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.
Showing posts with label death of a child. Show all posts
Showing posts with label death of a child. Show all posts
Monday, January 5, 2009
Friday, December 5, 2008
The First Christmas Without Jacob
The first year Jacob was not here for Christmas, we weren't sure what to do. Jacob had already said he wanted to go to Michigan where every other year my husband's family gathers. We weren't sure if Jacob would want to go to Michigan that year since he was a freshman at college and it was a time when he could be home with his friends, but he had made it very clear just a couple weeks before he died that he wanted to be with family and celebrate our "traditional" Christmas. Maybe it was for that reason we decided to stick with tradition, but it turned out to be the wrong thing to do, at least for my husband and me. Don't get me wrong, my husband's family tried to be sensitive, and the kids were especially great with the younger girl cousins coming up with a holiday cheer that included Jacob's name. The problem was that none of them had a clue how painful going through Christmas without Jacob was. How could they?
Christmas Eve was the absolute worst. I had no memory of this from past Christmas celebrations, but my husband said it was the way we had always done the gift exchange with his family--they started with the youngest of the kids and worked up to the oldest. The gaping hole that existed for my husband, my daughter and me when we skipped from the cousin who was a year younger than Jacob to the cousin who was a year older was enough to kill us. I was screaming inside, "How can you just ignore Jacob like that!!!!" Not even a mention of his name. I wanted to leave the room and vomit. Even though Grandpa had read a lovely poem before the gift opening started and then discussed briefly Jacob's absence, I cannot tell you how excruciating it was to go through that process and simply ignore Jacob's rightful place in the order of cousins. As I said, I didn't remember us doing that, so the process began to unfold before I even realized what was happening. In hindsight, I wish I had either gotten up and walked out or had asked them to PLEASE draw names or something other than by age. If we had drawn names, there never would have been the obvious moment when Jacob's turn would have arrived. The other possibility would have been to ask them to take the time that would have been Jacob's turn to allow the cousins to all share one memory of Jacob they will always cherish.
There was also the horrible miscommunication between my husband and me about attending the Christmas Eve church service. I thought we had agreed to remain behind when everyone else went to the church service in order to have some quiet family time away from all the craziness of 30+ family members gathered in one place. Before I knew it, people were rushing out the door to go to church. My daughter had already gone out and my husband had his jacket on. My head was spinning. I was completely confused and felt so uncomfortable speaking up in front of my husband's family, but the LAST thing I wanted to do was go to an unfamiliar church and sing Christmas songs. Just being in church was hard enough, but to sing songs when it was exactly three months to the hour since my son's death was more than I could fathom.
When we arrived at the church, I was relieved to see a pew open near the very back. I needed to know I could slip out without disturbing everyone else if it all got too hard, which was very likely. Just as I was about to slide into the pew, my husband took hold of my hand and lead me to the third or fourth pew from the front. I thought he had lost his mind. What was he doing? Why was he having us sit up front? The people on the ends didn't want to move in, so we had to crawl over people and sit in the middle. I literally thought I had died and gone to Hell. Even though the choir members had no idea who I was, because they were facing the congregation, it felt like every one of them had their eyes right on me.
During the service, it felt like I was losing my mind. I wanted to scream and cry out, "Where is Jacob? Why can't Jacob be here? How can you all be smiling?" My anger was raging inside of me, my pain was raging inside of me, and I had no way to release any of it. As we sang Silent Night by candlelight, I felt the freedom to cry, but it was just tears rolling down my cheeks, not the wailing that I needed to do at that moment.
When the service was finally over and we made our way out, I turned to my husband and asked, "How could you do that to me?" He was dumbfounded. He thought he was helping by separating me from the rest of the family and just having the two of us together. However, in that setting the family became the safety net amongst strangers. They were my buffer zone, so to speak. That wasn't how my husband saw it at all. He was trying to help and it completely backfired. From that moment on he didn't speak to me or even look at me. That's how it went the rest of our time with his family. Not one word was exchanged between us on Christmas Day. I would look at my husband, but he would never look in my direction or acknowledge me. If Christmas Eve was Hell, I don't even have a word to describe Christmas Day, 2006. Or the next day as we drove several hours in the car.
