Dancing With Grief Plus One Year

Jolene would have been 25 today. Maybe I’ll buy a cake in remembrance.

Like sitting shiva, another Jewish mourning custom that resonates with me is that of saying Kaddish. Not Kaddish itself...a prayer for the dead...but the length. A full year after death. Something about a year brings some closure, finality, a readiness to move on.

All day Friday people kept trying to jolly me along. I finally told one friend, “I want to wallow in grief today.”

Well, not really. What I did want was permission to remember, to cry, to grieve. Many days I push the tears away and focus on something else. But over the weekend, I wanted to hold Jolene and my loss close to my heart. At last, when it was time to get ready for work, I broke down. Sobs spilled out. Talia (my cat) kept wandering around my legs, echoing my cries with her own.

I met with a writers group on Friday night—a safe place where I could cry and be comforted. Instead I was caught up in passionate debate about the writer’s craft, and story. I’m doing the same thing tomorrow, when a group of friends from church will gather with me after work.

Yesterday our pastor preached about Job, “The Man Who Was Good for Nothing.” He addressed the question of why bad things happen to some people and not to others.

I told him I felt like he had consulted the calendar, noted the anniversary, and planned his sermon with me in mind. He hadn’t, of course. But the Holy Spirit had.

One of the points he made was that God rewarded Job after tragedy struck, and we could expect the same. It left me with a sense of anticipation, as had the words of one of the praise songs. I will leave everything behind, I will follow you for all of my life. I am leaving Denver and going to Oklahoma to begin a new chapter of my life. God has clearly led our steps. I don’t know what God has in mind, but I believe it will be good.

Jolene will always be part of me, but it is time to leave Kaddish behind.

Life Goes On

It's been a quiet week, and that's good. Quiet except for a 3:18 AM phone call on Tuesday from Jaran. Mom had fallen down and knocked her head open. CAT scan said there was no internal bleeding but ... I'm worried about her frequent falls. That makes four since Christmas.

I shared pictures of Jordan at choir last night. How cute! What a happy baby! I see her gorgeous smile and remember Jaran's happy baby pictures. (Unlike Jolene's always serious poses. Forget smiling. She wanted the toy the photographer was holding!) If Jordan is the same live wire, people person her father is, Jaran and Shelley are in for years of trying to keep up with her--and loving every minute of it. I can't wait to get back to Oklahoma to see her again. Seeing Jordan reminds me of my own precious babies. I ache to hold Jolene again, too, but that's not going to happen.

We are coming up on the one year anniversary and not a day passes that I don't think about her, about the loss. I may write about that several times over the next few blogs. God continues to bring opportunities to be with other people as the anniversary approaches. The only offer I've rejected is a night at the bar with people from work, to celebrate St. Patrick's Day. Somehow I don't think that would lift my spirits.

A reminder that I am speaking at Borders in Northglenn on Monday night.

Dancing with Grief Plus 11 Months

Has it truly been 11 months since Jolene's death? In some ways, it feels like yesterday. In others, it feels like years.

As much as I miss Jolene, will always miss her, her absence makes the decisions I face easier. I don't have to worry about her emotional wellbeing and mental stability if I move to Oklahoma. I'm not concerned about her falling apart as Mom's health worsens and she needs more of my attention. She's not jealous of my desire to spend time with my grandchild. The traumatic events of the past few months would have been extremely difficult for her to deal with.

Yet ... the pain is there, in short, brilliant bursts. On Jaran's mantlepiece stands a picture of him at 4 or 5, standing next to Jolene's crib. Both of them are laughing. Jaran had once told me he felt it was his job to make Jolene laugh, and that picture is one of my favorites. Oh, Jolene.

Or walking into a Mexican restaurant with Jaran's family. The smells and tastes revive memories of Friday nights at 3 Margaritas. Jolene loved Mexican food, but Mom's stomach can't tolerate it. Instant association, good memories.

Worst came when I shopped for a Valentine's Day card for Mom. My eyes drifted a few inches away and spotted "To My Daughter." Grief washed over me, and I almost walked out without buying the card for Mom. I stayed, but kept my eyes resolutely fixed on the cards for mothers. I didn't expect this holiday to bother me, but that single line did me in.

One month to go until we reach the one year anniversary. Part of preparing for the move will involve going through the boxes of Jolene's things, the ones we were unwilling to part with at first. Pray for strength.

Mom's Birthday

Mom celebrates her 77th birthday today. I doubt it will be one of her better days.

Why?

Well, she's in rehab--probably the first time she has not celebrated in her own home. Even if I make it in to work early, I won't get to Mom's place until at least supper time. A long, boring day.

She has outlived her mother--as well as her father, one sister and brother and all four grandparents. She is pushing the upper limit of two sisters who made it to 78. (The older she gets, the more scared I get.)

