Survival

I am surviving. I have been navigating through grief, learning much, and now have learned to move through grief daily. I think that learning is the hardest for me. Daily, I must choose whom to listen to, myself or God. Do I trust God and rely on him or not? Each morning, I ask myself these questions. Is today a trust day, or is today a grief day? Maybe they are both on the same day. I believe that's true more often than not. 

I have been doing better. I feel my emotions rise, and I can now self-talk them down—most of the time, anyway. I am trying new tools daily. I guess I am surviving as a navigator. I like the sound of that. It isn't as if I have conquered anything. That's for sure. And I wouldn't want to. I want to feel my emotions as they come, take them out, look at them, and then decide. Is now a good time to deal with them, or is now a good time to put them away for a bit? I have the privilege to do that. It is my right to grieve. And I will. 

As I moved through the 5 stages of grief, I have made myself embrace them fully. I accepted them all with open arms. I wanted to feel the pain, the anger, the denial. However, the depression and acceptance were the hardest for me.  I had to accept Jack's death, which I hated to do, and I had to work my way past the depression. It is still painful. The reality of the accident that took his life, the fact that my daughter's life will never be the same, and the reality that I will always be sad. As an optimist and a Christian--that is a hard pill to swallow. 

Also, I sometimes find it hard to reconcile my beliefs with my emotions. Knowledge and feelings collide inside of me. I feel unloved and yet loved by God at the same time. I have so many questions, and he has answered them to some extent. Jack is with God. Selfishly, though, I want him with his family. That's where my trust falters. The Bible tells me to trust God. I did. Jack is now gone. The equation isn't to my liking. Things just don't add up in my brain. Is it going to happen again? Do I now have to live in fear of losing another grandchild or one of my children? This is now my greatest fear. And--I live with it every single day. It is gut-wrenching. 

My daily regime is to pray constantly (I did that before, too) and go through the motions of everyday life: wake up, get ready, go places, and act normal. Wait until late at night and fall apart. Maybe that's the time I fall into God's arms. I ask him to help me get through this time of deep grieving. And, since I am surviving, he may be answering my prayers after all. 

I hope my blogging, concerning my walk through grief, helps someone else out there deal with their own grief. To pray, to let God heal, and to learn to trust again--that's what I am hoping for.  I don't know if I will ever be the same again. I don't know if I want to be. As I grow, I want to grow towards God, not away from him. I trying. I'm surviving. 

He's With Me

I intended to write a blog with a different name—one entitled “Not Yet.” It was all written in my head, every last word. I was looking for some free time but was too busy to sit down and pour my heart out on these pages. As the days went by, something took place. So, “Not Yet” is being put on the back burner for now, and I will share it with you some other time. However, something quite unbelievable happened to me, which is what I will write about.

Seven months have gone by now without my grandson Jack. I miss him every moment of every day. I think of him first thing when I wake up. I then have a horrible thought. Why did I have to wake up, why couldn’t I have just drifted off in death—that is how sad I have been. As I’ve said before, I didn’t just lose a grandson, I have lost my daughter. The one that was always cheerful, laughing, and full of life. Now, she is full of sadness, and it breaks my heart. So, as a mom and grandmother, I am suffering two deaths. And honestly wouldn’t have minded my own. It’s been that hard.

Yesterday was a tough morning for me. I woke up depressed, missing Jack, thinking about having to fake my way through another week of being out and about with friends. I’ve been going to lunches, dinners, book club, playing canasta, etc. I just recently started going back to church and our weekly Bible study. My heart wasn’t there, but my body was. I was going through the motions to make others happy. They don’t worry about you if you fake it until you make it. Right? As far as my friends knew—I was getting better. But, no—I wasn’t. In my heart it feels as though Jack died yesterday. That’s how fresh this pain is. If I shared that with friends though, they’d most likely think—she needs to get over it. She needs to move on. News break—I’ll never get over it. Ever. Well, until yesterday, when everything changed.

Whether you chose to believe me or not, I am going to share what happened to me. It sounds unbelievable. And, I can see how it would sound that way to someone who doesn't believe in God. But, it happened—to me—and it was so very real. I was sitting on the edge of my bed, crying my heart out, blowing my nose, trying to get myself together to leave the bedroom and meet the day with a smile. I have gotten good at that. Smile, act happy, look ok, put make up on, and go! I needed just a few more minutes—I wasn’t praying (I haven’t been doing much of that, I’ve been so angry with God), I was sitting and crying. And then I heard it. I heard God speak to me. Not loudly, and not too softly. Just in a matter of fact voice that penetrated my significantly hardened heart. Not an audible voice. He spoke to my head and heart simultaneously. I heard it as if it were audible though. It was that clear and that real. He said—He’s with me. And then, as though I could see a picture in my mind, I saw God with his arm around Jack's shoulder. They were facing away from me, looking out. Jack was not sad at all, he was very content to stand with his God and enjoy his new life. I knew then that he had no idea of us here on earth, not our grief or sadness, he was only aware of God. And he was happy and content. 

