Colorado is in the midst of a record-breaking heat wave.
Our annual visitors must not have checked the weather reports. Although it's still July, a flock of Canadian geese has returned. A reminder that although we're enduring day after day of 90+ degree weather, cooler weather will arrive and provide relief.
I'm holding on that image. This week soul-crushing grief has returned, reducing me to tears and even worse, whining. I knew pain would return; I didn't expect it to be so intense. Well, it is. And I'm ashamed of the things I've been thinking and feeling. Not the grief, but the selfishness that comes with it. (Did any of you see the animated movie where one of the characters said "It's all about me"? Jolene had a T-shirt with that slogan on it. Yet another reminder. Well, that's how I'm feeling these days.)
But just as the geese remind me that the heat can't last forever, I know this pain will also pass.
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Encouraging Words
God ministered to me powerfully today.
This morning, I continued my study of the Lord's prayer (in the book Secrets of the Kingdom by Jennifer Kennedy). This morning's lesson focused on the phrase "Your kingdom come, Your will be done, on earth as it is in heaven." Kennedy connected the request with Jesus' prayer in the Garden of Gethsemane, and Paul's words in Romans 12 about God's "always good, perfect and pleasing will."
And I realized that while I don't believe God willed my daughter to die, I do believe that His will is "always good, perfect and pleasing" through the situation. I can--and do--trust Him to do what is good and perfect and best for me in all that is happening.
A second word came from a sister in Christ I have never met. Many people contacted me to encourage me, but one email comforted my heart so greatly that I asked the sender for permission to reprint it in my blog.
Here is what Connie Stevens said:
I have followed your posts since March, my heart aching for you. I, too, lost my child-my son, two and a half years ago. While I didn't experienced the same pain you did when your daughter committed suicide, the loss and grief aren't that much different when you've lost a child, regardless of how they died. (My son died of cancer).
I realize you are facing your birthday coming up in a few day, and not hers, but it's still one of those "special days" when the grief is a little sharper. My son's birthday was in June, and I posted a blog on my website, www.conniestevenswrites.com describing some of the pain and joy connected with such a milestone. The blog is entitled "Choosing A Birthday Gift".
Sometimes I get angry because people just don't understand. Grief makes people uncomfortable and they want you to "get over it" so they don't have to deal with it. But I finally realized that the only way they can understand is if they sit by their child's bedside and watch him take his last breath, or if they get the call from the police telling them the unthinkable has happened. If that is the only way they can understand, then I can forgive them for not understanding, and I pray they never understand. (italics mine)
But I understand, Darlene. The hurt won't ever go away-it just gets different. But the hurt is a testament to how much you loved her, and love her still.
Thank you, Connie, for sharing from your pain. Thank You, God, for lifting my heart out of the depths of despair.
This morning, I continued my study of the Lord's prayer (in the book Secrets of the Kingdom by Jennifer Kennedy). This morning's lesson focused on the phrase "Your kingdom come, Your will be done, on earth as it is in heaven." Kennedy connected the request with Jesus' prayer in the Garden of Gethsemane, and Paul's words in Romans 12 about God's "always good, perfect and pleasing will."
And I realized that while I don't believe God willed my daughter to die, I do believe that His will is "always good, perfect and pleasing" through the situation. I can--and do--trust Him to do what is good and perfect and best for me in all that is happening.
A second word came from a sister in Christ I have never met. Many people contacted me to encourage me, but one email comforted my heart so greatly that I asked the sender for permission to reprint it in my blog.
Here is what Connie Stevens said:
I have followed your posts since March, my heart aching for you. I, too, lost my child-my son, two and a half years ago. While I didn't experienced the same pain you did when your daughter committed suicide, the loss and grief aren't that much different when you've lost a child, regardless of how they died. (My son died of cancer).
I realize you are facing your birthday coming up in a few day, and not hers, but it's still one of those "special days" when the grief is a little sharper. My son's birthday was in June, and I posted a blog on my website, www.conniestevenswrites.com describing some of the pain and joy connected with such a milestone. The blog is entitled "Choosing A Birthday Gift".
Sometimes I get angry because people just don't understand. Grief makes people uncomfortable and they want you to "get over it" so they don't have to deal with it. But I finally realized that the only way they can understand is if they sit by their child's bedside and watch him take his last breath, or if they get the call from the police telling them the unthinkable has happened. If that is the only way they can understand, then I can forgive them for not understanding, and I pray they never understand. (italics mine)
But I understand, Darlene. The hurt won't ever go away-it just gets different. But the hurt is a testament to how much you loved her, and love her still.
