Saturday, September 27, 2008
Backwards Truth
“Don’t think about your own affairs, but be interested in others, too.” Philippians 2:4
An author named Nancy Guthrie wrote that after her infant daughter passed away, she was anxious to discover the secret to relieving her terrible hurt and pain. Shortly after, an elderly widow moved in next door and was overwhelmed with the work of caring for a home on her own, so Nancy decided to go over and pull weeds and trim hedges for her. “As I exerted energy in serving someone else….my focus moved from my pain to hers. And it was a relief. It was a distraction. It was an outlet. It was a step toward healing. That day I discovered the secret of serving…”
“…People have told me that they simply can’t start reaching out to other people until their load of grief lightens. But it is the reaching out to others in the midst of your pain, uniquely because of your pain, that is the secret to lightening you unbearable load.”
I have to say I whole-heartily agree. Serving others and focusing on their needs is the only thing that helps lighten the load of my pain, too. I know it seems backwards – but most of Truth always seems to turn out that way. You don’t get better before you come to God – you come to God and He makes you better. You don’t run from God to find freedom in life – you let His arms engulf you and hold you fast in order to experience freedom without regret. To find real life, you must lose your life. To be first you must be last. And to lighten the load of grief, you must bear the grief and burdens of someone else.
It’s truly backwards – but that’s how I know it’s true!
I have been nothing but blessed as we’ve worked toward organizing the RIPPLE Care Network. I first began to consider it back in March and now I’m so glad we’re actually acting on it!
Spending time with those who are homebound, arranging meals for families in need, organizing the rummage sale for the less fortunate of Lemont are the things that have begun to slide the broken pieces of my heart back into place.
It’s backwards again. I’m in pain and instead of tending to my own scars, I tend to the scars of others and mine begin to heal. I’m exhausted and instead of resting I bear the burdens of others and find my strength renewed. It is a beautiful secret – the healing balm of service. When you need it the most is when it’s time to reach out and give it away instead.
It’s the amazing backwards Truth of Life!
I love how Nancy puts it: “You can keep sitting around waiting to feel better, or you can get up, look around, and seek out someone to serve. Prove me wrong. I dare you.”
I double dare you! :-)
andi
Monday, July 21, 2008
My answer to "why"
Many people continue to console me with the phrase, "there's no answer to why these things happen, but know that you will see your son again."
As much as I appreciate their efforts, the "why" is all that matters while we're waiting for heaven. It's the "why" that takes up all the days and nights and must be resolved before you can put down the pain even for a moment and learn to focus on something else. If "why" is not answered, pain and grief hog tie your whole life and keep you from moving on to do the good works that God promised would come out of every circumstance in a Christian's life.
I did write about this back in April, but you'll be surprised to know that it was long and wordy. (so unlike me!) So, I thought I'd shorten it up here and clarify a bit....
(the long blog is at: http://nickwithchrist.blogspot.com/2008_04_01_archive.html you'll have to copy and paste the link.)
But briefly put...
The loss of my son has changed me and grown me in ways that could never have happened any other way. I am a completely different person and - if I'm honest with myself - I would not chose to return to the person I was before.
In comparison to who I've become, I was shallow, short sighted and cared only for the things of this world having no concern for the reality of eternity. And I also know that I am not the only person who was remolded due to this experience. Everyday I hear from someone else who was radically changed and awakened to the true importance of life and eternity and their family and faith.
I know I will see my son again. I have joy in the realization that my time with him is not over - just interrupted. The agony over the interruption is inexpressible, but if it means that other's can be saved from "unawareness" - unawareness of how precious their families are, unawareness of how important their relationship with God is, unawareness of how short and unimportant this fleeting life is, unawareness of how much others need us right up until the day we're called home, unawareness of where our "real" home is - then I can actually say it is painfully and agonizingly worth it.
No, I will never know God's true purpose in his death in until I speak with Him face to face, but I do see Him working through it - and the eternity that I am promised will more than make up for the pain I'm enduring now. Nick's death has brought people together, taught others to love their kids more fully, open people's eyes to the reality of how short life is, and changed each member of our family in innumerable ways.
Simply put...
"God is in the business of creating and He hasn't stopped yet!"
As much as I appreciate their efforts, the "why" is all that matters while we're waiting for heaven. It's the "why" that takes up all the days and nights and must be resolved before you can put down the pain even for a moment and learn to focus on something else. If "why" is not answered, pain and grief hog tie your whole life and keep you from moving on to do the good works that God promised would come out of every circumstance in a Christian's life.
I did write about this back in April, but you'll be surprised to know that it was long and wordy. (so unlike me!) So, I thought I'd shorten it up here and clarify a bit....
(the long blog is at: http://nickwithchrist.blogspot.com/2008_04_01_archive.html you'll have to copy and paste the link.)
But briefly put...
The loss of my son has changed me and grown me in ways that could never have happened any other way. I am a completely different person and - if I'm honest with myself - I would not chose to return to the person I was before.
In comparison to who I've become, I was shallow, short sighted and cared only for the things of this world having no concern for the reality of eternity. And I also know that I am not the only person who was remolded due to this experience. Everyday I hear from someone else who was radically changed and awakened to the true importance of life and eternity and their family and faith.
I know I will see my son again. I have joy in the realization that my time with him is not over - just interrupted. The agony over the interruption is inexpressible, but if it means that other's can be saved from "unawareness" - unawareness of how precious their families are, unawareness of how important their relationship with God is, unawareness of how short and unimportant this fleeting life is, unawareness of how much others need us right up until the day we're called home, unawareness of where our "real" home is - then I can actually say it is painfully and agonizingly worth it.
No, I will never know God's true purpose in his death in until I speak with Him face to face, but I do see Him working through it - and the eternity that I am promised will more than make up for the pain I'm enduring now. Nick's death has brought people together, taught others to love their kids more fully, open people's eyes to the reality of how short life is, and changed each member of our family in innumerable ways.
Simply put...
"God is in the business of creating and He hasn't stopped yet!"
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
More to life
Ecclesiastes 5:15 “Naked a man comes from his mother’s womb,
and as he comes, so he departs.
He takes nothing from his labor that he can carry in his hand.”
There seems to be more shock over Nick’s death simply because of his age than over any other facet of the tragedy. Most aren’t stricken with compassion because Cody was there to watch his brother’s body completely shut down. They aren’t filled with sorrow over the fact that as Nick reached out to his Papa asking him for help, there was nothing my father could do. Most don’t agonize over the realization that his death was swift and unexpected leaving us to feel like we were “sucker punched” not even knowing from where the punch came. There are so many aspects of his departure that are disturbing, but still I don’t get any response more often than the line, “He was so young!”
Why does that realization affect us all in such a profound way? I have no relevant degrees or experience to boast any expertise in this area, but I do have an idea to share.
I believe that we all feel we have the right to a “full” life here on earth. We think “full” is defined as being given a life that is long enough to acquire all that we want. You may not be the type of person who wants to acquire things, but you have a certain expectation about the live you feel entitled to. Maybe for some it is 18 years or more of education, or a marriage with several biological kids, or an existence free from foreclosures, debt, starvation or loneliness. We think having several years on this rock we call earth is an entitlement because, really, what else is there?
We need a house with three bedrooms because we have three kids. We need a four year degree to get a good job so our families are free from financial stress. We need our kids to be signed up for hundreds of dollars worth of sporting events because otherwise they would just sit on the couch and watch TV.
But why do we feel we need all these things? Surely there is more to do in life than just make money and die.
The outside world’s distress at Nick’s young passing bears witness to the fact that we cannot let go of the belief that “this is all there is”. We think someone has “missed out” when they exit this world without the opportunities we expect.
Let me highlight my point another way. If we truly believed down deep in our souls that this life is merely a dress rehearsal for a much better existence yet to come, our whole culture would look very different than it does now. Instead of sending condolence cards upon someone’s death, we would send “congratulations on your graduation”! Instead of closing ourselves off in our big air conditioned homes, we’d buy a small home in a crowded neighborhood with lots of opportunities for friendship and use our excess funds to bless others while enjoying the health and happiness that springs from the lack of financial strain in our own lives. Instead of 18 years of teaching each other how to struggle to survive with knowledge that will be obsolete in a maximum of 70 years, we’d focus on caring for each other on a regular basis.
(Think about it for a minute….when we die, only our relationships, with God and each other, will live on. Multiplication tables, chemistry equations and financial planning will no longer be a necessity. Could you see any company on the planet thinking it wise to spend 18 years developing something that is guaranteed to be null and void fifty years after it’s complete?)
Those of us who knew and still love Nick miss him because of the relationship we had with him that we are missing out on – and that relationship will be returned to us – Praise God! But when we mourn because of what we think he’s missing out on we tip our hand and show the world what our true belief system is.
This world is not all there is!
Nick is not missing out on a single thing. I guess he does miss out on sunburns – but not on playing in the sun! He will skip acne, but he will still become a man. He sidesteps the land minds of dating, but does not lose intimate relationships with people. He will miss out on having a home mortgage, but God had a mansion already prepared for him when he arrived!
Nick was not robbed of anything, but we will be if we put all of our riches into this world instead of the eternal one.
“Naked a man comes….and so he departs.”
But we can be rich eternally if we deposit our wealth into the real future! How do we get it there? By investing all of our energy, hope, talents, and focus on people. People, relationships, compassion, time, caring, love and effort are the only things that will be waiting for us when we die. The house I bought will be cared for by others for as many years as the Lord decrees and then it will be destroyed and all of my hard work with it. But – praise God – my relationship and love and time with my son will endure forever.
I have a plea…
Please, do not waste all your time, money, focus and effort on a house that someone else will completely redecorate in 10 -20 years or less; or on a car that will be out of fashion in 1 year and rust completely away in 15; or on a career that saps you of the energy you need to be fully involved in your family; or even on an education that will be irrelevant in 50 years if it means that you will ignore God’s word which will last for all eternity.
There is so much more to life than just surviving the current situation we are in now. I cannot say it better than Christ who said,
" 'Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.' This is the first and greatest commandment. And the second is like it: 'Love your neighbor as yourself.’” Matthew 22: 37-39
I miss my son horribly, but I am so excited that he has run the race, finished the course, obtained the prize – even if he did run faster than me! What mother wouldn’t be proud when her son runs,completes and wins the prize in life’s most important race! And I know he is standing at the finish line waiting for me to join him. I am truly blessed!
and as he comes, so he departs.
He takes nothing from his labor that he can carry in his hand.”
There seems to be more shock over Nick’s death simply because of his age than over any other facet of the tragedy. Most aren’t stricken with compassion because Cody was there to watch his brother’s body completely shut down. They aren’t filled with sorrow over the fact that as Nick reached out to his Papa asking him for help, there was nothing my father could do. Most don’t agonize over the realization that his death was swift and unexpected leaving us to feel like we were “sucker punched” not even knowing from where the punch came. There are so many aspects of his departure that are disturbing, but still I don’t get any response more often than the line, “He was so young!”
Why does that realization affect us all in such a profound way? I have no relevant degrees or experience to boast any expertise in this area, but I do have an idea to share.
I believe that we all feel we have the right to a “full” life here on earth. We think “full” is defined as being given a life that is long enough to acquire all that we want. You may not be the type of person who wants to acquire things, but you have a certain expectation about the live you feel entitled to. Maybe for some it is 18 years or more of education, or a marriage with several biological kids, or an existence free from foreclosures, debt, starvation or loneliness. We think having several years on this rock we call earth is an entitlement because, really, what else is there?
We need a house with three bedrooms because we have three kids. We need a four year degree to get a good job so our families are free from financial stress. We need our kids to be signed up for hundreds of dollars worth of sporting events because otherwise they would just sit on the couch and watch TV.
But why do we feel we need all these things? Surely there is more to do in life than just make money and die.
The outside world’s distress at Nick’s young passing bears witness to the fact that we cannot let go of the belief that “this is all there is”. We think someone has “missed out” when they exit this world without the opportunities we expect.
Let me highlight my point another way. If we truly believed down deep in our souls that this life is merely a dress rehearsal for a much better existence yet to come, our whole culture would look very different than it does now. Instead of sending condolence cards upon someone’s death, we would send “congratulations on your graduation”! Instead of closing ourselves off in our big air conditioned homes, we’d buy a small home in a crowded neighborhood with lots of opportunities for friendship and use our excess funds to bless others while enjoying the health and happiness that springs from the lack of financial strain in our own lives. Instead of 18 years of teaching each other how to struggle to survive with knowledge that will be obsolete in a maximum of 70 years, we’d focus on caring for each other on a regular basis.
(Think about it for a minute….when we die, only our relationships, with God and each other, will live on. Multiplication tables, chemistry equations and financial planning will no longer be a necessity. Could you see any company on the planet thinking it wise to spend 18 years developing something that is guaranteed to be null and void fifty years after it’s complete?)
Those of us who knew and still love Nick miss him because of the relationship we had with him that we are missing out on – and that relationship will be returned to us – Praise God! But when we mourn because of what we think he’s missing out on we tip our hand and show the world what our true belief system is.
This world is not all there is!
