Stay or Move?

After experiencing intense grief, there often develops painful associations with the places and things that remind us of our loss.

The hospital we once drove by without a moment's thought is now avoided because it holds the memory of the death or illness of a loved one. The office where we once worked now only serves as a reminder of being fired or laid-off. A favorite restaurant where we dined with a spouse or partner triggers a panic attack after the relationship ends or a spouse dies.

The list goes on and on.

After my 18-year-old son died, it became almost unbearable for me to go to church--despite a deep love for God and an ever-increasing faith. Every Sunday, we sat together as a family in the same general area--the front, left section of the congregation.

We tried sitting in a different place, but I found myself staring at the area where we used to sit with an overwhelming sadness inside. We tried attending the 11:00 a.m. service held in the main sanctuary but realized, as soon as the music began, it wouldn't work either. That was where Jacob's memorial service had taken place.

Tremendous pain was associated with what was once a joyful place. I didn't want to be there anymore. I wanted to be in church, but not the old, familiar buildings and rooms.

Two years after Jacob's death, my husband and I decided to attend a new church. In the end, the pain won out.

For my husband, our renovated 1950's brick ranch, located a short bike ride from the beach, became a place of painful association. Years of memories--celebrating holiday dinners, decorating for Christmas, planting bushes that were Mother's Day presents, tossing tennis balls for our golden retriever--turned the house and yard he once loved into harbingers of pain.



He wanted to move, frequently saying, "The same old life without Jacob in it isn't going to work. I need change!"

I couldn't leave.

I loved going into Jacob's bedroom to look at his beloved collection of model sports cars, page through his Bible or touch his clothes left hanging in his closet and tucked neatly into his dresser drawers. I would even lie down on his bed and cry out to God, asking "Why?" Time and time again, God comforted me there. It was my refuge and that was reason enough to stay.

My husband let up briefly when our daughter also put up a fight about moving. He also sank deeper into depression, rarely smiling or interacting with us. When he came home from work, he'd go to the couch, turn on the television and stare blankly at the screen.

I knew we were in trouble.

He asked Raleigh and me to consider other major decisions he had made for our family, pointing out that they had served our family well in the past. He hoped we would reconsider, based on his record, and trust him on this one.

The next time my husband was out of town, Raleigh and I had a long discussion about the health of our family. Together, we came to the conclusion that having a husband and father who was at peace was more important than having a house the held precious memories. Life had already changed so much. Losing the house we loved was nothing compared to the thought of losing the man we so dearly loved.

Two-and-a-half years after Jacob died, we moved. In the end, the pain won out. Again.

But that's not the whole story.

Although I fell to my knees crying in Jacob's room the day we moved, I was astounded by the peace and joy I felt in our new home.



The real test, however, was our daughter. The kicking and screaming she promised she'd do if we ever moved never happened. Instead, she confessed to also having peace with the move. She still missed our house, but no longer hated the new one. I discovered I was able to create a new place for my life and that our old house, without Jacob in it, just didn't work anymore.

My husband's wisdom served our family well.

Running from pain is not healthy, but refusing to inflict unnecessary pain upon ourselves is--even if it means choosing a different route, restaurant or residence. Personal experience and observation have shown me it's good to create boundaries which may limit the pain of grief. Building walls to block out pain only slows our progress in healing.

We each make choices whether to stay where we are or move to a new place in the aftermath of grief. Those choices might involve compromise. And they require time.

Lots of time.

Having A "Jacob's Limp"

When I am looking for advice or counsel on some matter, I go to a person or people who have experience regarding that matter. If I have questions about my computer, I ask someone who is computer savvy, not my mother, who still doesn't have internet access in her home. But if I have a question about cooking or mothering, I call my mother, not my computer savvy friend. You get the point. It's not any lack of respect for either my mother or my friend. They each have experience that lends itself to specific areas, and it only makes sense to go to the one who has the experience.

A few weeks after Jacob died, I received a letter from a cousin. For years, I had admired this cousin for his deep faith that had remained strong through good times and bad. His letter contained an interesting perspective that I'd like to share with you.

