Grieving Differently

When my husband and I stood outside the hospital and were told Jacob did not survive the car accident, I could not process what I was hearing. On the flight to Athens, I could sense God speaking to my heart saying, "Jacob's O.K. I'm taking care of him. He is going to be all right. Don't you remember how you prayed over and over for Me to place angels of protection around him whenever he got into a car? The angels were there." The inner peace I had during that flight did not match the reality of later being told Jacob was dead. In fact, he died on the way to the hospital.

My internal response was to scream and pound my fists on the chest of the officer who delivered that horrible news. He had to be wrong! Why would he say such an awful lie? Why would he tell me my son was dead when I was going to go into that hospital and tell Jacob everything was OK because Mom and Dad were finally there? I had brought my Bible and planned to read psalms of comfort to him as he slept.

My external response was a barely audible, "What?" For a moment I was suspended in nothingness. Time seemed to stop. Then, I heard my husband cry out, "No! Not Jacob! Not Jacob!" We both dropped to the ground crying "No, please no! Not our Jacob!" At that moment I knew our lives would be different forever. I grabbed my husband's arms and looked him in the eye and said, "We can't let this tear us apart!" I had heard so many horror stories of marriages being destroyed after the sudden death or tragedy involving a child. Our family had just been assaulted and we were going to have to fight to keep us strong and together.

The differences in the grieving that my husband and I experienced began immediately. He continued to cry out while I went completely silent and numb. I lay with arms outstretched on my back on the ground with no will to live. My precious son was no longer alive on this earth, so I no longer wanted to be either. My face was going numb. With arms out to my sides, I thought of Jesus hanging on the cross and felt as though I were being crucified at that moment. My desire was to surrender everything, including my life. Nothng mattered anymore. Everything seemed meaningless in light of my son's death.

When asked if we wanted to see Jacob, my first response was, "No!" I did not want to see my son dead. I wanted my last image of him to be when he was alive, driving away with the wind in his hair and his sunglasses on. How could I possibly want to see him without life? My husband knew immediately he wanted to see him. He needed to say goodbye, and he encouraged me to do the same. I reluctantly agreed. Our hearts broke to see our child, our firstborn, lying on a table with a white sheet over his body. Nothing in the world could ever prepare a parent for a moment like that. All of the love, joy, peace, and exictement that filled my heart that afternoon came pouring out, but there was no life there to receive it. I looked into his sweet face, just crying out to see life, but there was none. I had to turn away. The pain was more than I could bear. I think Michael was able to look longer and he bent down to kiss Jacob's cheek before we left. He uttered words that I will never forget, "Sandy, he's cold." I love my son with all my heart, but I couldn't bring myself to touch his body. I had hugged his warm, tan, beautiful body that afternoon. That's the last touch I wanted until I grab hold of him in Heaven.

When we left the room where Jacob's body was, someone began asking questions regarding whether Jacob was an organ donor. My first thought was, "Don't you dare cut into my son. He's been through enough already. Don't cut him up!" So I said out loud, "No, no, please don't do that!" I knew Jacob had agreed to be an organ donor, and it was clearly stated on his driver's license. Michael lovingly looked at me and said, "But Sandy, this is one last thing Jacob can do to help someone. You know he'd want to do that." I knew he was right, but the thought was hard to accept. That's when the nurse said such painful words to hear, "I'm sorry, he's been gone too long. We couldn't use them anyway." Relief but regret all at once.

When we arrived back at the hotel, we had to tell our daughter that Jacob had not survived, and we knew it would absolutely devastate her. We agreed to tell her Jacob was in Heaven. Michael had the strength and clarity of mind to tell her while I just sat next to her. From the moment we found out about Jacob not surviving the crash, Michael was convinced we needed to get to Raleigh and tell her ASAP, even if that meant driving all the way back to St. Simons. By God's grace and the goodness of other wonderful people, Raleigh had been flown up to Athens shortly after our plane left, so she was already waiting for us at the hotel in Athens.

The following morning was sunny and beautiful. Michael and I decided to go outside for a walk to get some fresh air. I wanted to get out on the campus and walk where Jacob had walked only days earlier. I wanted to be where he had lived and loved life for the past five weeks. For Michael, seeing students and the campus was far too painful. He needed to walk away from campus to get fresh air.