Nick is not missing out on a single thing. I guess he does miss out on sunburns – but not on playing in the sun! He will skip acne, but he will still become a man. He sidesteps the land minds of dating, but does not lose intimate relationships with people. He will miss out on having a home mortgage, but God had a mansion already prepared for him when he arrived!
Nick was not robbed of anything, but we will be if we put all of our riches into this world instead of the eternal one.
“Naked a man comes….and so he departs.”
But we can be rich eternally if we deposit our wealth into the real future! How do we get it there? By investing all of our energy, hope, talents, and focus on people. People, relationships, compassion, time, caring, love and effort are the only things that will be waiting for us when we die. The house I bought will be cared for by others for as many years as the Lord decrees and then it will be destroyed and all of my hard work with it. But – praise God – my relationship and love and time with my son will endure forever.
I have a plea…
Please, do not waste all your time, money, focus and effort on a house that someone else will completely redecorate in 10 -20 years or less; or on a car that will be out of fashion in 1 year and rust completely away in 15; or on a career that saps you of the energy you need to be fully involved in your family; or even on an education that will be irrelevant in 50 years if it means that you will ignore God’s word which will last for all eternity.
There is so much more to life than just surviving the current situation we are in now. I cannot say it better than Christ who said,
" 'Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.' This is the first and greatest commandment. And the second is like it: 'Love your neighbor as yourself.’” Matthew 22: 37-39
I miss my son horribly, but I am so excited that he has run the race, finished the course, obtained the prize – even if he did run faster than me! What mother wouldn’t be proud when her son runs,completes and wins the prize in life’s most important race! And I know he is standing at the finish line waiting for me to join him. I am truly blessed!
Saturday, July 12, 2008
HOW MUCH MUSIC CAN YOU MAKE?
By Steve Goodier © 2002
On Nov. 18, 1995, violinist Itzhak Perlman, performed a concert at
Avery Fisher Hall at Lincoln Center in New York City. Stricken with
polio as a child, Perlman painfully walked with the aid of two
crutches to a chair in the middle of the stage. He carefully laid the
crutches on the floor, loosened the clasps of his leg braces, extended
one leg forward and the other underneath his chair, picked up his
instrument and nodded to the conductor to begin.
But something went wrong. After only seconds of playing, one of the
strings on his violin broke. The snap was a gunfire reverberating in
the auditorium. The audience immediately knew what happened and fully
expected the concert to be suspended until another string or even
another instrument could be found.
But Perlman surprised them. He quietly composed himself, closed his
eyes and then signaled the conductor to begin again. The orchestra
resumed where they had left off and Perlman played -- on three
strings. He played with passion and power. All the time he worked out
new fingering in his mind to compensate for the missing string. A work
that few people could play well on four strings Perlman accomplished
on three.
When he finished, an awesome silence hung in the room. And then as
one, the crowd rose to their feet and cheered wildly. Applause burst
forth from every corner of the auditorium as fans showed deep
appreciation for his talent and his courage.
Perlman smiled and wiped the sweat from this brow. Then he raised his
bow to quiet the crowd and said, not boastfully, but in a quiet,
pensive, reverent tone, "You know, sometimes it is the artist's task
to find out how much music you can still make with what you have
left."
Perlman should know. Polio left him with less stamina than he had
before, yet he went on. Playing a concert on three strings is not
unlike his philosophy of life -- he persevered with what he had left
and still made music.
And isn't that true with us? Our task is to find out how much music we
can still make with what we have left. How much good we can still do.
How much joy we can still share. For I'm convinced that the world,
more than ever, needs the music only you and I can make.
And if it takes extra courage to make the music, many will applaud
your effort. For some people have lost more than others, and these
brave souls inspire the rest of us to greater heights.
So I want to ask, "How much music can you make with what you have
left?"
On Nov. 18, 1995, violinist Itzhak Perlman, performed a concert at
Avery Fisher Hall at Lincoln Center in New York City. Stricken with
polio as a child, Perlman painfully walked with the aid of two
crutches to a chair in the middle of the stage. He carefully laid the
crutches on the floor, loosened the clasps of his leg braces, extended
one leg forward and the other underneath his chair, picked up his
instrument and nodded to the conductor to begin.
But something went wrong. After only seconds of playing, one of the
strings on his violin broke. The snap was a gunfire reverberating in
the auditorium. The audience immediately knew what happened and fully
expected the concert to be suspended until another string or even
another instrument could be found.
But Perlman surprised them. He quietly composed himself, closed his
eyes and then signaled the conductor to begin again. The orchestra
resumed where they had left off and Perlman played -- on three
strings. He played with passion and power. All the time he worked out
new fingering in his mind to compensate for the missing string. A work
that few people could play well on four strings Perlman accomplished
on three.
When he finished, an awesome silence hung in the room. And then as
one, the crowd rose to their feet and cheered wildly. Applause burst
forth from every corner of the auditorium as fans showed deep
appreciation for his talent and his courage.
Perlman smiled and wiped the sweat from this brow. Then he raised his
bow to quiet the crowd and said, not boastfully, but in a quiet,
pensive, reverent tone, "You know, sometimes it is the artist's task
to find out how much music you can still make with what you have
left."
Perlman should know. Polio left him with less stamina than he had
before, yet he went on. Playing a concert on three strings is not
unlike his philosophy of life -- he persevered with what he had left
and still made music.
And isn't that true with us? Our task is to find out how much music we
can still make with what we have left. How much good we can still do.
How much joy we can still share. For I'm convinced that the world,
more than ever, needs the music only you and I can make.
And if it takes extra courage to make the music, many will applaud
your effort. For some people have lost more than others, and these
brave souls inspire the rest of us to greater heights.
So I want to ask, "How much music can you make with what you have
left?"
Thursday, July 10, 2008
Mom's worries
Nick was a worrier.
I found myself several times a week telling him not to worry. I would make him look me in the eye and ask directly, “Do you trust me?” He would nod yes. “Then please don’t worry. Let’s pray together, but don’t waste your energy worrying.”
He would worry that he hadn’t told anyone about God in a long time. He would worry that if he didn’t chew his food enough that he would choke. He would worry that Cody would not listen to him or his parents and end up getting really hurt. He would worry that Josh would get hurt when he was in Iraq. He would come out of the shower and ask me if I thought his ribs stuck out too much – he was worried he was too skinny.
Once he worried that the animals he loved would not be in heaven. When he was young I would just say, “yes, there will be cats and frogs and horses in heaven.” But as he got older I knew he could handle a more honest answer. “Nick, I don’t know if there will be horses in heaven, but I do know that there will be a creature that is everything you love about horses and more. Maybe that will be a horse, or maybe something so spectacular you’ll only get to experience it in heaven. But I know there will be a creature that is power, fast, beautiful, gentle and soft! But don’t worry. God knows you love horses – He gave you that love – and He will satisfy the desire more completely than you could ever dream.”
That lesson came full circle today.
My devotion (which is written by a woman who lost two children and it’s specifically for people grieving over loss) was about a topic that really hit home. She said that when she has hard moments at her children’s grave, people are very sweet to remind her that she need not grieve because her children are not there, but rather they are in heaven. She was already well aware of that but was grieving because, though their spirits are in heaven, their bodies are still in the ground. She said, “I really miss their bodies. I love their bodies and I miss holding them.”
I couldn’t agree more. I deeply miss Nick’s body as well as his soul.
I miss Nick’s smile though I’m sure he’ll still have that when we meet again. But, I also miss his “little foot”. I would massage that foot every night as he fell asleep. I know it’s the middle ray that was missing (even though the doctors said it was the pinky) because when you massage his foot it’s obvious which toe is missing. I miss his “cockeyed” stance because his leg was short. I like his long skinny arms and legs and obvious ribs. I love his long lean muscles and dry straw hair.
People say, in order to be encouraging, that Nick will be perfect and made new when I see him again.
But he already was perfect.
I find myself worrying and asking questions that cannot be answered. If I die before the rapture, will I have a chance to see Nick as I knew him before he’s “made new”? How can he be “Nick” without his wonderful little foot and beautiful crooked stance? Is he still little now or did I miss everything I ever looked forward to and he’s shot into adulthood leaving me behind?
I was thinking all these thoughts and more as I drove by Nick’s grave today. I was shocked to tears when I’m sure I heard him respond to my longing and grief…
“Do you trust God, Mom? Then please don’t worry. He knows how much you love me – He gave you that love – and He will satisfy the desire you have more completely than you could ever dream. You still do not know what is here, but please trust God that He will satisfy all your needs. Be patient and peaceful – and, mom, - please don’t worry.”
If it’s possible, I think I love him even more…..
I found myself several times a week telling him not to worry. I would make him look me in the eye and ask directly, “Do you trust me?” He would nod yes. “Then please don’t worry. Let’s pray together, but don’t waste your energy worrying.”
He would worry that he hadn’t told anyone about God in a long time. He would worry that if he didn’t chew his food enough that he would choke. He would worry that Cody would not listen to him or his parents and end up getting really hurt. He would worry that Josh would get hurt when he was in Iraq. He would come out of the shower and ask me if I thought his ribs stuck out too much – he was worried he was too skinny.
Once he worried that the animals he loved would not be in heaven. When he was young I would just say, “yes, there will be cats and frogs and horses in heaven.” But as he got older I knew he could handle a more honest answer. “Nick, I don’t know if there will be horses in heaven, but I do know that there will be a creature that is everything you love about horses and more. Maybe that will be a horse, or maybe something so spectacular you’ll only get to experience it in heaven. But I know there will be a creature that is power, fast, beautiful, gentle and soft! But don’t worry. God knows you love horses – He gave you that love – and He will satisfy the desire more completely than you could ever dream.”
That lesson came full circle today.
My devotion (which is written by a woman who lost two children and it’s specifically for people grieving over loss) was about a topic that really hit home. She said that when she has hard moments at her children’s grave, people are very sweet to remind her that she need not grieve because her children are not there, but rather they are in heaven. She was already well aware of that but was grieving because, though their spirits are in heaven, their bodies are still in the ground. She said, “I really miss their bodies. I love their bodies and I miss holding them.”
I couldn’t agree more. I deeply miss Nick’s body as well as his soul.
I miss Nick’s smile though I’m sure he’ll still have that when we meet again. But, I also miss his “little foot”. I would massage that foot every night as he fell asleep. I know it’s the middle ray that was missing (even though the doctors said it was the pinky) because when you massage his foot it’s obvious which toe is missing. I miss his “cockeyed” stance because his leg was short. I like his long skinny arms and legs and obvious ribs. I love his long lean muscles and dry straw hair.
People say, in order to be encouraging, that Nick will be perfect and made new when I see him again.
But he already was perfect.
I find myself worrying and asking questions that cannot be answered. If I die before the rapture, will I have a chance to see Nick as I knew him before he’s “made new”? How can he be “Nick” without his wonderful little foot and beautiful crooked stance? Is he still little now or did I miss everything I ever looked forward to and he’s shot into adulthood leaving me behind?
I was thinking all these thoughts and more as I drove by Nick’s grave today. I was shocked to tears when I’m sure I heard him respond to my longing and grief…
“Do you trust God, Mom? Then please don’t worry. He knows how much you love me – He gave you that love – and He will satisfy the desire you have more completely than you could ever dream. You still do not know what is here, but please trust God that He will satisfy all your needs. Be patient and peaceful – and, mom, - please don’t worry.”
If it’s possible, I think I love him even more…..
Sunday, June 29, 2008
Driving in the rain
We began our camping trip today.
We were told at a marriage seminar years ago that if you want to improve your relationship, go camping.
The speaker said that all sorts of things go wrong when people go camping and you learn how to handle problems together and how to stick together during tough times. Plus, you get the bonus of lots of hair-raising stores to tell once you get home! There’s nothing like camping to bring a family together!
We’ve needed some time away and together more than ever lately. We need to get away from the everyday rituals (not that there’s anything “regular” about our days as of late) and refocus on who we are as a family and how we’re going to move forward from now on.
We originally planned this trip before we ever left for China in the fall. We knew we’d have limited funds for a family vacation this year due to the adoption expenses, but we didn’t want to eliminate important family time. The boys were very enthusiastic about the idea of a camping trip even though our last trip included flooding, a tornado and even breaking camp early because mom developed a slipped disk. Somehow, amidst all the chaos, fun apparently was had by both boys.
It took awhile to decide if the trip would still be worth it without our entire family in physical attendance, but we decided that we probably needed a camping trip this year more than ever.
So, Saturday we set out.
As we drove dark clouds grew on the horizon. There was some beautiful, blue, clear sky to the left and dark, ominous, completely overcast skies to the right. Cody said, “Oh, let’s go there (indicating the left area). It’s clear and dry over there.” But Tony said, “No, our destination is to the right.” Cody responded, “But why? It's so much nicer over there!” Tony answered, “I’m sorry, our camp ground was set in advance and it’s apparently experiencing some bad weather right now. Hopefully, it will blow over by the time we get there.”
Then the rain hit.