My cousin wrote that as he was driving in his truck, he was listening to a Christian radio station. A woman was speaking. She mentioned that whenever she needed advice regarding matters of faith, she would only seek out those who had what she referred to as a "Jacob's limp." She went on to explain the story of the Old Testatment patriarch, Jacob. Jacob's life was very blessed, but he also faced many struggles. In fact, one night Jacob wrestled with "a man" all night until Jacob's hip was wrenched by the man, leaving him with a constant limp. That "man" was God. In the morning, God blessed Jacob saying, "Your name will no longer be Jacob, but Israel, because you have struggled with God and with men and HAVE OVERCOME." Jacob's limp served as a reminder not only of his struggles, but of his blessings and his strength to overcome.

The fact that this woman's reference included Jacob's name was enough to catch my attention, but to grasp what she meant by it made the reference all the more special. This speaker was saying that she didn't trust the counsel of anyone who had basically just sailed through life with little disturbance or difficulty. She wanted someone who had faced a few major storms and lived to tell about it and praised God in the end. The ones who had survived had wisdom that those who had never been tested could ever hope to have.

My cousin went on to say that I had developed a "Jacob's limp." He knew that the counsel of one who had struggled with the death of a child was worth much, if in the end she was able to overcome and continue to glorify God. I was so deeply honored by my cousin's words. No vanity or ego was wrapped up in that honor whatsoever. In fact, I was humbled tremendously that he saw me as an overcomer and God being glorified as well. May God receive ALL the glory and honor for His goodness and grace that is beyond measure!

The Hope That Lies Ahead

Today we saw a new president take the oath of office. With each new administration there is a sense of hope and expectation for what the future will hold, and this one is certainly no different. In fact, given the state of our country's economic condition and reputation in the world, there is an even greater hope that the future will be brighter. Most likely it will be, but there are no guarantees when it comes to our economy. We can only hope, pray, and see how the future unfolds.

For a person who has lost a child, the hope and expectation for what the future will hold is shattered. Nothing looks bright, and any sense of future is lost or meaningless--at least for a time. Then, as the weeks, months or even years pass, little glimmers of hope begin to appear on the horizon. We begin to see that it is possible to have joy again, especially in the little things such as hearing a beautiful song bird or watching a butterfly land on a flower and display its beauty as it gently moves its wings.

As the ability to see the present with a heart of joy returns, our ability to see the future with hope and expectation also begins to grow. In fact, we might discover a new found hobby or past time that helps us to look forward with anticipation to what lies ahead for us. But there is no greater hope or expectation than that which Heaven offers. You see, for those of us who believe in eternal life and know Heaven to be our true home, this here and now is only a shadow of all that awaits us. The most beautiful sunrise here will be outdone a hundredfold in Heaven. The finest wines and foods enjoyed on this earth will seem like items picked up at the local mini-mart once we have tasted what is in Heaven. The pieces of music that stir our souls here on earth will bring us joy in Heaven, but they will pale in comparison to the sounds that will wrap around us as we move about the Kingdom of Heaven.

Yes, Mr. President, I look forward to the next few years with hope and anticipation, but even if you accomplish everything I hope you and your administration will accomplish, it will only satisfy to a point. My true hope and expectation lie in God alone and the Kingdom of Heaven in which I will live. There, I will be all that I was meant to be. There I will be with Him. There I will be reunited with the ones I have loved and lost here on earth. There I will be with my son, and we will laugh together and hug one another just as we always did, but it will be even better.

The Nearness of God

I will always remember how sick I felt the first time someone suggested that through Jacob's death I would gain. Gain what? They meant I'd gain valuable things like insight, compassion, wisdom, etc. As far as I was concerned, I far preferred to remain blind, mean and ignorant but still have my son. I'd give up every positive "gain" in order to have Jacob back again. That's not my option, however. I have to live with what has happened.