And another big one--her first birthday since Jolene's suicide--the last of the "firsts" (unless you count Valentine's day). Christmas was my last big one to work through, but I feel for the double pain Mom must be experiencing today.

And, oh yes, the 11-month anniversary of Jolene's suicide tomorrow. I won't talk about that today. Maybe Monday or maybe not.

At least, after today, we only have one more first. The one year anniversary, a month from now.

I don't even know if we'll be in the same city in March. Mom may be in Oklahoma. I am here at least until June, when my lease ends. She's excited about the possibility. I'm thankful for that; I wouldn't blame her for not wanting to move again after saying goodbye to her beloved Boothbay to join me in Colorado.

The Monday before the anniversary, I will be speaking at a local ACFW group. They encouraged me to come and "let us love on you." God has also arranged for a friend to come from out of town and another speaking engagement. He's putting together a month that is looking forward, not back. But more about that as the anniversary approaches.

Pray for both of us. For joy in the day. For celebration of another day, another year, we can enjoy together. This past year would have been impossible without Mom's presence and understanding.

The Gift of Time

Tonight I am speaking about God's Gift of Time to a writers' group at Mississippi Avenue Baptist Church.

A old saw says, "time heals all wounds." A suicide survivor said, "you never get over it." For me, the truth lies between those two statements.

Saturday marked the 10 month anniversary of the official date of Jolene's death. Mom and I visited all afternoon Saturday without even mentioning it, but we did discuss it yesterday.

Has time healed the wound? In a sense. I no longer have a bleeding, repulsive, infected gaping hole in my broken heart.

Have I gotten over it? Not really. It's true, the amputation has healed. But a scar has formed where Jolene used to be. I will carry that scar to heaven, where it will at last be healed.

Time. A gift for those of us who grieve. God says of the sun and the moon, "let them serve as signs to mark seasons and days and years" (Genesis 1:14.) God gave me the gift of 2008, and I am very thankful that He planned for the calendar page to turn to 2009. A new year, a new attitude.

Yesterday our pastor urged us to wait on the Lord when we have a mess. I have a number of messy problems. I expect many of you do too. 2009 promises to bring changes to the adult child/aging dynamic with my mother. But God gave me time, and expects me to wait for His answer.

Let me be faithful.

Dancing with Grief Plus Ten Months

The panic and overwhelming grief that has debilitated me every month the week or so prior to the 13th didn't happen. I woke up on the 13th, thought it's almost the anniversary--hey, it IS the anniversary!

Progress, or process, whatever you want to call it.

Mom said she didn't think of it either until someone at the rehab center asked her "What do you like to be called?"

"Gramma." And a few tears fell.

As I listened to the rest of Genesis on cd this week, I was struck by Jacob's attitude toward Joseph's presumed death. As we all know, Joseph was his father's favorite.

When Jacob first saw the bloodied robe, he refused the comfort of his sons and daughters. "I will go down to the grave to my son." (Genesis 37:35). I can understand his reaction at that time. His grief was so overpowering, so huge, that he couldn't move past his loss.

Five short chapters later, Joseph quizzed his 10 older brothers when they came to Egypt to buy grain. He insisted they bring Benjamin with them the next time they came to Egypt to avoid prison or worse.

Jacob's reaction? "Joseph is no more and ... now you want to take Benjamin. Everything is against me! [Joseph] is dead and [Benjamin] is the only one left. If harm comes to him on the journey you are taking, you will bring my gray head down to the grave in sorrow." (Genesis 42:36, 38)

At least 13 years later, Jacob still fixated on Joseph's death. No one else in his family mattered.

I don't want my mother--or my son--or my grandchildren--to feel like they come a poor second to Jolene. Of course grief will come and go, and I know in a sense I will carry Jolene's death with me to the grave.

It's time to focus on the future, not the past.

Regretting: Barbour has chosen to discontinue the Heartsong Presents: Mysteries! bookclub with the third cycle in 2009 (which includes my second mystery, A String of Murders). Good news: they will publish all books under contract, including Paint Me a Puzzle, but the timing and format has not been determined.

Rejoicing: I received contracts today for devotions to be included in A Cup of Comfort Devotional for Mothers and Daughters and A Cup of Comfort Women of the Bible Devotional. In fact, they accepted everything I sent in! I am doubly pleased. I submitted a couple of devotionals centered on surviving this first Christmas without Jolene; please pray for favor about those as well.

Dancing with Grief Plus Nine Months: The Holidays

Saturday marked nine months since the day Jolene took her life. My son called about four times--they brought Jordan home from the hospital, and he was full of updates like "she's had her first car ride" and "we're staying at Mimi's house."

After Mom reminded me of the date--the dreaded 13th--I asked him if he wanted to talk about it. He hesitated, and said "I've given myself permission to stop noting the anniversary."