Thank you, Connie, for sharing from your pain. Thank You, God, for lifting my heart out of the depths of despair.
Monday, July 28, 2008
Birthday Blues
This week, the blues are back. (I knew the sunny feeling that dominated most of July wouldn't last forever.) I'm cycling back through deep grief.
Sunday will be the first birthday in thirty years I've celebrated without my daughter.
I will be 54. Jolene was 23 when she died. Another reminder that time has frozen for her. Not 29 years younger than I am (she would have turned 25 next March), not 30 years younger than I am (she would be 24 now)--but 31 years. An additional year that will stretch longer as time goes by.
Jolene and I both had birthdays on the same day of the week. A small thing that made us feel connected in some strange way, now broken.
This family holiday will be the hardest we've faced yet.
Sunday will be the first birthday in thirty years I've celebrated without my daughter.
I will be 54. Jolene was 23 when she died. Another reminder that time has frozen for her. Not 29 years younger than I am (she would have turned 25 next March), not 30 years younger than I am (she would be 24 now)--but 31 years. An additional year that will stretch longer as time goes by.
Jolene and I both had birthdays on the same day of the week. A small thing that made us feel connected in some strange way, now broken.
This family holiday will be the hardest we've faced yet.
Sunday, July 27, 2008
Tonight's Tough
I've mentioned before that weekends are hard.
Friday and Saturday brought their share of good news, so I sailed through.
(Shameless self promotion): On Friday I received the contract for my next book, Paint Me a Puzzle, the third and final title in the Dressed for Death cozy mystery series. Yeah!
Then on Saturday, I finished the rough draft of Beacon of Love, a historical romance set during the "Great Gale of 1815" in Rhode Island. (They didn't call them hurricanes yet.) SUCH a relief.
But Mom did not feel well this morning; we arrived at Sunday school late and left before the worship service started. We are both missing the fellowship and the preaching of the Word. (Third week we've missed because Mom isn't doing well.)
And tonight, I am missing Jolene more than I have recently. Mom laid a pink doll blanket on the table. I held the soft cloth to my face and wanted to cry. Because, of course, it belonged to Jolene. It once wrapped a teensy baby doll that she laid in a equally small cradle. I want her back, I want her dressing her dolls, or saving them for her children, or even giving them away. I want more than something she once held.
I don't want her back. I wouldn't call her back from heaven. I want her never to have left.
Friday and Saturday brought their share of good news, so I sailed through.
(Shameless self promotion): On Friday I received the contract for my next book, Paint Me a Puzzle, the third and final title in the Dressed for Death cozy mystery series. Yeah!
Then on Saturday, I finished the rough draft of Beacon of Love, a historical romance set during the "Great Gale of 1815" in Rhode Island. (They didn't call them hurricanes yet.) SUCH a relief.
But Mom did not feel well this morning; we arrived at Sunday school late and left before the worship service started. We are both missing the fellowship and the preaching of the Word. (Third week we've missed because Mom isn't doing well.)
And tonight, I am missing Jolene more than I have recently. Mom laid a pink doll blanket on the table. I held the soft cloth to my face and wanted to cry. Because, of course, it belonged to Jolene. It once wrapped a teensy baby doll that she laid in a equally small cradle. I want her back, I want her dressing her dolls, or saving them for her children, or even giving them away. I want more than something she once held.
I don't want her back. I wouldn't call her back from heaven. I want her never to have left.
Thursday, July 24, 2008
Nicknames
Tonight I watched So You Think You Can Dance. Mom and I are big fans of the show.
If you watch the show, you know who Will is: a contemporary dancer trained under Debbie Allen. Tonight he was voted off (I still can’t believe it!) '
One night he wore a T-shirt with the logo "I Will" on it. It was one of those other unexpected reminders. Jolene's email address was "IWillRichard." She chose that name because if she had been a boy, she would have been named William Richard.
Jolene spoke from at least four different personalities. No, she didn't have multiple personality disorder, and she was always aware when she shifted her point of view. But it was disconcerting to hear her refer to herself in the third person. William Richard was one of those four personalities. A part of her desired the dominance and power often associated with masculinity.
I didn't understand the four personas. I told Jolene that as she healed, she would become one.
I miss you, Jolene, Jojo, Little Bit, and William Richard--and whatever is the new name God has given you in heaven.