From the moment I learned the car accident had left Jacob dead and his friend hanging on to life, I knew I had a choice as to how I would live my life going forward. As I already stated, in those first days, I was not the least bit interested in what I could possibly gain from Jacob's death. At the same time, I kept saying to myself and others, "I don't want Jacob's death to be in vain." By refusing to let myself "gain" and be transformed through Jacob's death, I was the one who was guilty of allowing his death to be in vain. My stubborn refusal to let beauty arise from ashes was also disregarding or showing a lack of respect for the victorious and miraculous battle Jacob's friend was fighting to stay alive and then to rehabilitate. It was almost as though I could hear Jacob's voice saying, "Mom, if you don't allow my death and Matt's brave struggle bring forth positive attitudes and changes, then my death as well as Matt's hard work HAVE been in vain." They were not only going to be in vain, but they were going to be the breeding ground of destruction and pain. How could I possibly do that to my son? How could I do that to his wonderful and amazing friend?

Knowing that my greatest comfort came as I read Scripture and prayed, I began to press into my relationship with God all the more. I leaned on Him more than any other time in my life. He would speak to my spirit, especially when I felt fearful about Jacob's final moments and his experience of entering Heaven. Jacob's eternal life in Heaven was not in question, but whether or not he was lonely or frightened during those moments of transition from his earthly body nagged at my heart and mind. During those times, I could hear God's voice reminding me, "I was with him, and he is here with Me now."

God even allowed me a vision only ten days after the accident. I was suspended above Jacob's car and I could see him in the vehicle. It was dark and raining, but I could still see things clearly. A huge, black hand wrapped its fingers around Jacob's torso and pulled him out of the car. Jacob was unconscious and slumped forward, so he didn't struggle or show any fear. A loud voice could be heard, and it said, "I'm going to tear this family apart!" At that moment I saw a figure come from the right and I instantly "knew" who it was. Jesus gently took Jacob's right arm with both hands and firmly stated, "Let him go! This one is Mine!" The hand released Jacob immediately, and Jacob's head lifted as though he was now alert, but still somewhat groggy. He said nothing. Jesus then left with Jacob. Four months later, when we visited the accident site for the first time, the location matched my vision, even the positioning of the vehicle was the same.

My nearness to God was unlike anything I had ever known during those first months. Rather than stopping to pray periodically, it was as if I was in a constant dialogue with God. For the most part, that has remained, but I don't talk or hear Him as much. There is more silence, but not in a bad way. The sense of "scales falling from my eyes" was what I experienced. I was seeing things as I had never seen them before. Even when I closed my eyes, vivid colors would swirl around. Things I had never noticed before caught my attention. My hearing was altered. I could not physically hear any better, but I heard things I never heard before. On more than one occasion, I heard Jacob's voice. Once, he even said, "Hey, Mom!" which is the way he would greet me. This all may sound terribly strange and scary, but I never felt more alive and "in tune" than ever before. Nearly a year after Jacob's death, I literally heard a male voice speak a phrase while my husband was out running and my daughter was sleeping. The phrase made no sense, but I shared it with friends and family anyway. By that afternoon, the phrase made perfect sense because of the way the day's events unfolded. Many of us were in awe of how a group of words that made no sense, suddenly had full meaning.

The nearness of God was so intense that I was reminded several times of the story in Scripture of Moses going up on Mount Sinai where he stood in the presence of God. When he returned to the people below, he had to veil his face because his face was so radiant after that encounter. Each time Moses entered the Lord's presence and then spoke to the people, his face was radiant from having been in the presence of the Lord. In the weeks and months following Jacob's death, there were a number of occasions when people, even complete strangers, told me that I was "glowing." One time, two men working at a desk in an office building in Atlanta jumped when they saw me walk in. I wondered why they had such a reaction. The first one said, "This may sound strange, but you are glowing! I mean you are really glowing." The other guy said with his eyes wide open, "It's true! You are!" If they only knew I had lost my son months earlier. The only explanation for me glowing was the nearness of God's presence in my life to help me survive.