I wish I could.

This past month I have ridden a roller coaster of grief and despair. My employer's retraction of the week of Christmas leave----when I intended to fly to Oklahoma and spend time with my new grandchild--has ripped open the scabs.

Can I put the feelings into words? I can but try.

We knew about the baby about a month after Jolene's death. Out of death, life; a tremendous gift from God at a time when my heart had broken in a thousand mirror pieces, every one reflecting grief. We made our Christmas plans. When that most dreaded of holidays (for this year) arrived, we would be safe in the arms of family with the rejoicing of new life to sustain us. For eight months, I have said, "At least at Christmas I will get to see the baby." And I could smile and look forward to the future.

Now that hope has been stolen from me. And in an odd sense, I feel as though I have lost Jolene all over again.

And Mom and I are left with the question--what are we going to do for Christmas? I will explore the answers more fully as the day approaches. My main point today is that our coping strategy has been thrown out the window.

I remember Jolene's generosity with every ring of a Salvation Army bell. I stay at home rather than go see the lights which we did every year as the simplest of Christmas traditions. Forget sugar cookies; I cannot bear the sight or smell without Jolene to help me decorate them. Christmas decorations remain in their boxes. How could I stand to touch the purple ball with "Jolene" in gold letters or the delicate ornament marked "baby's first Christmas 1984?"

Next year, I hope I'm brave enough to revisit those memories. But not now. We had intended to form new memories with Jaran's family to add to our memories of Jolene. Now we can't.

Through the time of year when we celebrate the birth of our Savior, I choose to praise God for Emmanuel, God with Us. Otherwise we have no hope.

Dancing with Grief Plus Seven Months

Jolene took her own life seven months ago today. I'm feeling some anger at Jolene for the manner of her death. How could she? Why did she?

I can't say that last month I had healed from Jolene's death. I have learned that I may never "heal." That the seemingly callous statement of a stranger shortly after Jolene's death is nothing but the stark truth: I will never "get over" it. It will never be okay. A scar will form, and life goes on, but I will always miss her. I flit in and out of denial, a sense of impossibility that I will never see my girl again.

But the past four weeks have shaken me to the core once again. My own scare with the angiogram and possible heart blockage was bad enough. But Mom's surgery, and the subsequent complications, reminded me that someday I will lose her as well. Take her away as well as Jolene, especially now, and I will collapse like a proverbial house of cards. That is a blackness I cannot contemplate.

God is good. As of this morning, Mom is doing much better. The doctor is even talking about releasing her from the hospital tomorrow; that may be delayed since she now has a bladder infection. Her kidneys still aren't functioning properly, but otherwise she is making progressing. Yesterday she took a few steps and sat up for five hours.

I told one of the nurses at the hospital about Jolene last night. I also told her about the granddaughter on the way. She told me she had her daughter shortly after her grandmother died, and we both agreed that God sometimes works that way.

When Jolene shared her testimony, she always mentioned how a church member went home to be with the Lord at the same time she received Christ. She always felt like she came in to take his place. I wonder if up in heaven Jolene is awaiting the birth of Baby Franklin (as I call her) with the same anticipation.

Oh, Jolene, Jaran's baby can never take your place.

Dancing with Grief Plus Six Months

Six months. 183 days. Half a year. However I look at it, six months is a long time.

Six months ago I learned that Jolene had committed suicide. 183 days lived, a minute, an hour at a time, sometimes with a light heart, more often with a heavy heart.

Today God gave me this scripture on our daily calendar: "He comforts us in all our troubles so that we can comfort others." He comforts us. Amen! Without the truth of those words, I could not have survived the past half year.

What has happened in six months' time?

Two seasons: The height of spring passed into summer, which is now waning to fall. No seeing Jolene delight in buying smaller clothes or laughing at the way she bundled up at the first hint of cooler weather.

The baseball season. This year the Rockies will not repeat their amazing World Series run of a year ago. I'm glad I got to share that with Jolene.

Four holidays, my birthday, Marius' birthday. No straining to watch fireworks at a safe distance, no homemade decorations for my birthday, no one to watch Disney or superhero movies with.

My granddaughter growing steadily in my daughter-in-law's womb.

The more time passes, the more I realize the permanence of my loss. As Mom says, she's not gone on an extended trip. She won't return.

Hardly a day goes by without my crying.

Dancing with Grief Plus Five Months

This past month I have felt extremes. Late in July, I had a week or two of almost giddy normality. The first week of August, before my birthday, I was pathologically depressed and anxious. That passed, but we learned about Mom's upcoming surgery, and the fears of losing another person dear to me resurfaced.

All in all, I'm moving on. We no longer spend the weekends half expecting Jolene to walk through the door. We have taken care of most of the details concerning her death. At times, I can say her name or mention her death without crying.

And yet ...