If you watch the show, you know who Will is: a contemporary dancer trained under Debbie Allen. Tonight he was voted off (I still can’t believe it!) '
One night he wore a T-shirt with the logo "I Will" on it. It was one of those other unexpected reminders. Jolene's email address was "IWillRichard." She chose that name because if she had been a boy, she would have been named William Richard.
Jolene spoke from at least four different personalities. No, she didn't have multiple personality disorder, and she was always aware when she shifted her point of view. But it was disconcerting to hear her refer to herself in the third person. William Richard was one of those four personalities. A part of her desired the dominance and power often associated with masculinity.
I didn't understand the four personas. I told Jolene that as she healed, she would become one.
I miss you, Jolene, Jojo, Little Bit, and William Richard--and whatever is the new name God has given you in heaven.
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
Welcome Staci Stallings
Tonight it is my privilege to share the following article from Staci Stallings. It resonates with me--read and respond, if you wish.
WORDS
My best friend had ovarian cancer in high school. She battled for two years from the time she was 16 to the time she was 18 before finally being declared cancer free. Recently, we were watching TV together, and someone mentioned the word cancer. Since she was heavily into planning for the Relay for Life, a cancer fundraiser, that word stuck in my head.
Several nights later, I was at church, and the pastor made an off-handed comment about suicide. It wasn’t a direct thing, just something about how bleak our life would be without God. At that moment a new understanding dawned on me about the power of words, and in particular, our words.
You see, my older brother died last year at the age of 42. It wasn’t a car accident or cancer. He died by his own hand. Suicide. Ever since then, I’ve heard the word “suicide” very differently than I ever had before.
Not that it was not a scary word to me before. My younger sister had gone through several near suicide attempts when she was younger, but she had pulled through. So suicide has been in my life vocabulary for a long time but not the way it is now.
Now, when I hear that word or references to it, it jars me like no other word out there. In one second I can have a flood of memories and feelings come back to me—that morning when I got the call, the house when I got there, the family, him lying in the coffin (that one I still have immense difficulty processing), and on and on. All of these are accompanied by the what now’s? With three children, what will he miss? How are they doing? How can I help in a situation that’s not fixable?
All of these and more in one heartbeat.
The trouble is, I never know when this word is going to pop up with all the stuff it brings with it.
Thinking about this later, that’s when I remembered my friend, and I started wondering if the word “cancer” does to her what the word “suicide” does to me. When she hears it, do all those memories come flooding back? Does she question why it was her and why then? Does she wonder why she made it back into the land of the living and others have not?
I suspect she does though I haven’t gotten the courage up to ask her yet.
Then I began thinking about other words and what they do to people. Words like: divorce and depression and overdose and alcohol or drugs. Maybe you know what I’m talking about. Maybe you know words that aren’t even on this list. Words like: miscarriage or unemployment. Words like: bankruptcy or accident.
What I want to say to all of those silently grieving or hurting over these words is, please know that you are not alone. Don’t think that you are the only one who processes these words so very differently than everyone else. You’re not.
But also please remember that there are others among you, others you might not even realize who are doing the same thing with the words you speak. It is impossible to know all the details or even the situations involved, but please be aware that your words have power. And being sensitive to them is a step in the right direction for us all.
What words stop you in your tracks with memories you thought were gone or healed? Maybe if we talk about those words, we can all become more conscious of them and other words like healing and help and love can begin to take over. The conversation has to start somewhere.
Copyright Staci Stallings, 2008
Need words of healing, comfort, and encouragement, feel free to visit Staci Stallings, the author of “Words” at her publisher’s site http://www.spiritlightbooks.com or her personal site: http://www.stacistallings.com You’ll feel better for the experience!
WORDS
My best friend had ovarian cancer in high school. She battled for two years from the time she was 16 to the time she was 18 before finally being declared cancer free. Recently, we were watching TV together, and someone mentioned the word cancer. Since she was heavily into planning for the Relay for Life, a cancer fundraiser, that word stuck in my head.
Several nights later, I was at church, and the pastor made an off-handed comment about suicide. It wasn’t a direct thing, just something about how bleak our life would be without God. At that moment a new understanding dawned on me about the power of words, and in particular, our words.
You see, my older brother died last year at the age of 42. It wasn’t a car accident or cancer. He died by his own hand. Suicide. Ever since then, I’ve heard the word “suicide” very differently than I ever had before.
Not that it was not a scary word to me before. My younger sister had gone through several near suicide attempts when she was younger, but she had pulled through. So suicide has been in my life vocabulary for a long time but not the way it is now.