It came in huge sheets of large, plump rain drops. We were ambushed with such intensity that Tony’s concentration was stretched to its full capacity. Semi trucks roared by throwing buckets of water on the windshield and obscuring the road with spray. The volume was so intense that that the wipers couldn’t even keep up. It took every ounce of strength to keep the steering wheel straight and Tony had to strain with all his concentration to peer through the walls of water. Eventually, he had to ask everyone to stay quiet because even the smallest amount of added stimulus increased the risk of the whole system failing and the car careening off into a ditch.
At that very moment I realized that I had finally found a more perfect analogy for what every day of my life is now like.
Driving is easy and usually driving on the highway is so monotonous that I risk being lulled asleep at the wheel. But when a storm hits, staying on the road, remaining within my lane and limiting my risk of running off the road takes every bit of energy I can muster. Distractions are irritating, unmanageable and potentially deadly.
It’s not that I can’t go on or even that I’ve lost the will to live; it’s just that every moment is so much more exhausting than it used to be. It’s like I’m continually driving in the rain. It’s still driving and I haven’t forgotten how to do it, but it’s so much more difficult now. There are no mundane or easy days anymore. I’m not crying constantly or continually agonizing over my grief, I’m just driving in the rain. Every step takes all my concentration and time and energy and focus.
There are times when the rain is light and gentle and I even like to listen to the memories that tap on the roof top. Those times are nice. The little sprinkling of raindrops on the windshield clears away the dirt and even helps to see things a little more clearly. The cool breeze that eases the humidity when the temperature drops and the wind as it combs back the grass along the highway in waves are sweet experiences.
But as the sky blackens my fingers whiten around the steering wheel because I know what’s coming. The thunder rumbles and with a single crack the skies let loose. Sometimes there’s a few minutes warning and other times it just comes crashing down before I even have time to run for cover.
And then I’m stuck driving in the rain.
Images of Nick with wires and hoses coming out every orifice get thrown in my face by a passing truck. Mirages of him in future events that I thought would be pass by smiling and laughing and mist out in front of me blurring my view confusing my perception of what’s to come. Guilt over not hugging him goodbye – not even turning around to watch him jump out of the car for the last time – cascade down the windshield in heavy sheets from the roof. I turn on the wipers of activity, engaging in relationships, self-forgiveness, bible study – to name a few – but if the rain is heavy enough they have no effect.
I can see the clear skies off to the side, but I know that’s not where my road is going. I know my destination was planned in advance. I don’t have the benefit of knowing how far or how long, but I know it’s planned, under control and has a destination that I will thoroughly enjoy. I actually can’t wait to get there! But for now, there’s a storm – and I’m stuck driving in it.
We were told at a marriage seminar years ago that if you want to improve your relationship, go camping.
The speaker said that all sorts of things go wrong when people go camping and you learn how to handle problems together and how to stick together during tough times. Plus, you get the bonus of lots of hair-raising stores to tell once you get home! There’s nothing like camping to bring a family together!
We’ve needed some time away and together more than ever lately. We need to get away from the everyday rituals (not that there’s anything “regular” about our days as of late) and refocus on who we are as a family and how we’re going to move forward from now on.
We originally planned this trip before we ever left for China in the fall. We knew we’d have limited funds for a family vacation this year due to the adoption expenses, but we didn’t want to eliminate important family time. The boys were very enthusiastic about the idea of a camping trip even though our last trip included flooding, a tornado and even breaking camp early because mom developed a slipped disk. Somehow, amidst all the chaos, fun apparently was had by both boys.
It took awhile to decide if the trip would still be worth it without our entire family in physical attendance, but we decided that we probably needed a camping trip this year more than ever.
So, Saturday we set out.
As we drove dark clouds grew on the horizon. There was some beautiful, blue, clear sky to the left and dark, ominous, completely overcast skies to the right. Cody said, “Oh, let’s go there (indicating the left area). It’s clear and dry over there.” But Tony said, “No, our destination is to the right.” Cody responded, “But why? It's so much nicer over there!” Tony answered, “I’m sorry, our camp ground was set in advance and it’s apparently experiencing some bad weather right now. Hopefully, it will blow over by the time we get there.”
Then the rain hit.
It came in huge sheets of large, plump rain drops. We were ambushed with such intensity that Tony’s concentration was stretched to its full capacity. Semi trucks roared by throwing buckets of water on the windshield and obscuring the road with spray. The volume was so intense that that the wipers couldn’t even keep up. It took every ounce of strength to keep the steering wheel straight and Tony had to strain with all his concentration to peer through the walls of water. Eventually, he had to ask everyone to stay quiet because even the smallest amount of added stimulus increased the risk of the whole system failing and the car careening off into a ditch.
At that very moment I realized that I had finally found a more perfect analogy for what every day of my life is now like.
Driving is easy and usually driving on the highway is so monotonous that I risk being lulled asleep at the wheel. But when a storm hits, staying on the road, remaining within my lane and limiting my risk of running off the road takes every bit of energy I can muster. Distractions are irritating, unmanageable and potentially deadly.
It’s not that I can’t go on or even that I’ve lost the will to live; it’s just that every moment is so much more exhausting than it used to be. It’s like I’m continually driving in the rain. It’s still driving and I haven’t forgotten how to do it, but it’s so much more difficult now. There are no mundane or easy days anymore. I’m not crying constantly or continually agonizing over my grief, I’m just driving in the rain. Every step takes all my concentration and time and energy and focus.
There are times when the rain is light and gentle and I even like to listen to the memories that tap on the roof top. Those times are nice. The little sprinkling of raindrops on the windshield clears away the dirt and even helps to see things a little more clearly. The cool breeze that eases the humidity when the temperature drops and the wind as it combs back the grass along the highway in waves are sweet experiences.
But as the sky blackens my fingers whiten around the steering wheel because I know what’s coming. The thunder rumbles and with a single crack the skies let loose. Sometimes there’s a few minutes warning and other times it just comes crashing down before I even have time to run for cover.
And then I’m stuck driving in the rain.
Images of Nick with wires and hoses coming out every orifice get thrown in my face by a passing truck. Mirages of him in future events that I thought would be pass by smiling and laughing and mist out in front of me blurring my view confusing my perception of what’s to come. Guilt over not hugging him goodbye – not even turning around to watch him jump out of the car for the last time – cascade down the windshield in heavy sheets from the roof. I turn on the wipers of activity, engaging in relationships, self-forgiveness, bible study – to name a few – but if the rain is heavy enough they have no effect.
I can see the clear skies off to the side, but I know that’s not where my road is going. I know my destination was planned in advance. I don’t have the benefit of knowing how far or how long, but I know it’s planned, under control and has a destination that I will thoroughly enjoy. I actually can’t wait to get there! But for now, there’s a storm – and I’m stuck driving in it.
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
Funny video
I always thought that this would be what our house would be like in 8 or 10 years. I actually looked forward to the boys fighting because at least it meant they were bonding and caring for each other.
I saw this video first a few years ago and laughed and laughed because it was such a good representation of Nick and Cody. Now I still laugh (out loud actually) and cry, too.
I miss my son, but I also miss the years I had dreamed of and lost.
I hope you can laugh at this and enjoy some of your own memories of "Nick -N- Cody" and their very "brotherly" relationship!
I saw this video first a few years ago and laughed and laughed because it was such a good representation of Nick and Cody. Now I still laugh (out loud actually) and cry, too.
I miss my son, but I also miss the years I had dreamed of and lost.
I hope you can laugh at this and enjoy some of your own memories of "Nick -N- Cody" and their very "brotherly" relationship!
Monday, May 19, 2008
Should I be making decisions?
They say you aren’t suppose to make any major life decision for a year after you lose a loved one. They say that for the first many months you won’t be able to think straight and you may make life altering decisions that you weren’t able to think through clearly. They say you’ll be thinking with your heart and emotions instead of logically.
I wonder if they are all wrong.
It is true that I am thinking with my heart and also very emotionally – but who says that’s wrong? I can’t think like I use to and I am no longer concerned with the things of earth but only with the things of heaven – but who knows if that’s “clouded judgement” or truly thinking clearly for the first time in my life? I am filled with strong emotions for people and concerned for their emotional and physical well-being over all other issues like food, clothing and career – but how am I to know if that is illogical thinking or if my priorities are finally straight?
Could it be that death breaks through the clouded barrier that the prince of this world has placed between us and heaven? Could the loss of a loved one be the bucket of cold ice water that wakes us up out of our narcotic stupor that limits our ability to care for those around us? Could it be that shocking pain awakens our senses to the issues that truly matter and opens our eyes to true reality? Could it be that what we thought was reality all these years was just smoke and mirrors meant to distract us from our true calling and purpose? Could it be that C.S. Lewis was correct – that tragedy is what God uses to wake us up from a life that would otherwise be hopelessly lost and distracted from it’s true intended purpose?
So, why not act upon the impulses of this time of grief and pain?
Why not become engrossed in a project of complete umimportance on a worldly scale and get lost in frivolous behavior like spending all of my time with the poor and needy and spiritually bankrupt? Why not care for others to such an extant that I run the risk of losing my own worldly goods for the sake of saving the eternal wealth of another?
This world has become empty to me. It is useless and void.
But people matter. My discomfort is irrelevant and daily chores unimportant, but people are priceless.
I am in agony over the interruption of my relationship with my son, so why not use this unbearable amount of time we are required to spend apart in a way that will make it seem of some importance? Why not lose myself in the attempt to relieve the suffering of another and exhaust myself in the efforts to care for my family with a hope that the days might begin to pass less slowly? Why not care for the only thing that matters and the only thing that lasts – people – and forget all of life’s other demands?
If I feed myself, I should look for ways to feed the starving; Cothe myself – clothe the naked; Read the scriptures – find the illiterate to read outloud to.;Love my children – care for those with no parents to love them. I feel an insatiable urge to make my time worth the incredible price I’m paying to be stuck here.
Isn’t this what God has been shouting to us all along anyways? Aren’t we suppose to get our heads out of this materialistic and sinful world and focus on eternity? Isn’t fasting and praying truly about being so caught up in the needs of others that we forget to eat and being so overwhelmed with the need to plead to God on another’s behalf that we forget to sleep? Isn’t to obey better than sacrifice? Isn’t it better to go hungry not because we’ve decided to store our food away on a particular prescribed day of prayer, but rather that we go hungry because we’ve given all our food away?
Does God Himself say in Isaiah 58:5-10 (emphasis mine):
Is this the kind of fast I have chosen,
only a day for a man to humble himself?
Is it only for bowing one's head like a reed
and for lying on sackcloth and ashes?
Is that what you call a fast,
a day acceptable to the LORD ?
Is not this the kind of fasting I have chosen:
to loose the chains of injustice
and untie the cords of the yoke,
to set the oppressed free
and break every yoke?
Is it not to share your food with the hungry
and to provide the poor wanderer with shelter—
when you see the naked, to clothe him,
and not to turn away from your own flesh and blood?
Then your light will break forth like the dawn,
and your healing will quickly appear;
then your righteousness [a] will go before you,
and the glory of the LORD will be your rear guard.
Then you will call, and the LORD will answer;
you will cry for help, and he will say: Here am I.
"If you do away with the yoke of oppression,
with the pointing finger and malicious talk,
and if you spend yourselves in behalf of the hungry
and satisfy the needs of the oppressed,
then your light will rise in the darkness,
and your night will become like the noonday.”
So, what activities should I be limiting myself to? What things are more dramatic and less life altering than the loss of my child? What decision could I possibly make that would be more irreversable than living my life without one of my children by my side?
Please , forgive me if I choose to “live life on the wild side”. I think that, while I am living in this altered state of total awareness of what truly matters and what is completely unimportant, I will risk making many big decisions.
Don’t be surprised if you see me playing ball with Cody while the laundry piles up. Don’t be shocked if I’m kicking a soccer ball with Selah while the grass is two feet high. Don’t spred rumors if I am sipping lemonade with the neighbor when you think I should be washing windows. (I hope I prove to be more interested in lines of communication remaining clear than I am about clear windows!)
But most of all, don’t allow me to forget where I am today or waste the lesson I have learned and slip into numbness again. Don’t allow the enemy’s lies to drug me into believing that my physical comfort or my family’s well-being is more important than the spiritual lives and well-being of those I encounter throughout my day.
Tell me where there’s a single mom who needs childcare, show me where there’s a food pantry I can help in, introduce me to your neighbor who doesn’t know the Lord.
Life will be hard for me – it will be hard forever now. So, if it’s going to be hard anyways, it might as well have purpose.
And that’s a very big decision
I wonder if they are all wrong.
It is true that I am thinking with my heart and also very emotionally – but who says that’s wrong? I can’t think like I use to and I am no longer concerned with the things of earth but only with the things of heaven – but who knows if that’s “clouded judgement” or truly thinking clearly for the first time in my life? I am filled with strong emotions for people and concerned for their emotional and physical well-being over all other issues like food, clothing and career – but how am I to know if that is illogical thinking or if my priorities are finally straight?
Could it be that death breaks through the clouded barrier that the prince of this world has placed between us and heaven? Could the loss of a loved one be the bucket of cold ice water that wakes us up out of our narcotic stupor that limits our ability to care for those around us? Could it be that shocking pain awakens our senses to the issues that truly matter and opens our eyes to true reality? Could it be that what we thought was reality all these years was just smoke and mirrors meant to distract us from our true calling and purpose? Could it be that C.S. Lewis was correct – that tragedy is what God uses to wake us up from a life that would otherwise be hopelessly lost and distracted from it’s true intended purpose?
