from doing anything other than grieving.  I encourage you to make this choice <3   On my day off, I awake and let the flood gates open up.  All the suppressed tears, longings for my son, and the ugly cries must be let out.  I have to feel that pain so that I can table my grief at other times in order to be available to my other two beautiful children.  I also need to create space for my husband and children to come to me with their pain...oh this delicate balance.  There are rainbow days and not so rainbow days.  There are days where all four of us are in the valley and the lights go out...But God.  In all of His Glory He illuminates any darkness that exists.  To be held by God during a time that would otherwise steal your breath, never to return it, well that my dear loved ones is His Grace.  I have never read the poem footprints through tears of such grief and despair, and oh how those words saturate the page much differently at this time in my life.  I only see one set of footprints, and it is at Jesus' feet that I lay all of this.. I lay my brokenness down for Him to make whole, I know that only He can.  I cast my anxieties of losing our other children in the very palm of His hand because that fear alone might very well crush me.  I look to His promises each morning, and am a witness to His redemptive provision over my life.  "I will turn their mourning into gladness; I will give them comfort and joy instead of sorrow."  Jeremiah 31:13  God can do this for all of us, There is no place we can fall where our Great God won't catch us, and give us beauty from the ashes <3
  Love, Sarah