Grief tears through me with simple reminders. Last night, we ate at Chili's. Every time we go there, we can almost see Jolene climbing on the giant stone peppers at the entrance. But the real stinger came with dessert.

Colorado restaurants have introduced a new wrinkle to their menu--"mini molten lava cakes." Three of them. When I saw the platter, my first thought was "one apiece." I choked up. We joked that although there are three cakes, we would have argued over who ate which flavor. I still cried.

This morning, I was making sweet talk to our cat, saying "You're a beautiful girl, yes, you are." The memory surfaced how I would tell Jolene "You are my girl, you are my pearl, although you have no curls." Tears, again. Mom held me. "It still doesn't seem possible," she said.

I didn't realize how much I loved Jolene until I lost her. Oh, my girl. I miss you so.

Thoughts on Anniversaries

This morning I apologized to God.

I prayed along the lines of "God, I know You're eternal, and outside of time, so You may wonder why I focus on these anniversaries."

Then I realized how silly I was being. God created time and seasons, for one thing. For another, Jesus lived and died in real time. Yet again, God created ceremonies around time. New moon festivals. The Day of Atonement. Passover.

So God created us with a need to commemorate events. What a relief. He understands. He welcomes it.

Still we scream at the heavens. Mom ran across Jolene's obituary in her papers today. She emailed me, saying, "It can't be true. I don't want it to be true. Yet I know it is."

Still, I come to tonight in peace.

My daughter-in-law is almost halfway through her pregnancy. Now, there's a date I welcome in advance.

Dancing with Grief Plus Four Months

Well, almost.

Four months ago today I was knocking on the door to Jolene's apartment.

I didn't remember that this is "anniversary week" until this afternoon.

After one month--I was still very much in shock. On the one hand, numb, on the other, every feeling totally exposed.

After two months--I had survived the burial of Jolene's ashes and a difficult Mother's Day.

After three months--we had moved Jolene's things into our apartment and were struggling with the daily visual reminders.

After four months--I think of Jolene each and every day. She jumps into my mind, sharp and clear, memories of the good times we shared flooding me for brief periods. A word, phrase, sound, smell, prompt tears. But interspersed with those moments of intense grief are times of quiet joy. I am no longer seeking to survive for today, I am actually looking forward to tomorrow.

I wonder what another month will bring.

Almost Three Months

Jolene has been on my heart all weekend.

It started with Jaran's phone call on Friday. He was going to her grave to leave flowers. "Do you have anything you want to say?"

Mom spent the rest of the day in tears. It didn't hit me until I connected the date--the 13th--with Jolene's actual date of death. I was thinking about the 17th, the "official" date."

Three months. Three months. Has it really been that long?

Anyhow, I am aching, hurting, wanting to wake up and find out it's all a bad dream. It's like an amputation. I keep looking for the phantom limb which is no longer there.

Add to the anniversary our pastor's Father's Day sermon: characteristics of a perfect father, based on God our Father from John 3:16-18. He pointed out that God is good; how do we explain all that bad things that happen to us? That led to another point: God allows us to make our own choices. And choices, good and bad, that other people make, impact our lives.

Jolene's choice to end her life is a prime example of a bad choice that continues to rip through my heart.

We also cleaned out most of the storage unit this afternoon. The last of Jolene's physical possessions.

A hard weekend. I ache, body and soul. I can only affirm that in some way I do not see or comprehend, God will work our tragedy into some beautiful good.

Dancing With Grief Plus Two Months

A month ago, I was reliving the horror of the events of the days leading up to the discovery of Jolene’s body. I felt compelled to record the details before they faded from memory.

This month, I left Oklahoma on the 13th—the probable anniversary of Jolene’s actual death—and didn’t even think about it.

I’m not sure whether to be sad or glad. How could I forget so soon? How can I not be happy I’m moving forward?

In any case, today, the two month anniversary of Jolene’s official date of death, loomed large on the calendar. Mom pointed out that it’s another anniversary for her; five years ago she had a stroke the weekend of May 17-18. A double whammy.

I prayed for grace and strength during my quiet time. Then I opened my prayer list.

Next up: Jolene. Oh, God.

My thoughts today have centered around Jolene being frozen in time. She will always be twenty-three. We will grow older. We have already experienced two months that she didn’t witness with us. (Aside from whatever knowledge those in heaven have of our lives here.) She has not enjoyed the “prettiest spring in Colorado” Mom has ever seen. She does not know about her coming niece or nephew. I can’t tell her about my new book contract. She can’t plan her wedding with Marius.

If so much has happened in two months, what changes will a year bring? Five years? What changes would they have brought to Jolene?

She’s gone. But we’re not. And life has so much left to offer, a cornucopia of blessings and trials. Things I’ll experience without my daughter.

Good bye, dear girl. I wish I could have seen your mature beauty.