So, why not act upon the impulses of this time of grief and pain?
Why not become engrossed in a project of complete umimportance on a worldly scale and get lost in frivolous behavior like spending all of my time with the poor and needy and spiritually bankrupt? Why not care for others to such an extant that I run the risk of losing my own worldly goods for the sake of saving the eternal wealth of another?
This world has become empty to me. It is useless and void.
But people matter. My discomfort is irrelevant and daily chores unimportant, but people are priceless.
I am in agony over the interruption of my relationship with my son, so why not use this unbearable amount of time we are required to spend apart in a way that will make it seem of some importance? Why not lose myself in the attempt to relieve the suffering of another and exhaust myself in the efforts to care for my family with a hope that the days might begin to pass less slowly? Why not care for the only thing that matters and the only thing that lasts – people – and forget all of life’s other demands?
If I feed myself, I should look for ways to feed the starving; Cothe myself – clothe the naked; Read the scriptures – find the illiterate to read outloud to.;Love my children – care for those with no parents to love them. I feel an insatiable urge to make my time worth the incredible price I’m paying to be stuck here.
Isn’t this what God has been shouting to us all along anyways? Aren’t we suppose to get our heads out of this materialistic and sinful world and focus on eternity? Isn’t fasting and praying truly about being so caught up in the needs of others that we forget to eat and being so overwhelmed with the need to plead to God on another’s behalf that we forget to sleep? Isn’t to obey better than sacrifice? Isn’t it better to go hungry not because we’ve decided to store our food away on a particular prescribed day of prayer, but rather that we go hungry because we’ve given all our food away?
Does God Himself say in Isaiah 58:5-10 (emphasis mine):
Is this the kind of fast I have chosen,
only a day for a man to humble himself?
Is it only for bowing one's head like a reed
and for lying on sackcloth and ashes?
Is that what you call a fast,
a day acceptable to the LORD ?
Is not this the kind of fasting I have chosen:
to loose the chains of injustice
and untie the cords of the yoke,
to set the oppressed free
and break every yoke?
Is it not to share your food with the hungry
and to provide the poor wanderer with shelter—
when you see the naked, to clothe him,
and not to turn away from your own flesh and blood?
Then your light will break forth like the dawn,
and your healing will quickly appear;
then your righteousness [a] will go before you,
and the glory of the LORD will be your rear guard.
Then you will call, and the LORD will answer;
you will cry for help, and he will say: Here am I.
"If you do away with the yoke of oppression,
with the pointing finger and malicious talk,
and if you spend yourselves in behalf of the hungry
and satisfy the needs of the oppressed,
then your light will rise in the darkness,
and your night will become like the noonday.”
So, what activities should I be limiting myself to? What things are more dramatic and less life altering than the loss of my child? What decision could I possibly make that would be more irreversable than living my life without one of my children by my side?
Please , forgive me if I choose to “live life on the wild side”. I think that, while I am living in this altered state of total awareness of what truly matters and what is completely unimportant, I will risk making many big decisions.
Don’t be surprised if you see me playing ball with Cody while the laundry piles up. Don’t be shocked if I’m kicking a soccer ball with Selah while the grass is two feet high. Don’t spred rumors if I am sipping lemonade with the neighbor when you think I should be washing windows. (I hope I prove to be more interested in lines of communication remaining clear than I am about clear windows!)
But most of all, don’t allow me to forget where I am today or waste the lesson I have learned and slip into numbness again. Don’t allow the enemy’s lies to drug me into believing that my physical comfort or my family’s well-being is more important than the spiritual lives and well-being of those I encounter throughout my day.
Tell me where there’s a single mom who needs childcare, show me where there’s a food pantry I can help in, introduce me to your neighbor who doesn’t know the Lord.
Life will be hard for me – it will be hard forever now. So, if it’s going to be hard anyways, it might as well have purpose.
And that’s a very big decision
Sunday, May 11, 2008
Mother's Day Weekend
This Weekend
This weekend was hard; way harder than I thought it would be. I actually thought I would be completely fine. I have both children with which to celebrate the holiday as well as my own mother and mother-in-law to send greetings.
But my decent began when I wrote a Mother’s Day card to my sister.
You see, this is her first Mother’s Day and I was so excited to buy her a card and remember what all my firsts were like. I remembered my first Mother’s Day and how I realized on that first Mother’s Day that I was finally an adult involved in a real life. I was not just a student playing house with my new husband. I wasn’t a newlywed or new at life or new in my career – I was an official somebody.
I had become a mom.
I wrote all of my thoughts to my sister with excitement for her and joyous reminiscing for myself for many moments until it hit me…
The source of all my hopes - my confidence in my new role as a parent and my newly realized maturity -was gone.
My son is gone.
It’s like I actually forgot it for a moment.
So, that was Thursday and it’s been a downward spiral every since.
Hope
Once again I have been reading from the One Year Book of Hope and I was directed to read an excerpt from Psalm 91 and consider how the Lord is sovereign in my life. Specifically, I was asked to consider what I think about the phrase “[The Lord] is my refuge” in light of my current circumstances.
I had already been thinking about this topic weeks ago because of a Psalm that I had memorized years ago. Psalm 103 says, “You redeemed my life from the pit and crowned me with love and compassion.”
Needless to say, I haven’t felt very redeemed or safe from the perils of life recently.
But then I heard the details of some stories of families who went through the loss of a child and they had no hope or faith in the salvation of Jesus Christ.
As much as thirty years later these families were still lost in their grief.
They could barely function with the constant thoughts that their child was no more. They believed that their child simply ceased to exist and that their child’s short life was a waste because it had no time to affect another. Somewhere along their paths of grief they became lost in alcoholism, drug addiction, affairs, divorce and even abandoning the children that remained in their homes.
It was then that I realized that the lives they had been living were the “pit” that scripture referred to. They are hopelessly lost - both in this life and the next.
I praise God that I have a promise of not only seeing Nick again, but living an eternity with him. As difficult and painful as this is now, how could I hope to survive if I did not know of the redemption of Christ?
Housekeeping and Psalm 91
So, I read the Psalm as requested and I was truly blessed. Feel free to click over on the link that says “Scripture to heal” and have a look at what I learned.
Also, I jumped on this blog and cleaned it up for you all (I figured it was a better thing to do than just sitting listening to the rain and crying all day - which is what I had planned to do for this Mother’s Day!)
Please, bless me by visiting the links I added to the side and adding any thoughts you feel led to include. (No matter how you send your thoughts – email to me or as a comment – I’ll clean it up and make sure it posts “nice” for everyone else to see!)
Thanks for visiting again today.
Andi - andimorici@yahoo.com
This weekend was hard; way harder than I thought it would be. I actually thought I would be completely fine. I have both children with which to celebrate the holiday as well as my own mother and mother-in-law to send greetings.
But my decent began when I wrote a Mother’s Day card to my sister.
You see, this is her first Mother’s Day and I was so excited to buy her a card and remember what all my firsts were like. I remembered my first Mother’s Day and how I realized on that first Mother’s Day that I was finally an adult involved in a real life. I was not just a student playing house with my new husband. I wasn’t a newlywed or new at life or new in my career – I was an official somebody.
I had become a mom.
I wrote all of my thoughts to my sister with excitement for her and joyous reminiscing for myself for many moments until it hit me…
The source of all my hopes - my confidence in my new role as a parent and my newly realized maturity -was gone.
My son is gone.
It’s like I actually forgot it for a moment.
So, that was Thursday and it’s been a downward spiral every since.
Hope
Once again I have been reading from the One Year Book of Hope and I was directed to read an excerpt from Psalm 91 and consider how the Lord is sovereign in my life. Specifically, I was asked to consider what I think about the phrase “[The Lord] is my refuge” in light of my current circumstances.
I had already been thinking about this topic weeks ago because of a Psalm that I had memorized years ago. Psalm 103 says, “You redeemed my life from the pit and crowned me with love and compassion.”
Needless to say, I haven’t felt very redeemed or safe from the perils of life recently.
But then I heard the details of some stories of families who went through the loss of a child and they had no hope or faith in the salvation of Jesus Christ.
As much as thirty years later these families were still lost in their grief.
They could barely function with the constant thoughts that their child was no more. They believed that their child simply ceased to exist and that their child’s short life was a waste because it had no time to affect another. Somewhere along their paths of grief they became lost in alcoholism, drug addiction, affairs, divorce and even abandoning the children that remained in their homes.
It was then that I realized that the lives they had been living were the “pit” that scripture referred to. They are hopelessly lost - both in this life and the next.
I praise God that I have a promise of not only seeing Nick again, but living an eternity with him. As difficult and painful as this is now, how could I hope to survive if I did not know of the redemption of Christ?
Housekeeping and Psalm 91
So, I read the Psalm as requested and I was truly blessed. Feel free to click over on the link that says “Scripture to heal” and have a look at what I learned.
Also, I jumped on this blog and cleaned it up for you all (I figured it was a better thing to do than just sitting listening to the rain and crying all day - which is what I had planned to do for this Mother’s Day!)
Please, bless me by visiting the links I added to the side and adding any thoughts you feel led to include. (No matter how you send your thoughts – email to me or as a comment – I’ll clean it up and make sure it posts “nice” for everyone else to see!)
Thanks for visiting again today.
Andi - andimorici@yahoo.com
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
Pleasantly Surprised
I was pleasantly surprised, but surprised none the less, to discover that people are actually reading this blog! Why would I write if I didn’t think people were reading it all along? Because it’s very therapeutic for me to write and get these thoughts out of my head even if no one else cares to know the inner workings of my brain!
So, since more than one person has told me that this blog gives them an insight into how I am doing, I will say it plainly –
I’m progressing.
There are bad days, not so bad days and even a few moments of laughter every now and again. Most importantly Tony and I have been seeing a counselor and she has been quite helpful. Mostly she’s helped me to understand the “lay of the land”. She reassures me that what I’m experiencing is normal or that various valleys won’t last forever.
Currently, I am fearful that these new positive feelings I’ve been having may mean that I didn’t love Nick enough or that there’s something wrong with me if I already have days when I can actually take deep breaths. But again, she encouraged me to enjoy the respite while I have it. Apparently, natural breaks occur during the grief cycle and instead of complaining about when or how they come, I should embrace them and use the time to regain some strength for the next bout.
For the most part, I do have a desire to survive this process and I’ve learned that is really the most major battle in the war. Just desiring to try to make it to the end of time without being swallowed up by grief is one of the lifelong goals of grief management. For me, it’s the act of falling into grief that is extremely easy.
Grief is like a well. It takes no effort at all to step over the edge and free fall for hours or days. Just sitting, remembering, looking at photos, being alone – any of those things usually lead to hours of tumbling through the deep, dark well of sorrow.
But if I want to stop, that takes immense effort.
Somewhere along the freefall I have to decide I want to stop – which is a seriously difficult choice to begin with. Then I have to reach out and grab a slippery root or jutting rock from the side of the earthen well wall. Those roots of hope can be grasped by putting the photo album away, getting up out of bed or choosing to talk or play with Selah.
Then I begin the exhausting climb to the top - pulling and stretching one agonizing inch at a time – grasping for the next root, jagged rock, or hand hold in the dirt – and struggling my way to the top. I take a walk, make a play date for Selah, go to the grocery store whether or not I need anything, read my bible and play a worship CD, type my thoughts for the blog…
But on some occasions I’m falling with no strength to stop the decent …
Then –mercifully - a hand reaches out from nowhere and whisks me into the light. That’s when a phone call breaks into my thoughts, a neighbor taps at the door or a friend comes by to spend a few hours listening.
I’ve heard that most people don’t want to bother us so they don’t call. They don’t want to intrude so they don’t stop by. They don’t want to interrupt so they don’t knock on the door. But I’ve found that the only time I’m safe from myself is when others are around and offer their time to sit and listen to what my brain has been doing to me lately!
I’m sure it’s very trying for those who have chosen to take the challenge!
But don’t be surprised if you leave a message and I don’t call you back.
When the phone doesn’t ring, I don’t take the time to go and pick it up. If I see the message blinking, I don’t feel like taking the effort to press the button. And when I do hear a message, I become like a teenage boy fearing the first conversation with the girl who’s stolen his heart. I don’t know what to say. I’m afraid that the conversation I’ve played out in my head won’t be the one that turns out to happen. I’m not sure if what I have to say is worth your time or even if you have time for me to begin with.
So, I waste the whole day arguing with myself whether or not I should call and never get up the nerve to actually pick up the phone.
So, that’s how I’m doing – in a nut shell.
Thanks to those of you who care and those who had the nerve to ask! You are braver than I!
Andi
So, since more than one person has told me that this blog gives them an insight into how I am doing, I will say it plainly –
I’m progressing.
There are bad days, not so bad days and even a few moments of laughter every now and again. Most importantly Tony and I have been seeing a counselor and she has been quite helpful. Mostly she’s helped me to understand the “lay of the land”. She reassures me that what I’m experiencing is normal or that various valleys won’t last forever.
