A new year lay before me — new beginnings, new dreams and plans. Christmas had just passed. The tree was put away and decorations packed. The New Year’s celebration had started. Plans were made for getting together with family and friends, calling people to wish them a happy new year. These were the dreams and hopes that had flooded my soul: a new job, a new baby, getting a home, finding a new church. So much to look forward to. Sitting in my favorite chair, staring out the window, wrapped in the stillness after the rush of celebrations, I pondered how to begin to make plans for another year of life. My mind took me to the people and places where I would share all the fulfilled dreams that would naturally satisfy the heart of a mother. It was unthinkable to consider tragedy, loss or death while in this happy place where my mind bubbled with possibilities and anticipated blessing. Things that would be life changing or tragic were sealed off in a “never to happen” place in my mind. When a new year comes one only thinks of starting with a clean slate, maybe righting some wrongs, forgiving someone, and the promise of looking forward to renewed relationships. Praying for a much-anticipated year could only bring good outcomes, right? Who would ever start the beginning of a year with tragic thoughts? Expectations: Many. Tragedies: Unthinkable.
The year was 2013, and as I looked into 2014 I thought I was saying goodbye to only the holidays. My optimistic heart peered into the new year with anticipation. Though my husband had ongoing health issues, I prayed confidently that the new year would be better for us. My youngest son lived in Maryland. It was home for him — where he was born and raised. I called him later that New Years Eve to see what his plans were. I had moved and was now living in North Carolina, so we would miss our typical celebration together this year. We talked for a while on the phone. He said he had plans with friends for a short evening out — no big deal. We finished our call, “I love you mom, happy new year.” I said, “you be safe, I love you too, happy new year.”
Three days later I received a call that wrecked my soul. “Your son has died.” Though just 38 years old, he had been dealing with a heart issue for two years. The night he passed he went to bed and never woke up. It was unimaginable — a thought that would never have entered my mind. I expected to talk to him again the next week and many weeks and years to come. My world and my life were shattered. This sweet, happy, loving, kind, gentle man was gone. The very son I had been so blessed to bring into this world, I was now having to bury without even the chance to say “goodbye.”
I felt that if I could start running, I would never stop. Would I ever stop crying? My heart seemed irreparably broken. I attended meetings for parents who had lost children, but that didn’t stop me from seeing him in every little boy that I might glimpse while shopping or passing in the hall at church. I would see my son’s face on each little boy who passed by, laughing, running or clutching a toy — there was my son. And the tears would flow again. How could I run from this pain and haunting? Would it ever end?
Then, as the grieving seemed to reach full measure, six months after he passed my husband had a massive heart attack and I was told he would not live. He was on life support for a week. Then suddenly, at the end of that week, he woke up and lived until February of 2016. Consequently, because of this prolonged event I failed to grieve my son’s death properly since all my attention was focused on helping my husband live and recover. Through these life and death trials, God never failed to provide strength and comfort.
Ten years have passed now. Time does not register as before. In the loss of my sweet boy, however, I gained a new relationship with God. There truly is purpose in the pain. Even though I will never be the same person, God has made me new in ways I could have never known. My spirit is permanently turned heavenward. I pray more now than I ever had, especially in the still moments of the morning. I have become, of necessity, more faithful in worship and more consistent in reading and studying God’s Word. These passages in the Psalms have become my strength, my necessary food, my soul’s support:
Oh Lord, my grief consumes me night and day. There are times I feel cut off, separated from You, but You are always there for me. You are my hiding place. Everywhere I go there are people who remind me of my loss — places that bring back memories — events that should bring joy, but instead they bring grief. I ask that You deliver me from the duress of death and the grip of grief. May You grant me peace as I put my trust in You. AMEN