The following days back at our home, many young people were coming by the house. I was grateful for their presence but felt very uncomfortable with them going into Jacob's room. I didn't want anything to be moved or broken. Kids began asking to take mementos from Jacob's room. I didn't want anything to be removed. I wanted everything to stay here. Michael and Raleigh both seemed much more comfortable with having the kids in the room, selecting items to keep as a memory of Jacob. The whole thing seemed to be getting out of control, and we couldn't remember who took what. In the end, I knew it was good for Jacob's friend to have something special of his, and it didn't matter if we had an inventory of where various items went.

Michael, being the writer and speaker in the family, was able to put together something very nice to say at Jacob's memorial service. I found myself scribbling notes an hour before and getting frustrated. In the end, I forgot to bring my notes up front anyway and spoke off the top of my head, making little or no sense at all I'm sure. More than anything, my desire was for people to know how much Jacob loved them, loved life and loved God. My heart said to tell them all how much God loved them too, and that Jacob knew that more than ever now.

In those first days after the memorial service was held, Michael wanted to go to the cemetery where Jacob's ashes were kept. On the third visit to the cemetery, I got up and ran away. I couldn't stand to be in a place that represented his death. I wanted to be out at the beach where Jacob spent most of his summer days. The thought running through my mind each time we walked into the cemetery was, "Why are you looking for the living among the dead?" The cemetery only made me think of Jacob's death. I needed to be in places that reminded me of his life. Michael continued to visit the cemetery every day while I chose to walk the beach. Neither of us were wrong, we just had different ways of finding comfort.

Michael had a hard time looking at pictures of Jacob. I couldn't get enough of them. The only ones I had a hard time looking at were those of him as a young child or baby. Somehow I saw such an innocence and hope for the future in the younger pictures that really hurt to look at, now that all those hopes and dreams had been shattered. But looking at pictures of Jacob taken recently was no problem at all for me. Michael was just the opposite. The only pictures he could even begin to look at were the ones of Jacob much younger. Maybe the whole thing seemed less real. Each time he looked into the face of Jacob as a young man, he was reminded of all that had been lost.

For 99 days straight, Michael wrote beautiful letters to Jacob. They were great therapy and helped him get through some very tough moments. My writing was very limited and it was usually only to other people, telling them about what had happened to Jacob. I could write ABOUT Jacob but not TO Jacob because it hurt too much. Michael was the opposite.

After a few weeks, I was finally able to go into Jacob's room and begin looking through his things. During that time, I came across several little treasures, like his notebook for his philosophy class that had beautiful writings of his that spoke clearly about his faith in God. He wrote about heaven and hell as well. I would lie down on Jacob's bed and begin to cry as I looked around the room and saw all the different things that triggered memories about him. I would cry out to God at those times as well. The experiences were very therapeutic. Michael, on the other hand could not bring himself to go into the room for months. He would barely even look in the direction of the room. Even now, he can't go into the room with any sense of comfort or for any length of time.

Since those early days, we have shifted a bit. I can now visit the cemetery with relative ease. Michael doesn't go nearly as much. I now write a lot about Jacob and to Jacob. Michael hasn't had the time to do it. I can look at the baby pictures now, but it took me nearly 7 months before I could do it, and Michael seems to be able to look at the older pictures of Jacob a little longer.

The differences in grieving are amazing! But the most important thing to remember is that there is NO WRONG WAY to grieve. It is extremely personal and individualized. What is good for one may cause pain for another. Just knowing that ahead of time can help you to understand the conflicting views you may have. If the differences in grief are between you and a spouse, simply do your best to respect the other person's needs and grieve in your own ways. Try not to get mad at the other because he/she can't do what you need to do for yourself. It may hurt to be headed down different paths at times, but always find your way back to one another. Find out what kind of grieving you can do together. Find out ways you can do things together other than grieve. That might help you through those extremely difficult days, weeks, months and years. If you aren't intentional about how you handle your grief you may wake up one day and find yourselves with a great divide between you that may seem too wide to get across.