Currently, I am fearful that these new positive feelings I’ve been having may mean that I didn’t love Nick enough or that there’s something wrong with me if I already have days when I can actually take deep breaths. But again, she encouraged me to enjoy the respite while I have it. Apparently, natural breaks occur during the grief cycle and instead of complaining about when or how they come, I should embrace them and use the time to regain some strength for the next bout.
For the most part, I do have a desire to survive this process and I’ve learned that is really the most major battle in the war. Just desiring to try to make it to the end of time without being swallowed up by grief is one of the lifelong goals of grief management. For me, it’s the act of falling into grief that is extremely easy.
Grief is like a well. It takes no effort at all to step over the edge and free fall for hours or days. Just sitting, remembering, looking at photos, being alone – any of those things usually lead to hours of tumbling through the deep, dark well of sorrow.
But if I want to stop, that takes immense effort.
Somewhere along the freefall I have to decide I want to stop – which is a seriously difficult choice to begin with. Then I have to reach out and grab a slippery root or jutting rock from the side of the earthen well wall. Those roots of hope can be grasped by putting the photo album away, getting up out of bed or choosing to talk or play with Selah.
Then I begin the exhausting climb to the top - pulling and stretching one agonizing inch at a time – grasping for the next root, jagged rock, or hand hold in the dirt – and struggling my way to the top. I take a walk, make a play date for Selah, go to the grocery store whether or not I need anything, read my bible and play a worship CD, type my thoughts for the blog…
But on some occasions I’m falling with no strength to stop the decent …
Then –mercifully - a hand reaches out from nowhere and whisks me into the light. That’s when a phone call breaks into my thoughts, a neighbor taps at the door or a friend comes by to spend a few hours listening.
I’ve heard that most people don’t want to bother us so they don’t call. They don’t want to intrude so they don’t stop by. They don’t want to interrupt so they don’t knock on the door. But I’ve found that the only time I’m safe from myself is when others are around and offer their time to sit and listen to what my brain has been doing to me lately!
I’m sure it’s very trying for those who have chosen to take the challenge!
But don’t be surprised if you leave a message and I don’t call you back.
When the phone doesn’t ring, I don’t take the time to go and pick it up. If I see the message blinking, I don’t feel like taking the effort to press the button. And when I do hear a message, I become like a teenage boy fearing the first conversation with the girl who’s stolen his heart. I don’t know what to say. I’m afraid that the conversation I’ve played out in my head won’t be the one that turns out to happen. I’m not sure if what I have to say is worth your time or even if you have time for me to begin with.
So, I waste the whole day arguing with myself whether or not I should call and never get up the nerve to actually pick up the phone.
So, that’s how I’m doing – in a nut shell.
Thanks to those of you who care and those who had the nerve to ask! You are braver than I!
Andi
Sunday, April 20, 2008
The Answer to "Why?"
For so long (actually it’s only been nine weeks – but under the circumstances, nine weeks is long) I keep wondering “why”. Not “Why did Nick die”. I could see the answer to that question the day of the funeral. So many lives were touched and changed forever and I still hear stories even today. I also know the answer to why I can’t go be with him. Everyone keeps telling me I have to take care of my family – though I’m not sure what good I am to them now. There’s not very much of me left and certainly nothing left over to share with others.
The “why” I keep asking is “why is God waiting to bring an end to this world?” If it’s all going to come to an end anyways, why not now? Why not just let those of us who are still here make our decision as we would in the end and let eternity begin now? What are we waiting for?
My sister asked me a question that started me on the path to my answer.
Sunny asked, “Andi, if you could choose between the person you were before Nick passed and the person you have become because of your experience, which would you pick?” That took a lot of thinking to answer. That question was really three questions in one and each question required deep thought and thorough consideration.
First of all, how am I different now from who I was before? I always thought I was fine before – of course. You never know your shortcomings until you have new growth to measure against it. Then it’s so obvious that you’re embarrassed others may have known all along, but didn’t want to break the news to you! I thought I loved the Lord, lived my life according to my understanding of His will, and looked forward to heaven as my real home. I thought I studied excessively (sometimes too much study and not enough action) to understand completely the reasons for my faith and the concrete answers to why the bible is real and true and that Jesus is the only way.
Then came the day that a doctor looked at me and said, “I’m sorry.”
I realized for the first time with complete and instant understanding that there was nothing on this whole earth that mattered. All I cared about was what heaven was like and what I had to do to get there. My relationship with God and the complete understanding of His will and plan were instantly more important than taking my next breath. Things that seemed to matter like haircuts, clothes that fit, exercising or watching the news appeared to me for the first time as they truly were…a vapor. Events that seemed so vital to everyday life dematerialize before my very eyes. It was as scripture says how we will be changed in an instant – there was no studying or learning or striving – it was instantaneous.
The second implied portion of Sunny’s question required me to consider if this new person I had become was better or worse. With all the insight I gained, I did lose a lot as well. Obviously, I lost Nick and no words can describe the depths of that loss. But I’m beginning to realize one other significant loss; “happiness”.
“Joy” is that inner peace, satisfaction and positive outlook that persists whether circumstances are great or horrible. It’s that thing that we as Christians study about and seek to understand and strive to obtain. It’s unsinkable even in the most destructive storm. I have to admit that even now I do have moments of joy. But I can’t seem to find happiness. Happiness is based on happenstance. It’s the glee that comes with fortuitous circumstances. It’s fleeting and unpredictable. And therefore, who would want it, right? -- Me –
I miss the innocence of happiness. To be involved in a moment and have smiles erupt because pure pleasure surrounds every aspect of the event you are involved in. Happiness weaves around a toddler’s giggle, a child’s first circus, a wedding, a birth, a game won… There are no thoughts involved and no need to remind yourself that things are not as they seem. You never have to talk yourself into happiness or train your eyes to look beyond the veil of the tangible world. Happiness comes when you don’t have to concern yourself with what’s going on “behind the scenes”. I miss that.
So, would I rather the perspective I have now over the innocent happiness I had then? I would have to say yes. How could I go back to naïveté after graduating from the Ivy League of hard knocks schools? How could I live with myself? How could I look in the mirror and continue to care about the things of this earth when I’ve learned that not a one of them truly matters? So, yes, I believe that the new person I’ve become is “better” than the old and I would choose not to return to that state of being.
Thirdly, do I believe I would have become that person some other way if Nick had not died? Do I believe that I could have studied enough or read enough or even learned from another’s experience?
Never.
I have only recently learned that pain is part of the process necessary to make us the person we are to become. It's the chisel in God's hand to build us and mold us. Now, I've only experienced one kind of pain and I know how radically different I am now. I never would have ever learned the lessons that I've experienced through the loss of Nick even if I completed a thousand bible studies. I was truly changed by the work of the Holy Spirit – it was divine experience that that was dropped into my lap. Whoever said that experience is a cruel teacher was painfully correct.
So, if those things are true and I needed the world to be turning in order to experience the loss of my son to become who God had originally designed me to be, then how many other people need the world to turn in order to become the creation God started out creating them to be? How many others need to be on earth in order to experience their “life changing” day and become whole? We call it pain, but to God it is "light and momentary" troubles that are brief and necessary to mold us into the person He created us to be. I am peaceful in the realization that God may actually be in the process of building thousands of lives of which I have no awareness. I have come to terms with the realization He could not possibly take the time to sit down with me and explain each person's life and why they need particular "earthly" experiences in order to grow and experience eternity to its fullest.
I want to make it clear that I am not talking about needing more days simply for those who are going to come to Christ to have more time to accept Him. God knows who they are and He doesn’t need more days to pass to know who belongs to Him and who does not. These passing days are a gift to us. We need the days in order to grow and learn and mature in our relationship with God. He’s using the days to mold us – not to just waste time waiting to see who will come. He already knows that! But rather to shape, mold, grow and mature each person. The pains in the world are used by God to make us who He originally intended us to be.
So, what is the answer to why it can’t all just end right now?
Because God is in the business of creating and He’s not done yet!
The “why” I keep asking is “why is God waiting to bring an end to this world?” If it’s all going to come to an end anyways, why not now? Why not just let those of us who are still here make our decision as we would in the end and let eternity begin now? What are we waiting for?
My sister asked me a question that started me on the path to my answer.
Sunny asked, “Andi, if you could choose between the person you were before Nick passed and the person you have become because of your experience, which would you pick?” That took a lot of thinking to answer. That question was really three questions in one and each question required deep thought and thorough consideration.
First of all, how am I different now from who I was before? I always thought I was fine before – of course. You never know your shortcomings until you have new growth to measure against it. Then it’s so obvious that you’re embarrassed others may have known all along, but didn’t want to break the news to you! I thought I loved the Lord, lived my life according to my understanding of His will, and looked forward to heaven as my real home. I thought I studied excessively (sometimes too much study and not enough action) to understand completely the reasons for my faith and the concrete answers to why the bible is real and true and that Jesus is the only way.
Then came the day that a doctor looked at me and said, “I’m sorry.”
I realized for the first time with complete and instant understanding that there was nothing on this whole earth that mattered. All I cared about was what heaven was like and what I had to do to get there. My relationship with God and the complete understanding of His will and plan were instantly more important than taking my next breath. Things that seemed to matter like haircuts, clothes that fit, exercising or watching the news appeared to me for the first time as they truly were…a vapor. Events that seemed so vital to everyday life dematerialize before my very eyes. It was as scripture says how we will be changed in an instant – there was no studying or learning or striving – it was instantaneous.
The second implied portion of Sunny’s question required me to consider if this new person I had become was better or worse. With all the insight I gained, I did lose a lot as well. Obviously, I lost Nick and no words can describe the depths of that loss. But I’m beginning to realize one other significant loss; “happiness”.
“Joy” is that inner peace, satisfaction and positive outlook that persists whether circumstances are great or horrible. It’s that thing that we as Christians study about and seek to understand and strive to obtain. It’s unsinkable even in the most destructive storm. I have to admit that even now I do have moments of joy. But I can’t seem to find happiness. Happiness is based on happenstance. It’s the glee that comes with fortuitous circumstances. It’s fleeting and unpredictable. And therefore, who would want it, right? -- Me –
I miss the innocence of happiness. To be involved in a moment and have smiles erupt because pure pleasure surrounds every aspect of the event you are involved in. Happiness weaves around a toddler’s giggle, a child’s first circus, a wedding, a birth, a game won… There are no thoughts involved and no need to remind yourself that things are not as they seem. You never have to talk yourself into happiness or train your eyes to look beyond the veil of the tangible world. Happiness comes when you don’t have to concern yourself with what’s going on “behind the scenes”. I miss that.
So, would I rather the perspective I have now over the innocent happiness I had then? I would have to say yes. How could I go back to naïveté after graduating from the Ivy League of hard knocks schools? How could I live with myself? How could I look in the mirror and continue to care about the things of this earth when I’ve learned that not a one of them truly matters? So, yes, I believe that the new person I’ve become is “better” than the old and I would choose not to return to that state of being.
Thirdly, do I believe I would have become that person some other way if Nick had not died? Do I believe that I could have studied enough or read enough or even learned from another’s experience?
Never.
I have only recently learned that pain is part of the process necessary to make us the person we are to become. It's the chisel in God's hand to build us and mold us. Now, I've only experienced one kind of pain and I know how radically different I am now. I never would have ever learned the lessons that I've experienced through the loss of Nick even if I completed a thousand bible studies. I was truly changed by the work of the Holy Spirit – it was divine experience that that was dropped into my lap. Whoever said that experience is a cruel teacher was painfully correct.
So, if those things are true and I needed the world to be turning in order to experience the loss of my son to become who God had originally designed me to be, then how many other people need the world to turn in order to become the creation God started out creating them to be? How many others need to be on earth in order to experience their “life changing” day and become whole? We call it pain, but to God it is "light and momentary" troubles that are brief and necessary to mold us into the person He created us to be. I am peaceful in the realization that God may actually be in the process of building thousands of lives of which I have no awareness. I have come to terms with the realization He could not possibly take the time to sit down with me and explain each person's life and why they need particular "earthly" experiences in order to grow and experience eternity to its fullest.
I want to make it clear that I am not talking about needing more days simply for those who are going to come to Christ to have more time to accept Him. God knows who they are and He doesn’t need more days to pass to know who belongs to Him and who does not. These passing days are a gift to us. We need the days in order to grow and learn and mature in our relationship with God. He’s using the days to mold us – not to just waste time waiting to see who will come. He already knows that! But rather to shape, mold, grow and mature each person. The pains in the world are used by God to make us who He originally intended us to be.
So, what is the answer to why it can’t all just end right now?
Because God is in the business of creating and He’s not done yet!
Thursday, April 17, 2008
An Encouraging Moment
I thought it was time to share some of the “happy” moments that happen around here. I put “happy” in quotes because there doesn’t seem to be any innocently happy times anymore. Each one is filled with “Nick should be here to see this”, “That’s just what Nick use to do”, “I wish I could push this anvil off my chest so that I could laugh at that”. But there are some moments that truly make me smile – and this morning was a very simple one, but perfect.