God is always near, even when we don't believe He exists. When we are grieving, He draws nearer still. If we invite Him in with hungry hearts, He is like skin on skin. It will be known, not only to us, but to those around us. Allow God, no INVITE God to draw near to you. He will. And your face will show the evidence, even in your most desperate hour.

How Do You Survive The Loss Of A Child?

A friend recently reminded me of something I used to say. "If anything ever happens to one of my kids, just lock me up and throw away the key, because I'll never be able to survive it." That is exactly how I felt right up to the day Jacob died. In fact, the day before, September 23, 2006, one of Jacob's classmates died of bone cancer. As we spoke of A.J. and his family after praying for them, I could not get my heart or mind around what the parents must have been going through. "How does a parent let go of their child? How does a mother let go of her son?" I asked aloud. Just thinking about it was painful and beyond my ability to comprehend.

When we arrived at the small, rural hospital at 2:30 in the morning and were told Jacob had not survived the accident, my world fell apart. I had a clear sense of God's voice comforting me on the flight to Athens, Georgia, the closest airport to the accident site. The comfort and reassurance was so great that I never cried. I continued to pray for Jacob, but I knew he was going to be fine. My focus turned to his friend who was in the car with him when the accident occurred. When the final word about Jacob's condition contradicted everything I felt God telling me, I felt betrayed, yet God was the only One I could turn to at that moment.

As the days and weeks passed, my mind went back and forth about God. He would go from being (in my mind) The Betrayer to The Comforter to The Liar to The Miracle Worker. Some days I'd have it out with God, shaking my fist and yelling, "How could you allow this to happen to my son?" Other days I'd say, "Thank you for being there for my son when he died and bringing him into Your presence in Heaven." A particular passage from the Bible had a profound effect on me. It says, "The righteous perish, and no one ponders (cherishes) it in his heart; devout men are taken away, and no one understands that the righteous are taken away to be spared from evil." Isaiah 57:1 Jacob will never have to endure the evil of this world again.

No matter the state of my mind, heart or soul, God was always with me. Each time I kicked and screamed like a child at God, my outburst would end with an overwhelming comfort, as though God had placed me in His lap and pulled my head to his chest and rocked me. I felt an inner peace. At those moments and many other times throughout this journey since Jacob's death, I have wondered how people who do not believe in God survive such a tragedy. Then I realized that God does not ONLY comfort those who believe in Him. He even comforts those who curse Him and deny Him. Blessings are given to the trustworthy and upright as well as the scoundrels who prey on innocent people. God loves ALL of His children, even if they don't love Him. He never forces Himself upon anyone, for he is the ultimate of gentlemen, but He will always bring His presence and His comfort when it is needed. We simply need to be willing to receive it, even if we have no idea who brings us this peace, strength and comfort.

The sad thing (in my opinion) is that those who don't believe in God or recognize that it is Him who is comforting them have no idea how to find that comfort when it doesn't seem so apparent. When they are falling apart on the floor in a puddle of tears, who/what do they cry out to? Other people I guess, and hopefully someone who is reaching out a hand to offer help is reflecting the love of God and being an ambassador of comfort for Him. As soon as I begin to feel myself slipping into the dark abyss of sadness and despair, I know whose name to call and where to place my eyes. My eyes are on Him, and I look up as He pulls me out. I can't imagine falling into despair and having no idea how to find the way out.

In no way do I consider myself better than another mother who has lost a child and does not seek God as her Comforter. I just know that my journey, while excruciating, will be a little bit easier. There's also a beautiful light called Heaven awaiting me at the end of the tunnel. That is where I will be with Jacob again, just as we were before, only better. Even now I am with Jacob, but it does not satisfy the way it did when we both existed in this earthly realm. Yet our time together, as fabulous as it was, was only a shadow of what is to come. What lies ahead far exceeds even my greatest of expectations. How I long for that day!!!! But until then, my life still has purpose. That purpose has changed in some ways that are hard to accept now that Jacob is gone, but the purpose is still worthwhile and I am the only one who can fulfill MY purpose on this earth.