Remain conncected somehow. Don't allow yourselves to become totally disconnected in the area of physical affection. You have both been through an emotional roller coaster and a beating on your psyche and physical body. Allowing your phsycial affection to die will only compound the difficulties you will have. Restore that part of your relationship as soon as you can. It is great to experience that closeness when you've had someone else you love torn apart from you. I felt guilty the first time, but after experiencing the deep connection with my husband again, I knew it was essential to our wellbeing as a couple. Don't let this part of your life die too.

By the way, I believe the angels I had prayed for were there on the night of Jacob's accident, but their job that night was very different. I believe those angels helped to escort Jacob into Heaven. The peace God put in my heart on the flight? That was real too. God was taking care of Jacob and he was going to be OK. The Bible I had intended to read Psalms from to Jacob ended up being used for reading Psalms to me. Our friend who was with us that night at the hotel, who is a fabulous pastor, read from the Psalms to help me fall asleep. Nothing else would allow my spirit to calm down and rest. I don't think the reading of the Psalms did anything to comfort Michael, however. We are all so very different.

What to Do

One of the amazing things I learned through this loss was what it means to carry someone else's burden. When someone else stood or sat before me and cried over the death of my child, it literally lifted a piece of my grief from me. How that happened I don't understand, but it happened and I could feel it. Oh, how it moved me to see someone else shed tears for my son. Somehow I was able to breathe a little easier and the heavy darkness that surrounded me seemed to lift just a bit. Please don't think your tears will upset the one who is grieving. I felt honored that someone cared that much. When people didn't cry, it made me wonder if Jacob meant anything to them. I know some people just don't cry in public, but to see someone who was willing to let down their guard for the loss of my child meant more than words can say. No one was doing me any favors by "holding it together" in my presence. Just to see someone's eyes tear up touched me deeply.

I can't even begin to tell you how in awe my daughter, husband and I were when we returned to our home the day after Jacob's accident to see cars lined up and down the road. People filled our home who just wanted to hug us and tell us they loved Jacob. To see my son's favorite elementary school teacher standing in my kitchen just about knocked me to the floor. These people not only brought words of love, but food and drinks and offers to help in any way they could. My dear friend who had the gift of organization and administration began taking people up on their offers. She coordinated efforts of all sorts, including having our cars washed and detailed for the funeral. Several large coolers of iced drinks were brought in. Someone even came to the house to pick up our trash because it was overflowing after a few days. Hotel rooms and homes were arranged and donated in order to house dozens of family members who would be arriving from out of town. Food was coming in left and right, and a neighbor offered her extra refrigerator to store the overflow. A path was worn between our two homes. Believe it or not, one of our dogs was even taken to be groomed during all of this. Friends mopped my floors and washed dishes. They took our dogs out and fed them. Nothing was left undone.

My husband and I didn't have to answer our phone for days because someone was always at the phone taking messages and putting through only the most important calls. I have a notebook that lists all the different people who called and left a message of love or condolence. Another notebook lists all the flowers/plants we received and who sent them. Friends and people I hardly knew did this all. They just wanted to help.

Something that really touched our hearts were the parents/families that came by who had also lost a child. They knew our pain and they wanted to offer whatever they could to help us. One father was very honest, and I appreciated that so much. He said, "It's going to get worse before it gets better." My first thought was that he wasn't helping me feel better, but then I realized the wisdom in his words. He wanted me to know that it was OK to feel worse as time went on and that I didn't have to feel good for anyone on any time schedule. How right he was! Eight months out I still have some days or moments that seem worse than any other day or moment. People we didn't even know up to that point shared with us parts of their journey, both good and bad. They knew what we were going through, and we were blessed by their presence and words of wisdom and experience.

Another very meaningful thing someone did for us in those first days was to bring blank pages of quality lined paper like you might find in a nice personal journal or diary (not just notebook paper) Each page had "Jacob Memories" printed at the top. As friends and family came by the house, they were encouraged to either fill out a page right there or take one with them to return to us later. A table was also set up in the reception area at Jacob's memorial service with these pages and a sign with basic instructions. All the pages were able to be placed in a scrapbook. My husband and I have read those pages over and over. They have brought both laughter and tears. What a sweet gift in the midst of heartache and tragedy!