A friend of mine brought by a play kitchen set for Selah to have in her room. She loved it right from the beginning. She immediately went to work stirring in the bowls, sipping from the cups, putting things in and out of the microwave and she did it all while talking on the phone. (I’m not sure where she learned that one!) I was so glad that my friend stayed to play with her because I didn’t have the energy to demonstrate it all myself.
Today I sat in her room as she played. She set up dishes for her doll (seated across from her) and a set for herself. Then she sat down, folded her hands, bowed her head, mumbled something unintelligible and then said, “Amen”.
It was the most precious thing I ever heard. And for the first time in a long time I thought, maybe we are still doing OK. Maybe my parenting skills haven’t completely disappeared. Or the Holy Spirit is just making sure we stay on the right path! I was so encouraged to know that apparently we pray regularly enough that she knows you don’t put food in your mouth – real or plastic – until you thank God for it.
I’m not tooting my own horn. I don’t feel that any of my actions deserve any sort of praise – I’m so lazy and unimaginative. But it was the only encouraging moment that I’ve had since February. So, I thought I’d share!
A friend of mine brought by a play kitchen set for Selah to have in her room. She loved it right from the beginning. She immediately went to work stirring in the bowls, sipping from the cups, putting things in and out of the microwave and she did it all while talking on the phone. (I’m not sure where she learned that one!) I was so glad that my friend stayed to play with her because I didn’t have the energy to demonstrate it all myself.
Today I sat in her room as she played. She set up dishes for her doll (seated across from her) and a set for herself. Then she sat down, folded her hands, bowed her head, mumbled something unintelligible and then said, “Amen”.
It was the most precious thing I ever heard. And for the first time in a long time I thought, maybe we are still doing OK. Maybe my parenting skills haven’t completely disappeared. Or the Holy Spirit is just making sure we stay on the right path! I was so encouraged to know that apparently we pray regularly enough that she knows you don’t put food in your mouth – real or plastic – until you thank God for it.
I’m not tooting my own horn. I don’t feel that any of my actions deserve any sort of praise – I’m so lazy and unimaginative. But it was the only encouraging moment that I’ve had since February. So, I thought I’d share!
Monday, April 14, 2008
An Apology
I need to chew more slowly.
I’m beginning to learn that grief is a meal that needs to be eating one bite at a time.
We’re trained to think that the faster we gulp it all down, the sooner it will be over. But I’ve noticed that once I clean my plate, a whole new helping is dished on. And so it goes – day after day. I’ve come to the realization that I must not gulp the pain down. It’s going to last a lifetime whether I try to swallow the entire pie or only take manageable bites. Grief is not a set thing with a predictable beginning and an end – but rather a new state of being. It’s a part of who I am now and will be for the rest of my life whether I asked for it or not. It cannot be ignored or bravely trudged through until it’s over. It must be managed and expected within each day.
But I think my problem is that I want to eat the entire pie instead of one piece at a time. Needless to say, I can’t possibly do it so I’m manufacturing my own problems. My struggle is not only in the initial grief, but in the effort to recover as well.
Someone once said that when your child dies, it’s just the beginning of the things you lose. I’m glad someone said that. It makes me feel less alone to know that someone else experienced that as well. But that thought gets me thinking about all the things I have lost. See, instead of just taking one piece of the pie – Nick is not physically present now – I swallow the whole thing; Nick won’t go to high school, Nick won’t get married, Nick won’t be a father, Nick won’t play with his brother in the front yard, Nick won’t be a pal for Cody, Nick won’t play silly games with Selah. Even within my efforts toward recovery and the realization that the future will arrive whether I’m ready or not – I also find myself eating the whole pie. People talk of losing their child 10, 20, 30 years ago. The thought of so much time passing is completely overwhelming. Each day seems like a month – how I can manage ten years?
So, I try to take one piece – make it through today. But no one can eat even a single piece in one bite. But again I still try and it gets stuck in my throat and I gag on it. I hyperventilate and become anxious about how I will manage a whole day’s events. What shall I do this morning, afternoon, or evening all thought about at once overcomes my senses and brings me to the state of doing nothing at all.
So, I try to take one moment – one bite – at a time. I open my eyes in the morning and breathe as deep as I can; watch my own chest rise and fall. Then I sit up slowly and look out the window and wait….wait for the images to come. I usually try to grasp them tightly and squeeze every ounce of juice out of them. The tighter I hold them, hoping they won’t slip away, the more they ooze through my fingers. But if I just sit and take them as they come – one bite at a time - the more I have the heart to endure the next one. I let each memory brush my cheek, braid through my fingers, wrap around my waist, rest gently on my shoulders and then whisk away as quickly as they came – that’s taking one bite at a time. Then I move to what’s expected – wash, dress and feed the kids – and before I know it half the morning is gone. That’s bite number two.
Then I find a friend to talk with or take a walk or some other short task to use up the rest of the morning. Then it’s time for lunch and putting Selah to bed. This is my favorite time of the day. I just read the bible, do my devotions and recover from the morning’s onslaught. When she’s awake, it’s barely an hour before Cody’s home with more activity; snack time, homework, conversation. And so the day goes. Bit by bit, bite by bite.
I write all this as a way of apologizing to those of you who have seen me on the days I try to swallow a whole pie. It’s not pretty. I gag, I sob, I ask “why” a lot. The symptoms of gluttony are quite obvious. And I begin to feel bad when I recover because my pain was due to my own impatience regarding recovery time. So, please, forgive me if you see me on one of those days. Please, have more patience with me than I have with myself. Please, know that this will never be over, but I will get better at dealing with it as the days go by. I’ll never be “over” my grief, I’ll never forget Nick, I’ll never “get back to normal”, but I will learn how to chew more slowly!
Thank you for your time and patience.
Andi
I’m beginning to learn that grief is a meal that needs to be eating one bite at a time.
We’re trained to think that the faster we gulp it all down, the sooner it will be over. But I’ve noticed that once I clean my plate, a whole new helping is dished on. And so it goes – day after day. I’ve come to the realization that I must not gulp the pain down. It’s going to last a lifetime whether I try to swallow the entire pie or only take manageable bites. Grief is not a set thing with a predictable beginning and an end – but rather a new state of being. It’s a part of who I am now and will be for the rest of my life whether I asked for it or not. It cannot be ignored or bravely trudged through until it’s over. It must be managed and expected within each day.
But I think my problem is that I want to eat the entire pie instead of one piece at a time. Needless to say, I can’t possibly do it so I’m manufacturing my own problems. My struggle is not only in the initial grief, but in the effort to recover as well.
Someone once said that when your child dies, it’s just the beginning of the things you lose. I’m glad someone said that. It makes me feel less alone to know that someone else experienced that as well. But that thought gets me thinking about all the things I have lost. See, instead of just taking one piece of the pie – Nick is not physically present now – I swallow the whole thing; Nick won’t go to high school, Nick won’t get married, Nick won’t be a father, Nick won’t play with his brother in the front yard, Nick won’t be a pal for Cody, Nick won’t play silly games with Selah. Even within my efforts toward recovery and the realization that the future will arrive whether I’m ready or not – I also find myself eating the whole pie. People talk of losing their child 10, 20, 30 years ago. The thought of so much time passing is completely overwhelming. Each day seems like a month – how I can manage ten years?
So, I try to take one piece – make it through today. But no one can eat even a single piece in one bite. But again I still try and it gets stuck in my throat and I gag on it. I hyperventilate and become anxious about how I will manage a whole day’s events. What shall I do this morning, afternoon, or evening all thought about at once overcomes my senses and brings me to the state of doing nothing at all.
So, I try to take one moment – one bite – at a time. I open my eyes in the morning and breathe as deep as I can; watch my own chest rise and fall. Then I sit up slowly and look out the window and wait….wait for the images to come. I usually try to grasp them tightly and squeeze every ounce of juice out of them. The tighter I hold them, hoping they won’t slip away, the more they ooze through my fingers. But if I just sit and take them as they come – one bite at a time - the more I have the heart to endure the next one. I let each memory brush my cheek, braid through my fingers, wrap around my waist, rest gently on my shoulders and then whisk away as quickly as they came – that’s taking one bite at a time. Then I move to what’s expected – wash, dress and feed the kids – and before I know it half the morning is gone. That’s bite number two.
Then I find a friend to talk with or take a walk or some other short task to use up the rest of the morning. Then it’s time for lunch and putting Selah to bed. This is my favorite time of the day. I just read the bible, do my devotions and recover from the morning’s onslaught. When she’s awake, it’s barely an hour before Cody’s home with more activity; snack time, homework, conversation. And so the day goes. Bit by bit, bite by bite.
I write all this as a way of apologizing to those of you who have seen me on the days I try to swallow a whole pie. It’s not pretty. I gag, I sob, I ask “why” a lot. The symptoms of gluttony are quite obvious. And I begin to feel bad when I recover because my pain was due to my own impatience regarding recovery time. So, please, forgive me if you see me on one of those days. Please, have more patience with me than I have with myself. Please, know that this will never be over, but I will get better at dealing with it as the days go by. I’ll never be “over” my grief, I’ll never forget Nick, I’ll never “get back to normal”, but I will learn how to chew more slowly!
Thank you for your time and patience.
Andi
Monday, April 7, 2008
Was Nick ever here?
Or was he just a dream?
Tony and I have agreed that we’ve come to the same spot in our grieving process which has the potential to be both comforting and completely terrifying all at the same time. We’re beginning to wonder if Nick’s whole life was just a dream. Was he ever really here?
Did I hold him as an infant, teach him to throw a ball, watch him run the bases – or did I imagine it all? I know I imagined him as a preteen; being a nuisance, riding bikes through the neighborhood with kids, staying out all afternoon at a friend’s house. I know I imagined him in high school; running track, playing tennis with me in the summers, bringing home a sweet girlfriend, running down the football field with an intercepted pass. I know I imagined him in college, getting his degree, getting married, falling in love with his first born – a daughter…
But now it seems that his whole life has falling into the same storeroom in my brain. Was he ever who I thought he was? I only knew of him what he told me and confided in me, but what was in his head that he kept to himself? And since it all has the same fog around it, all the images are similar and I no longer know what’s real and what’s imagined.
Sometimes I truly feel like his whole life was a dream – as if I wanted Cody to have a brother so badly, I just dreamed one up and made him in my mind to be perfect and the best match for Cody that could possibly be manufactured who would love him, protect him and care for him when I couldn’t be around. I wanted someone to love Selah perfectly and completely so I imagined someone who loved her through and through; someone who would view her tantrums as tolerable and her baby-isms as humorous.
In a way it’s helpful because it removes some of the hurt to think that he never was- to think that my crazy mind just made him up. How can I miss someone who never was? To think of him as a dream that’s ended makes the pain less intense.
But then I hear the stories of how he touched other’s lives and the memories they have of him. I look at the photos again and that crazy smile and I have to actually convince myself that he must have been. He was so uniquely himself that I could not have made him up to be the boy he was.
So, is this just another “safety valve” – a way for my system to temporarily “shut down” so that I can have a break? Is it just another style of numbness? Or is it a permanent “forgetfulness” and just the beginning to the long road of forgetting Nick and who he is and how much he loved?
I guess I’ll find out later. For now, I have live with what is. What “is” are moments of being so sure he’s going to walk through the door that I feel I must hurry to get his snack prepared – coupled with moments of wondering if he’s only an illusion. What an odd life this fleshly body confines us to!!!
Tony and I have agreed that we’ve come to the same spot in our grieving process which has the potential to be both comforting and completely terrifying all at the same time. We’re beginning to wonder if Nick’s whole life was just a dream. Was he ever really here?
Did I hold him as an infant, teach him to throw a ball, watch him run the bases – or did I imagine it all? I know I imagined him as a preteen; being a nuisance, riding bikes through the neighborhood with kids, staying out all afternoon at a friend’s house. I know I imagined him in high school; running track, playing tennis with me in the summers, bringing home a sweet girlfriend, running down the football field with an intercepted pass. I know I imagined him in college, getting his degree, getting married, falling in love with his first born – a daughter…
But now it seems that his whole life has falling into the same storeroom in my brain. Was he ever who I thought he was? I only knew of him what he told me and confided in me, but what was in his head that he kept to himself? And since it all has the same fog around it, all the images are similar and I no longer know what’s real and what’s imagined.
Sometimes I truly feel like his whole life was a dream – as if I wanted Cody to have a brother so badly, I just dreamed one up and made him in my mind to be perfect and the best match for Cody that could possibly be manufactured who would love him, protect him and care for him when I couldn’t be around. I wanted someone to love Selah perfectly and completely so I imagined someone who loved her through and through; someone who would view her tantrums as tolerable and her baby-isms as humorous.
In a way it’s helpful because it removes some of the hurt to think that he never was- to think that my crazy mind just made him up. How can I miss someone who never was? To think of him as a dream that’s ended makes the pain less intense.
But then I hear the stories of how he touched other’s lives and the memories they have of him. I look at the photos again and that crazy smile and I have to actually convince myself that he must have been. He was so uniquely himself that I could not have made him up to be the boy he was.