So, I have strength to get through today. Because I know I am here for a unique and specific purpose that no one else can accomplish, I have reasons to continue living and making a difference in this world while God still gives me breath. I also have so much to look forward to when my days in this realm of life are done. Without those things, I would never be able to pull myself out of bed. Some may see my faith as a crutch, but I see it as my greatest strength.

Remembering the Birth of A Child

The start of a new year brings thoughts of new beginnings, a fresh start. For a woman, the birth of a child is somewhat similar. Certainly it brings all kind of new beginnings, the most important being the beginning of a new life. The beginning of a new relationship is also right up there. While a woman begins to develop a relationship with her child long before the delivery, the birth brings an entirely new dimension to the relationship. The experience of looking into the face of your baby for the first time is more powerful than words can possibly describe.

The "fresh start" aspect of birth is the feeling a woman has when she can actually see her feet again after months of obstructed view, thanks to a swollen belly. Being able to wear something other than the well-worn maternity clothes is a fresh start. Even if it means going back to the pre-pregnancy clothes in the closet, it's a fresh start. Easy movement and breathing is restored shortly after birth. Those two things alone give a feeling of a fresh start.

Not every woman looks back on pregnancy and childbirth with joy. Their reasons are varied, but justified. I, however, am a woman who looks back on my pregnancies with tremendous joy and satisfaction. Both deliveries were relatively easy and never required pain medication of any sort, so my thoughts about giving birth to my babies is also very positive.

Each year on my children's birthdays (once they were old enough to understand), I would tell them the story of their births. At just the right moment, I would tell them, "This is when my contractions started." "This is when we left for the hopsital." For years, they heard the story of their births. After awhile, they'd begin to roll their eyes and moan as I would begin the annual narrative. It became a joke of sorts.

As Jacob's sixteenth birthday was approaching, I decided to spare him the story. He was getting older, and I had received the teasing for a couple of years by that point, so I figured it was probably time to stop torturing him with the details. They always started the night before his birthday because my labor began around 7pm on April 20th, 1988. He was born 5 1/2 hours later on April 21st. The evening before his 16th birthday, I announced that I wouldn't bore him with the story anymore. We all laughed, and a few comments like, "Thank goodness!" were heard. A lump formed in my throat because I would miss being able to share the story.

As I walked down the hallway to my bedroom later that evening, I heard Jacob's voice call for me. He was already in bed and the lights were off in his room. I poked my head in the door to be sure I had actually heard him. Sure enough, he was sitting up in his bed. "Is everything okay?" I asked. That's when he melted my heart. "Mom, could you tell me the story about my birth again?" Here he was, a 16 year-old young man wanting to know the story of his birth from his mother. "Oh I would love to!" was my response and I walked over to sit on the end of his bed. We hugged and gave each other a goodnight kiss when I was done. "Thanks, Mom." "My pleasure, Jacob."

When I walked out of his room that night, I cried. I cried to think that all those years of telling him the story had truly been a blessing to him. He could see how much excitement I had over his entrance into this world and our lives. He could hear the love I had for him, and it made him feel special and treasured. He knew his life was a blessing to me right from the very beginning, not a burden. Jacob didn't need to know about nausea, swollen ankles, etc. He needed to know that his life brought a glow to my face that I had never before displayed. He needed to know that I was crazy in love with him from the moment the doctor told me I was pregnant. He needed to know that I viewed him as a precious gift from God that was entrusted to me, and I was honored to be chosen as his mother.

As Jacob's birthday approached nearly 7 months after his death, I ached at the thought of not being able to tell him the story. On the evening of April 20th, 2007, we were actually on the road, returning from the annual memorial service held by the university Jacob attended. The memorial service was to recognize any students, faculty or staff who had died in the past year. The event just happened to be held right before Jacob's birthday. As 7pm approached, my husband pulled off the road. He had me walk to a quiet place with him, and he said I should call Jacob's phone and tell him the story. So I did. As best I could through all the tears and sobs. It hurt so much, but it was extremely important and healing. Even now, as I type this, tears are rolling down my cheeks and I am gasping for breath. Yes, it still hurts that much, and it probably always will.