My only advice about what NOT to do is this: Don't touch anything that belongs to or had anything to do with the one who died. Don't make up their bed, clean up their bathroom, or wash their clothes. Don't move pictures (except if they need to be used at the funeral/memorial service). Consult with the family before changing, cleaning or removing anything. As strange as it may sound, I wanted to have my son's dirty clothes because they smelled like him. I wanted to find strands of his hair in his hairbrush or even in his bed. I wanted to hear his voice in the message he left on our answering machine a few days earlier (which, oddly enough, I had not yet erased just in case anything ever happened to him). The shorts he wore to the beach that day were still hanging in the shower and I wanted them to be there when I got back home. Don't worry if people will be coming into the family's home and you think they might want things clean and tidy. The reminders of the family member who has died are far more important than cleanliness.

I am grateful for EVERYTHING my friends and family did for us, even if they did things I wouldn't have asked them to do. I knew they did it all out of love. Their kindness was so meaningful.

If anything written here has hit you in the wrong way, please know that all I can do is tell you about my experience and how I felt. This is not to say everyone would feel the same things I did, nor that they should. Some things are pretty universal, but our individual responses to death are unique to each of us.

What to Say

What amazed me in the aftermath of Jacob's death was the power of the spoken word and the unspoken word. Before this experience, I had no idea what to say to someone who had lost a close relative or friend. I still don't have all the answers, but I can share what helped and what hurt me.

Some of the most comforting words for me in those first days were simply, "I am so sorry." No one was responsible for Jacob's death--it was an accident--but I sensed they meant they were sorry for the pain my family was experiencing as a result of his death. To me it seemed like they were sorry that our family would never be the same again and they realized to some extent what a horrible reality that was. Other comforting words were, "I wish I could take away this pain." For me, those words acknowledged that I was hurting and seemed to suggest that the person would do anything they could to change the situation. Comfort was also gained from comments like, "I am going to miss Jacob so much. He was such a good friend and could make anyone smile." To know that someone else really loved and valued him as a friend was encouraging. Within the first few days after his death, it helped so much to hear stories of how he helped someone or did something kind. I wasn't yet ready to hear the "funny" stories, but by day four or five the funny memories helped put a smile on my face. I think the initial horror of losing a child made laughing at anything to do with Jacob somehow inappropriate or upsetting. How could anything seem funny when my child was dead? That was how I responded, but someone else might feel totally different.

The things I didn't want to hear were, "He's in a better place," or "at least he didn't suffer long." Both of those comments were totally irrelevant to me. All I wanted was for my son to be alive and with me. I wanted to be able to touch him and hug him. I also didn't want to hear how God was going to use my son's death to make me a stronger person. How in the world was my gain even close to being worth the loss? I would rather have been a jerk and my son still be alive than a saint with a son that was no longer living. What was it to me to gain anything at all when I had lost one of the most important people in my life--my precious son? Reminding me that I still had my daughter was of no comfort either. Of course I love my daughter and was grateful I hadn't lost her as well (she wasn't in the accident with Jacob), but having her did not make Jacob's death any easier. She is an entirely different person with a different personality and we have a different relationship. I wasn't going to magically "snap back" into a normal role as parent just because there was still another child who needed me.

There was no bitterness or resentment toward the people who said things that didn't settle right with me. How could they know what to say? The day before my son's death, I had no idea what I would say to the parents of Jacob's classmate who died of bone cancer. The very next day I was living their life. Our experiences were different, however. They had to watch their son die slowly. I never had the chance to say goodbye. Both situations were horrible in their own way.

Life Has Changed

To say "life has changed," is the understatement of the decade, but it really hit home today. It's a Friday afternoon. With my husband at a lunch meeting and my daughter heading out to spend the rest of the day with friends, I was trying to decide what to do. My decision? To go to the cemetery where my son's ashes are. Weeks have passed since my last visit. That's when it hit me, "Oh dear Jesus, on June 1st of last year my family was on it's way to Seattle, Washington for a summer vacation." We were filled with joyful anticipation. Our family has always enjoyed traveling together, and this was going to be our last trip before Jacob, our 18 year old son, headed off to college. We were cherishing every moment. Now, just one year later, I am thinking of going to the cemetery where Jacob's ashes remain. Life can change so much in a year, or even in a moment.
Life really has changed. Yes, there is some good to be found in those changes, but mostly it has been very difficult.