Now, when I hear that word or references to it, it jars me like no other word out there. In one second I can have a flood of memories and feelings come back to me—that morning when I got the call, the house when I got there, the family, him lying in the coffin (that one I still have immense difficulty processing), and on and on. All of these are accompanied by the what now’s? With three children, what will he miss? How are they doing? How can I help in a situation that’s not fixable?
All of these and more in one heartbeat.
The trouble is, I never know when this word is going to pop up with all the stuff it brings with it.
Thinking about this later, that’s when I remembered my friend, and I started wondering if the word “cancer” does to her what the word “suicide” does to me. When she hears it, do all those memories come flooding back? Does she question why it was her and why then? Does she wonder why she made it back into the land of the living and others have not?
I suspect she does though I haven’t gotten the courage up to ask her yet.
Then I began thinking about other words and what they do to people. Words like: divorce and depression and overdose and alcohol or drugs. Maybe you know what I’m talking about. Maybe you know words that aren’t even on this list. Words like: miscarriage or unemployment. Words like: bankruptcy or accident.
What I want to say to all of those silently grieving or hurting over these words is, please know that you are not alone. Don’t think that you are the only one who processes these words so very differently than everyone else. You’re not.
But also please remember that there are others among you, others you might not even realize who are doing the same thing with the words you speak. It is impossible to know all the details or even the situations involved, but please be aware that your words have power. And being sensitive to them is a step in the right direction for us all.
What words stop you in your tracks with memories you thought were gone or healed? Maybe if we talk about those words, we can all become more conscious of them and other words like healing and help and love can begin to take over. The conversation has to start somewhere.
Copyright Staci Stallings, 2008
Need words of healing, comfort, and encouragement, feel free to visit Staci Stallings, the author of “Words” at her publisher’s site http://www.spiritlightbooks.com or her personal site: http://www.stacistallings.com You’ll feel better for the experience!
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
Another Piece Lost
Somehow, a lack of communication has resulted in our losing another piece of Jolene.
I have debated about whether or not to write about this loss. It involves someone near and dear to us, who mistakenly did something that has hurt us deeply. I decided that I needed to. It's the most emotional, important thing that has happened in recent days.
Our kind, helpful neighbor moved Jolene's boxes from the storage unit to our apartment. We separated her things into four groups:
Keep: The boxes are stacked in our hallway.
Give away: Two resale stores picked up those items.
Throw away: In the dumpsters at the storage unit.
Store for Jaran, Jolene's brother, and John, her father. The problem involves this group.
Everything was clearly labeled except a large blue plastic bin for Jaran. We didn't need to. The only bin of its kind, he had claimed it and filled it with toys, books, videos, things that held special memories for him, others that he thought his girls might enjoy. The blue box belonged to him. Our neighbor took the things for John and Jaran into his apartment because, as he said, "You don't have space!"
On Saturday, we went to our neighbor to retrieve the extra boxes.
He'd given the large blue box away. We don't blame him. But his action stirred pain and loss into a frenzy again.
Intrinsic value, nonexistent. But Mom and I struggle with letting it go. For one thing, we hurt for Jaran. All the things he especially treasured--gone. Irretrievable.
But ultimately, we've lost another piece of Jolene. Remorse and new pain have diluted the good feelings I experienced all last week.
I have debated about whether or not to write about this loss. It involves someone near and dear to us, who mistakenly did something that has hurt us deeply. I decided that I needed to. It's the most emotional, important thing that has happened in recent days.
Our kind, helpful neighbor moved Jolene's boxes from the storage unit to our apartment. We separated her things into four groups:
Keep: The boxes are stacked in our hallway.
Give away: Two resale stores picked up those items.
Throw away: In the dumpsters at the storage unit.
Store for Jaran, Jolene's brother, and John, her father. The problem involves this group.
Everything was clearly labeled except a large blue plastic bin for Jaran. We didn't need to. The only bin of its kind, he had claimed it and filled it with toys, books, videos, things that held special memories for him, others that he thought his girls might enjoy. The blue box belonged to him. Our neighbor took the things for John and Jaran into his apartment because, as he said, "You don't have space!"
On Saturday, we went to our neighbor to retrieve the extra boxes.
He'd given the large blue box away. We don't blame him. But his action stirred pain and loss into a frenzy again.
Intrinsic value, nonexistent. But Mom and I struggle with letting it go. For one thing, we hurt for Jaran. All the things he especially treasured--gone. Irretrievable.
But ultimately, we've lost another piece of Jolene. Remorse and new pain have diluted the good feelings I experienced all last week.
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