So, is this just another “safety valve” – a way for my system to temporarily “shut down” so that I can have a break? Is it just another style of numbness? Or is it a permanent “forgetfulness” and just the beginning to the long road of forgetting Nick and who he is and how much he loved?
I guess I’ll find out later. For now, I have live with what is. What “is” are moments of being so sure he’s going to walk through the door that I feel I must hurry to get his snack prepared – coupled with moments of wondering if he’s only an illusion. What an odd life this fleshly body confines us to!!!
Questions
I have been having a lot of “religious” questions in my head since the passing of my son. Questions that I believe a Christian of my years should know the answer to by now. Initially, I kept the search to myself; I searched books, online commentaries and dug through scripture myself. But then I read the following:
“Before the hurt invaded our lives, perhaps we were content for our understanding of God’s sovereignty and his way of working in the world to be fuzzy. But now the issues are not theoretical. They’re very real, and we want real answers. We want the truth, not just clichés or religious-sounding pat answers…But the truth – God’s wisdom and an understanding of the big picture – is not something that can be discovered with our minds. It is something that can be revealed to us only by the Holy Spirit. And the Spirit does not reveal the truth to those who are on a mere intellectual exercise without their hearts or wills engaged. God reveals himself to those who earnestly seek him. As he dwells within us and as he illumines our understanding of his Word, he helps us understand the ‘wonderful things God has freely given us’.” (from “The One Year Book of Hope” by Nancy Guthrie)
I realized that I was not alone and it was quite normal and natural and even expected to have these questions resurface. I began asking Pastor for his advice as well as friends and family. I also began receiving questions that were very similar to mine which verified all the more that we really are all in that same boat!
I’ve been putting some of those answers posted here. Two are “The proof for heaven” and “how I know the Holy Spirit is at work”. There are so many other questions that I had that I hope to be able to have the courage to post my journey to the answers here. Things like:
How do I know there is a God?
How do I know we’re promised eternity?
How do I know the bible is trustworthy?
What is heaven like?
Where is Nick now and is he aware of me?
So, I guess if I am going to be honest about my thoughts, all of these need to be included as well. I have to clarify that I don’t doubt my faith, but rather need to know the answer “for the hope I have in me” more concretely than I was satisfied with in the past. I hope you feel free to share you questions and answer now that you realize we all have them. There is nothing wrong with seeking. God says, “You will seek me and find me when you seek with all your heart”. I don’t believe I have ever sought with my entire heart before now!!
“Before the hurt invaded our lives, perhaps we were content for our understanding of God’s sovereignty and his way of working in the world to be fuzzy. But now the issues are not theoretical. They’re very real, and we want real answers. We want the truth, not just clichés or religious-sounding pat answers…But the truth – God’s wisdom and an understanding of the big picture – is not something that can be discovered with our minds. It is something that can be revealed to us only by the Holy Spirit. And the Spirit does not reveal the truth to those who are on a mere intellectual exercise without their hearts or wills engaged. God reveals himself to those who earnestly seek him. As he dwells within us and as he illumines our understanding of his Word, he helps us understand the ‘wonderful things God has freely given us’.” (from “The One Year Book of Hope” by Nancy Guthrie)
I realized that I was not alone and it was quite normal and natural and even expected to have these questions resurface. I began asking Pastor for his advice as well as friends and family. I also began receiving questions that were very similar to mine which verified all the more that we really are all in that same boat!
I’ve been putting some of those answers posted here. Two are “The proof for heaven” and “how I know the Holy Spirit is at work”. There are so many other questions that I had that I hope to be able to have the courage to post my journey to the answers here. Things like:
How do I know there is a God?
How do I know we’re promised eternity?
How do I know the bible is trustworthy?
What is heaven like?
Where is Nick now and is he aware of me?
So, I guess if I am going to be honest about my thoughts, all of these need to be included as well. I have to clarify that I don’t doubt my faith, but rather need to know the answer “for the hope I have in me” more concretely than I was satisfied with in the past. I hope you feel free to share you questions and answer now that you realize we all have them. There is nothing wrong with seeking. God says, “You will seek me and find me when you seek with all your heart”. I don’t believe I have ever sought with my entire heart before now!!
Friday, April 4, 2008
What's this blog about?
I have been finally able to write after many days of not even being able to control my thoughts long enough to corral a single one in order to record it. Thankfully, I was given many books that had been written by people in my circumstance that seemed to hold my every thought upon their pages. In them I found peace in knowing that my thoughts were recorded somewhere and I need not feel an urgency to write them down.
Today, though, I realize that every one's process is slightly different even if the events are very similar because each story has different people involved. So, I'd like to share what my experience has been. I enjoy reading the thoughts of others and thought that others may enjoy reading mine.
So, I am simply recording my "meanderings".
This twisted path has lead me along in some very unexpected turns simply because I do not have the motivation or energy to resist it. I hope that the lack of continuity between each thought is not disconcerting or confusing, but rather would lead you to a leisurely perusal of my winding path of lessons and experiences.
Please, take the time to share your thoughts here as well. I would love to know what your meanderings are as well and possibly find a new path of my own through exploring yours. Also, there’s a “Memories of Nick” section where I hope everyone records their memories in the comments section and takes time to enjoy the writings of others as well!
Thank you for taking the time to indulge me.
In all sincerity,
Andi
Today, though, I realize that every one's process is slightly different even if the events are very similar because each story has different people involved. So, I'd like to share what my experience has been. I enjoy reading the thoughts of others and thought that others may enjoy reading mine.
So, I am simply recording my "meanderings".
This twisted path has lead me along in some very unexpected turns simply because I do not have the motivation or energy to resist it. I hope that the lack of continuity between each thought is not disconcerting or confusing, but rather would lead you to a leisurely perusal of my winding path of lessons and experiences.
Please, take the time to share your thoughts here as well. I would love to know what your meanderings are as well and possibly find a new path of my own through exploring yours. Also, there’s a “Memories of Nick” section where I hope everyone records their memories in the comments section and takes time to enjoy the writings of others as well!
Thank you for taking the time to indulge me.
In all sincerity,
Andi
Wednesday, April 2, 2008
Another's Point of View
The Climate and I
written by Ileana Martin
April 1, 2008
Like everything I write this is coming from my own experience. I write because maybe there is someone there that thinks they are crazy, like I did, and reading this will bring a little light to their pain. It has been been 9 years since I have been experiencing all kind of different "climatic disturbances". It was at the strike of Dawn when the Tsunami hit. Remember answering the phone and hearing the words, "Felipe died".
Everything around me turned black and I was up to my head on debris and water. No one is prepared to survive under these circumstances. It was terrifying. The degree of terror could not be measured on any scale. So I went down. Where the current drag me? No idea so far. The more I tried to go up the deeper I went into a dark empty hole.
I slowly pulled myself up and opened my eyes. Everything hurt. Like if every bone in my body was broken. I kept repeating that I was not going to be able to survive that. To add more confusion I saw that everything and every one around me was safe. They were not hit by the Tsunami. No other explanation I could come up made any sense. If those around me would have been inside
this, no way they would be acting like if I could be "Normal", telling me that everything was going to be "okay". Were they out of their minds! How was everything going to be the way it was after that?
I saw all the pieces of the old me scattered every where. It was impossible to put together all the pieces back because some of them were completely pulverized. For the moment, I had to follow those that were outside and do what they said until I could figure out a way to swim my way out.
Then the wind finished desecrating everything, leaving nothing standing. No pieces of the old me left behind. It was all gone; same body.....different person.
I was like a tree in Winter - dead but still breathing inside. No leaves, hibernating, only an empty trunk left behind. The problem was l was the only one seeing and feeling this way. I was alone trying to figure out who I was now, what was my place in this new world I've discovered. I looked in the mirror and I was not there. Someone else looked back at me. Someone I have never seen before.
Total Confusion - Excruciating pain, the first years. Everyone around me still saw the old me. Of course, the outside was the same. I was the only one that could see the inside and the "Storm", that was still striking. A new person was created, very slowly, different from the other one. This
person is a 9 year old woman trapped inside a 57 year old body. Everything is new about her. Everything she believed in and expected to have, gone. In a split of a second!!
Nothing on this earth could put her back together. She is still struggling to fit in with the rest of the world that has not experienced what she had. She had developed tools as she walks the devastating road. She had to. Every time a new situation comes up, a different approach is taken and a different tool created.
She knows she has to survive and go on. But this time she can only do it her way. She can not let other dictate how to deal with her pain. Is hers and hers alone. The world around her can not be changed. Everything and everyone keeps moving like they did. She knows that now. Her world was the one devastated by the Storm and she her believes are the only thing she has.
All she can do is take one day at a time and survive 24 hours. No tomorrow, just today, that is all she can handle. She has been able to understand better how to carry her pain. It is not gone, only manageble. She still have days when without warning she falls back in the dark hole. The difference from before is just that now she has tools to use so she spends there less time than before. It is hard road but she has to keep going until is her time to go.
written by Ileana Martin
April 1, 2008
Like everything I write this is coming from my own experience. I write because maybe there is someone there that thinks they are crazy, like I did, and reading this will bring a little light to their pain. It has been been 9 years since I have been experiencing all kind of different "climatic disturbances". It was at the strike of Dawn when the Tsunami hit. Remember answering the phone and hearing the words, "Felipe died".
Everything around me turned black and I was up to my head on debris and water. No one is prepared to survive under these circumstances. It was terrifying. The degree of terror could not be measured on any scale. So I went down. Where the current drag me? No idea so far. The more I tried to go up the deeper I went into a dark empty hole.
I slowly pulled myself up and opened my eyes. Everything hurt. Like if every bone in my body was broken. I kept repeating that I was not going to be able to survive that. To add more confusion I saw that everything and every one around me was safe. They were not hit by the Tsunami. No other explanation I could come up made any sense. If those around me would have been inside
this, no way they would be acting like if I could be "Normal", telling me that everything was going to be "okay". Were they out of their minds! How was everything going to be the way it was after that?
I saw all the pieces of the old me scattered every where. It was impossible to put together all the pieces back because some of them were completely pulverized. For the moment, I had to follow those that were outside and do what they said until I could figure out a way to swim my way out.
Then the wind finished desecrating everything, leaving nothing standing. No pieces of the old me left behind. It was all gone; same body.....different person.
I was like a tree in Winter - dead but still breathing inside. No leaves, hibernating, only an empty trunk left behind. The problem was l was the only one seeing and feeling this way. I was alone trying to figure out who I was now, what was my place in this new world I've discovered. I looked in the mirror and I was not there. Someone else looked back at me. Someone I have never seen before.
Total Confusion - Excruciating pain, the first years. Everyone around me still saw the old me. Of course, the outside was the same. I was the only one that could see the inside and the "Storm", that was still striking. A new person was created, very slowly, different from the other one. This
person is a 9 year old woman trapped inside a 57 year old body. Everything is new about her. Everything she believed in and expected to have, gone. In a split of a second!!
Nothing on this earth could put her back together. She is still struggling to fit in with the rest of the world that has not experienced what she had. She had developed tools as she walks the devastating road. She had to. Every time a new situation comes up, a different approach is taken and a different tool created.
She knows she has to survive and go on. But this time she can only do it her way. She can not let other dictate how to deal with her pain. Is hers and hers alone. The world around her can not be changed. Everything and everyone keeps moving like they did. She knows that now. Her world was the one devastated by the Storm and she her believes are the only thing she has.
All she can do is take one day at a time and survive 24 hours. No tomorrow, just today, that is all she can handle. She has been able to understand better how to carry her pain. It is not gone, only manageble. She still have days when without warning she falls back in the dark hole. The difference from before is just that now she has tools to use so she spends there less time than before. It is hard road but she has to keep going until is her time to go.
Trying to Heal
Learning to Breath Underwater
Written by Andi Morice
April 2, 2008
I have been visiting many on-line grief groups and talking with other moms who have lost kids in the hope of finding out one single piece of information. All I want is a schedule, an expected time, a hope of seeing the finish line, a moment when this intense pain will end. I want them to tell me it took them a year, 2 years, 5 years – but some end guideline when I will be able to make it through a day without the anvil on my chest.
But not a one of them is cooperating. They are all in a conspiracy together. I know they know each other and have discussed their answer with each other. I know this definitively because they all keep saying the same thing.
They say, “It never ends”.
But how can that be? I am using all of my power and hope to get from the beginning of one day to the beginning of the next. How can I continue like this for the rest of my life? Everything is either intensely painful or at least has a very obvious hole. Each photo that doesn’t have him in it is blatantly empty and incomplete. Every vacation spot is no longer fun because he is not there. Every single moment screams, “Nick is not here.” So, I spend my energy trying to make new memories or run away from the thoughts in my head and I realize that is just as exhausting as trying to recreate him.
But one woman said something I completely rejected initially, but I’m beginning to see it’s true. It’s true and it has been my only help. She didn’t argue the point with me at the time. She must have known that eventually I’d try all other avenues only to come back around to where we had been standing together before.