As I sat there in complete amazement, it dawned on me that I was no longer crying and filled with the most euphoric feeling I have ever had. I was happy for the first time in seven months. I know how this sounds. If you were sharing it with me, I’m not sure I’d believe you. 

It’s funny to me that the first thing I wanted to do was run to my computer and blog about it. I did not allow myself that indulgence though. I made myself wait for 24 hours. I wanted to see how long this happiness would last. Just how long would I continue to believe that God had shown me something that miraculous? Would I wake up this morning feeling stupid? Will I be sad again today?  Would I feel differently? So, I made myself wait. 

I am writing and sharing now and telling you how real that experience was, whether you believe me or not. My Jack is happy, and he’s with God. For that reason, I can now be glad, too. 

I don’t pretend to understand the way God works or why certain people live long lives, and some short lives. I don’t have answers. And while I wanted answers before, I don’t need them now. Jack is happy. 

I prayed this morning—I mean, really prayed. I thanked God for everything, and I felt happiness and gratitude. The anger was gone, and believe me, I was in shock. I have not felt that way in months, only sadness and anger. 

It’s gone now, though—especially the anger. I am aware that I might experience some sadness at times, and I am preparing myself for those times. I wonder how sad I can be when he’s with God.

I am looking forward to seeing Jack when God’s timing is right for me to go. Until then, I will serve God, pray, and be joyful again. I will let the excitement build in my heart for that time. Thank you, God, for Jack being with you and for being so happy. Thank you for showing me that and, in turn, making me happy. Thank you for loving me so much and healing my broken heart. And thank you for telling me—he’s with me.

Christmas 2024

This Christmas has been my worst Christmas. It isn’t that I didn’t enjoy my family—I did. I loved being with my children and grandchildren, cooking and baking, shopping for them, wrapping gifts, and everything else. Everything was pretty much picture-perfect. Everyone was there except for one: My grandson Jack was missing this year, which made all the difference. 

It’s interesting to me how the loss of one individual can impact a holiday. The void, however, is what does it—the absence of a loved one. He should have been there. He should have received gifts; he should have eaten the prime rib, the cookies, the fudge, and the leftovers, he should have. And yet, he wasn’t there. And that made all the difference. That is why this Christmas was my worst Christmas. 

My daughter, son-in-law, and granddaughter came on a Sunday evening and spent the week with us. Christmas fell on a Wednesday. Everything leading up to that day was torturous for me. Even Christmas Eve with the family all over felt hollow. We smiled, laughed, ate good food, and told stories. Then, when everyone went home, I cried big sobbing tears. I cried hard. I wanted Jack to be there. It felt odd. Everything felt surreal.

Christmas morning, I woke up crying. As hard as it was, I was determined to be brave for my daughter and granddaughter. I was not going to ruin their day. We watched Sophia open gifts from her parents, had coffee and breakfast, and waited for the rest of the gang to arrive. 

I made a prime rib for our afternoon dinner, and we opened gifts while it roasted in the oven. Gifts for us, gifts for them. We did have fun. Our little grandkids can make life pretty great. Afterward, I had one special gift for each grandchild before cleaning up and joining the dining room for dinner. I make a Christmas picture ornament with each grandchild with their cousin Jack. I told them that Jack would always be with us, that we would never forget him and always love him, and that he wouldn’t want us to be sad. Of course, everyone was crying, but I felt they were good tears, healing tears, and tears that acknowledged Jack. I guess I didn’t make going into the dining room very easy. However, we dried our tears and had our meal. However, that seat at the table was where Jack would have sat. Wow, that was hard to deal with; we did it. We dealt with it and made it through. 

After dinner, we went to our son’s house, played games, ate good food, and tried hard to have fun. I will be honest here, though: I had a tough time. I missed Jack so much. I just wanted him to be there. And, frankly, I was glad when the whole day was over. It was our first Christmas without him, which was horrible. 

We still had three more days with our daughter and her family, and I was determined to make them fun. We shopped often, stayed very busy, and tried hard to enjoy those last few days together. 

This will likely be the worst year for us all. We are facing monsters—all the firsts without Jack. However, we are surviving. And I believe we are doing precisely what Jack would want us to do—moving forward with a new normal, living our lives, remembering him, and trying. We are trying. It isn’t easy. So many tears. So much sadness. But we are trying. 

Our worst Christmas is over. We will move forward into a new year with happy memories, many photos, and much love for each other.