That's when I knew life was never going to be the same. For our family, Christmas was the most wonderful time of the year. We had enjoyed 18 glorious Christmas celebrations with Jacob and 16 with our daughter, but those days were gone, part of a sweet past that we could never have back again. At that point, I honestly wanted to give up and die. If not for my daughter, I think I would have.
Christmas Eve was the absolute worst. I had no memory of this from past Christmas celebrations, but my husband said it was the way we had always done the gift exchange with his family--they started with the youngest of the kids and worked up to the oldest. The gaping hole that existed for my husband, my daughter and me when we skipped from the cousin who was a year younger than Jacob to the cousin who was a year older was enough to kill us. I was screaming inside, "How can you just ignore Jacob like that!!!!" Not even a mention of his name. I wanted to leave the room and vomit. Even though Grandpa had read a lovely poem before the gift opening started and then discussed briefly Jacob's absence, I cannot tell you how excruciating it was to go through that process and simply ignore Jacob's rightful place in the order of cousins. As I said, I didn't remember us doing that, so the process began to unfold before I even realized what was happening. In hindsight, I wish I had either gotten up and walked out or had asked them to PLEASE draw names or something other than by age. If we had drawn names, there never would have been the obvious moment when Jacob's turn would have arrived. The other possibility would have been to ask them to take the time that would have been Jacob's turn to allow the cousins to all share one memory of Jacob they will always cherish.
There was also the horrible miscommunication between my husband and me about attending the Christmas Eve church service. I thought we had agreed to remain behind when everyone else went to the church service in order to have some quiet family time away from all the craziness of 30+ family members gathered in one place. Before I knew it, people were rushing out the door to go to church. My daughter had already gone out and my husband had his jacket on. My head was spinning. I was completely confused and felt so uncomfortable speaking up in front of my husband's family, but the LAST thing I wanted to do was go to an unfamiliar church and sing Christmas songs. Just being in church was hard enough, but to sing songs when it was exactly three months to the hour since my son's death was more than I could fathom.
When we arrived at the church, I was relieved to see a pew open near the very back. I needed to know I could slip out without disturbing everyone else if it all got too hard, which was very likely. Just as I was about to slide into the pew, my husband took hold of my hand and lead me to the third or fourth pew from the front. I thought he had lost his mind. What was he doing? Why was he having us sit up front? The people on the ends didn't want to move in, so we had to crawl over people and sit in the middle. I literally thought I had died and gone to Hell. Even though the choir members had no idea who I was, because they were facing the congregation, it felt like every one of them had their eyes right on me.
During the service, it felt like I was losing my mind. I wanted to scream and cry out, "Where is Jacob? Why can't Jacob be here? How can you all be smiling?" My anger was raging inside of me, my pain was raging inside of me, and I had no way to release any of it. As we sang Silent Night by candlelight, I felt the freedom to cry, but it was just tears rolling down my cheeks, not the wailing that I needed to do at that moment.
When the service was finally over and we made our way out, I turned to my husband and asked, "How could you do that to me?" He was dumbfounded. He thought he was helping by separating me from the rest of the family and just having the two of us together. However, in that setting the family became the safety net amongst strangers. They were my buffer zone, so to speak. That wasn't how my husband saw it at all. He was trying to help and it completely backfired. From that moment on he didn't speak to me or even look at me. That's how it went the rest of our time with his family. Not one word was exchanged between us on Christmas Day. I would look at my husband, but he would never look in my direction or acknowledge me. If Christmas Eve was Hell, I don't even have a word to describe Christmas Day, 2006. Or the next day as we drove several hours in the car.
That's when I knew life was never going to be the same. For our family, Christmas was the most wonderful time of the year. We had enjoyed 18 glorious Christmas celebrations with Jacob and 16 with our daughter, but those days were gone, part of a sweet past that we could never have back again. At that point, I honestly wanted to give up and die. If not for my daughter, I think I would have.
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