Jacob, I can't wait to tell you the story again face to face in Heaven. We will laugh so hard and hold one another. I love you son!

Death Brings A Magic Carpet Ride

Making it through another Christmas without my son, Jacob, is hard. When I allow myself to think about all that could/should have been, the pain is deep and tears flow easily. Most of the time, I just try to keep my thoughts elsewhere. I know I'm not alone in this approach. Many people have become my support during these past two years, three months, and most of them have been other moms who have lost children. It is to these people I look to determine whether my actions and attitudes are "normal"~whatever that means.

Last night, I found myself going to a group on Facebook I've been a part of for over a year. Most of the group members are moms who have lost children. The group is called "Who Am I Now?" It is a closed group, so I apologize that you can't go check it out. Sometimes it's important for us to have a safe place to go and write what we need to write. Other moms who've lost children can understand our need to cry out for help or to say it has been a suprisingly good couple of weeks. We can freely write about our children and not worry about someone getting bored with what we would like to share. As I pored over the site last night, I found a wonderful posting by one of the moms. She had gotten it from a website called HeavenLetters (http://heavenletters.org), and I'd like to share it here.

HEAVEN #2943 A Ride on a Magic Carpet, December 15, 2008

God said:

No matter what I say and how much I say, it seems that My children fear death, so-called death. Do you not know that leaving the cumbersome body is part of life?

That the body dies is no secret. Must it seem like such a dire thing? Must it? Life on Earth is not really a matter of life and death. I know you think so. You think that death is some horror waiting for you. Haven't you been taught to fear it? Camps called hospitals have been set up to delay it, medicines to defray it. Concern with the body's death is an occupation on Earth. Do not let it become a preoccupation. It's not worth it.

I will tell you, with all due regard to life, that from life to death is like going from riding a donkey to riding a magic carpet. I do not disparage life on Earth by calling it a donkey, for you know I love everything, every creature, and you. Riding a donkey is a wonderful thing. Flying on a magic carpet is another wonderful thing. This magic carpet awaits all. It exists for you. It is your servant. No one really wants to live forever in his body.

Death is not a vulture waiting for you. There is no death, beloveds. It is a lovely thing to ride on this metaphor of a magic carpet. When you ride on this magic carpet, illusion falls away. All the troubles of the world are illusion. Do you really want to hang on to illusion forever?Illusion serves you as it serves you. It serves only for a little while. It serves only in the illusion of time. Will you believe me when I tell you that Reality far exceeds even the finest of illusions on Earth? Again, this is not to take away from what you hold important and all the love that the world does hold. This is not to take you away from the joy of children and the fun of hopping, skipping, and jumping. Because the world is illusion doesn't take away a jot from the joys of illusion. The joys of illusion are like previews of what is to come. Not only what is to come, but what has been, and never was otherwise.

The clothes you wear on Earth are cover-ups. Even the body is hidden on Earth. How much more is hidden from your view!

There is no death. There is no purgatory. If there is purgatory, consider life on Earth that. Life on Earth purges you of many things. That is not to say that you need to get ready to be in My Presence. You have never been anywhere else. You are already in My Presence.

I simply don't want you to have so much mumbo-jumbo about death. Death does not bring you to your knees. It is not an ogre. It does not defeat you. It is just a servant. Whatever you think, it serves you well. It is not that Death helps you to escape from life. Death is a leaving, but it is not an escape. Life is yours forever. Death brushes your hair from your eyes so that you can see all that which was obscured from your view. It is like Death takes your sunglasses off. You simply don't need them anymore. No angle of the Sun's light is too bright for you anymore.Are sunglasses, even designer sunglasses, really so precious to you? Do you think you are not you without them?

When your body dies, nothing has happened. It is not the big deal you have thought.When on Earth you travel from one country to another, you simply travel from one beautiful country to another. You are still you.

And when your time on Earth is up, you simply change your direction and continue on your adventure. And you are still you.