She said the only way to help the healing is to “lean into the pain”. That didn’t even make much sense to me. Avoiding the pain is what I asking about and she’s talking about enduring more of it. What help would that be? So, I discredited her and went off to find the answer on my own. And once I was exhausted, I looked to see her suggestion still lying on the table and then decided to take the time to understand what she was saying.
Then I noticed that she was not asking me to feel more pain, but to stop running from it; to stop looking for the exit door; to stop assuming that if I hold my breath just a few moments longer I’ll find the surface and be able to take a breath.
What I have to do is learn to breath underwater.
It’s the reality that the pain won’t stop and the missing him won’t end - but the running can. Instead of trying to run from where he is, or even recreate him in every moment, allow my mind’s eye see him where it naturally wants to and enjoy the honesty of where he pops up “on his own”. It’s more similar to him being home and showing up when he wants to instead of when I will him to.
When I take a picture, instead of wincing at how blatant the hole is, stop and let myself see him there. See how he would stand, where he would put his arm, how he would smile and let myself enjoy the person who he still is. Or even better yet, realize that he’s not in the photo because he’s busy right now – he’s off playing with cats or babies and can’t take a break for a photo. Yes, I cry about it often, but even more often I find myself smiling and even letting out a single chuckle because I do know him so well that I know exactly what he’d do.
Instead of trying to stop the replay of the events in the hospital, I’ve learned to let them play through. Even see if I can remember more than last time the video played. It’s like my brain becomes bored that I’m not fighting anymore and it lets me alone. I see each person in the room; the care of the nurses, the concern of Glen knowing that our hearts were so broken, the tubes everywhere and how they ruined his beautiful hair, the sound of the respirator – these thoughts are the most painful of all - and then I remember … none of that matters now. He’s not there now. He’s fine now. Whether or not he was aware and conscience or when he gained or lost awareness doesn’t matter now. He’s not there now - so I don’t need to be there either.
For those of you who disagree with me, that’s OK. I was there, too. If you find another way down the road, come back and let me know. But I’m fairly confident that this group of woman who I have come to understand and agree with will one day include you, too. I hope it does so that we can count you among those who are “leaning and healing”.
I pray God blesses you as He has me.
Andi
Written by Andi Morice
April 2, 2008
I have been visiting many on-line grief groups and talking with other moms who have lost kids in the hope of finding out one single piece of information. All I want is a schedule, an expected time, a hope of seeing the finish line, a moment when this intense pain will end. I want them to tell me it took them a year, 2 years, 5 years – but some end guideline when I will be able to make it through a day without the anvil on my chest.
But not a one of them is cooperating. They are all in a conspiracy together. I know they know each other and have discussed their answer with each other. I know this definitively because they all keep saying the same thing.
They say, “It never ends”.
But how can that be? I am using all of my power and hope to get from the beginning of one day to the beginning of the next. How can I continue like this for the rest of my life? Everything is either intensely painful or at least has a very obvious hole. Each photo that doesn’t have him in it is blatantly empty and incomplete. Every vacation spot is no longer fun because he is not there. Every single moment screams, “Nick is not here.” So, I spend my energy trying to make new memories or run away from the thoughts in my head and I realize that is just as exhausting as trying to recreate him.
But one woman said something I completely rejected initially, but I’m beginning to see it’s true. It’s true and it has been my only help. She didn’t argue the point with me at the time. She must have known that eventually I’d try all other avenues only to come back around to where we had been standing together before.
She said the only way to help the healing is to “lean into the pain”. That didn’t even make much sense to me. Avoiding the pain is what I asking about and she’s talking about enduring more of it. What help would that be? So, I discredited her and went off to find the answer on my own. And once I was exhausted, I looked to see her suggestion still lying on the table and then decided to take the time to understand what she was saying.
Then I noticed that she was not asking me to feel more pain, but to stop running from it; to stop looking for the exit door; to stop assuming that if I hold my breath just a few moments longer I’ll find the surface and be able to take a breath.
What I have to do is learn to breath underwater.
It’s the reality that the pain won’t stop and the missing him won’t end - but the running can. Instead of trying to run from where he is, or even recreate him in every moment, allow my mind’s eye see him where it naturally wants to and enjoy the honesty of where he pops up “on his own”. It’s more similar to him being home and showing up when he wants to instead of when I will him to.
When I take a picture, instead of wincing at how blatant the hole is, stop and let myself see him there. See how he would stand, where he would put his arm, how he would smile and let myself enjoy the person who he still is. Or even better yet, realize that he’s not in the photo because he’s busy right now – he’s off playing with cats or babies and can’t take a break for a photo. Yes, I cry about it often, but even more often I find myself smiling and even letting out a single chuckle because I do know him so well that I know exactly what he’d do.
Instead of trying to stop the replay of the events in the hospital, I’ve learned to let them play through. Even see if I can remember more than last time the video played. It’s like my brain becomes bored that I’m not fighting anymore and it lets me alone. I see each person in the room; the care of the nurses, the concern of Glen knowing that our hearts were so broken, the tubes everywhere and how they ruined his beautiful hair, the sound of the respirator – these thoughts are the most painful of all - and then I remember … none of that matters now. He’s not there now. He’s fine now. Whether or not he was aware and conscience or when he gained or lost awareness doesn’t matter now. He’s not there now - so I don’t need to be there either.
For those of you who disagree with me, that’s OK. I was there, too. If you find another way down the road, come back and let me know. But I’m fairly confident that this group of woman who I have come to understand and agree with will one day include you, too. I hope it does so that we can count you among those who are “leaning and healing”.
I pray God blesses you as He has me.
Andi
Tuesday, April 1, 2008
Just Missing Nick
Trying to Reconstruct Nick
Written by Andi Morice
March 12, 2008
There are so many thoughts I think I want to hang on to and remember forever, but I just can’t seem to grab any single one from the swirling mass of thoughts that have been overloading my brain day and night since Nick left.
I think about him, the things he did, things he said, how his voice sounds, happy moments together. I think about the future I always expected, his high school days, how Cody could ever make it alone next year when Nick went to middles school, teenage friends overtaking the house, picking a college, watching him play sports, watching his shoe size grow, his wedding, experiencing how much he loves being a dad. I think about theology, try to answer all the “why” questions in my head as well as all those others put to me, read about heaven, seek out other families who understand what I’m going through…
Then I think about that night and 50+ hours after it and all the people at the wake and funeral. Then I think about all the ways we’re missing him – no one loves Selah like him, no one cares for Cody like him, no one is a pal to Tony like him, no one smirked like him, no one stood cockeyed like him, no one sweats like him, no one drinks mile like him (we’ve only needed to buy ½ gallons since he’s been gone)…Once I get here, thinking about everything he is, I can stay here for hours.
Every thought is detailed and precious and how do I choose only one to write about? And how do I possibly capture all the details and nuances that are so important? It all comes down to this –I miss my son so much – and it is exhausting trying to hold on to him. Instead of just having him walk through the house and fill up my senses automatically, I have to use all of my energy to conjure up memories of him – to recreate him in my mind. All the paper in the world would not fit the words needed to reconstruct his life and I realize that is what I am trying to do; I’m trying to keep him here on earth by writing everything about him, who he is, how he acts, what his character is like – but that is impossible
He is my friend, my compassionate boy, my beautiful-straw-haired first born, the smirk that always brought out my smile, the laugh that was so genuine I couldn’t help but laugh, too, the struggles with flesh that were so sincere they made my heart break, the curious mind that asked deep questions and loved my “complete” answers, the soul that could never answer a question without first considering how his response would effect everyone else.
But now I have to stop writing because so many memories begin to flow I can’t capture them all and to be incomplete or un-thorough would not be adequate to portray all that’s in my head and all of who he is. So, I have to quit – arbitrarily – before I frustrate myself with lack of clarity and the insufficient number of pages available to fully describe my son and my love for him.
Simply put – I love you, Nick and I miss you more than I can put to words. I cannot wait to be with you again.
Written by Andi Morice
March 12, 2008
There are so many thoughts I think I want to hang on to and remember forever, but I just can’t seem to grab any single one from the swirling mass of thoughts that have been overloading my brain day and night since Nick left.
I think about him, the things he did, things he said, how his voice sounds, happy moments together. I think about the future I always expected, his high school days, how Cody could ever make it alone next year when Nick went to middles school, teenage friends overtaking the house, picking a college, watching him play sports, watching his shoe size grow, his wedding, experiencing how much he loves being a dad. I think about theology, try to answer all the “why” questions in my head as well as all those others put to me, read about heaven, seek out other families who understand what I’m going through…
Then I think about that night and 50+ hours after it and all the people at the wake and funeral. Then I think about all the ways we’re missing him – no one loves Selah like him, no one cares for Cody like him, no one is a pal to Tony like him, no one smirked like him, no one stood cockeyed like him, no one sweats like him, no one drinks mile like him (we’ve only needed to buy ½ gallons since he’s been gone)…Once I get here, thinking about everything he is, I can stay here for hours.
Every thought is detailed and precious and how do I choose only one to write about? And how do I possibly capture all the details and nuances that are so important? It all comes down to this –I miss my son so much – and it is exhausting trying to hold on to him. Instead of just having him walk through the house and fill up my senses automatically, I have to use all of my energy to conjure up memories of him – to recreate him in my mind. All the paper in the world would not fit the words needed to reconstruct his life and I realize that is what I am trying to do; I’m trying to keep him here on earth by writing everything about him, who he is, how he acts, what his character is like – but that is impossible
He is my friend, my compassionate boy, my beautiful-straw-haired first born, the smirk that always brought out my smile, the laugh that was so genuine I couldn’t help but laugh, too, the struggles with flesh that were so sincere they made my heart break, the curious mind that asked deep questions and loved my “complete” answers, the soul that could never answer a question without first considering how his response would effect everyone else.
But now I have to stop writing because so many memories begin to flow I can’t capture them all and to be incomplete or un-thorough would not be adequate to portray all that’s in my head and all of who he is. So, I have to quit – arbitrarily – before I frustrate myself with lack of clarity and the insufficient number of pages available to fully describe my son and my love for him.
Simply put – I love you, Nick and I miss you more than I can put to words. I cannot wait to be with you again.
The Proof for Heaven
The Pain is the Proof
Written by Andi Morice
March, 14, 2008
Evolutionists say that all the adaptations we have evolved were birthed after a series of needs or inefficiencies were realized and struggles began to meet those needs. Eyes evolved because of a need to sense the light spectrum. Ears evolved as one way to sense wave movement in the air around us. I have always laughed at the absurdity of the belief that this could happen even once much less over and over, millions upon millions of times to create the many varied and specifically suited life forms alive today. But today this clarity of understanding has brought me comfort in a new and much more personal way.
Since life began it has also been ending. Most organisms have gotten very comfortable with the “cycle of life” because there is no getting around it. If you’re an evolutionist, you’d realize that organism had to evolve a way to deal with death because they would have been continually confronted with it. Just like they evolved tentacles to grab pray to survive, they would have had to evolve apathy about death or at least a mechanism to deal with it in order to continue to live after their mothers were eaten and maintain enough presence of mind to run so as to not be eaten themselves.
So, why has this not happened in humans? Why haven’t we “evolved” a way to cope with death? If we could evolve eyes and hearts and legs – why not a coping mechanism to deal with something much more pressing and certain like death?
Why? Because we didn’t evolve!
We were created with the intention that we would be together forever. We were given memory, love, compassion and host of other things to help us maintain relationships for a lifetime that was intended to last eternally. And there is the proof for heaven. We are created beings given exactly what we need to survive eternally. The grief is the proof that we were never intended to be apart and the longing for out loved ones is the evidence that we will be together again one day.
If it was any other way we would have protected ourselves against the inefficiencies of grief several millennia ago. Grief incapacitates, removes our desire to thrive, fills the mind with confusion and eliminates productivity. Now, why would a being looking for every way to thrive and survive evolve a mechanism like that?
Answer – it wouldn’t and didn’t. It’s God’s proof, hope, truth and comfort given to us to help our relationships endure even during the most agonizing of separations. Grief is the very proof that heaven and those we love are waiting for us.
Grief is actually a part of the hope. Our pain is the proof of heaven to come!
Written by Andi Morice
March, 14, 2008
Evolutionists say that all the adaptations we have evolved were birthed after a series of needs or inefficiencies were realized and struggles began to meet those needs. Eyes evolved because of a need to sense the light spectrum. Ears evolved as one way to sense wave movement in the air around us. I have always laughed at the absurdity of the belief that this could happen even once much less over and over, millions upon millions of times to create the many varied and specifically suited life forms alive today. But today this clarity of understanding has brought me comfort in a new and much more personal way.
Since life began it has also been ending. Most organisms have gotten very comfortable with the “cycle of life” because there is no getting around it. If you’re an evolutionist, you’d realize that organism had to evolve a way to deal with death because they would have been continually confronted with it. Just like they evolved tentacles to grab pray to survive, they would have had to evolve apathy about death or at least a mechanism to deal with it in order to continue to live after their mothers were eaten and maintain enough presence of mind to run so as to not be eaten themselves.
So, why has this not happened in humans? Why haven’t we “evolved” a way to cope with death? If we could evolve eyes and hearts and legs – why not a coping mechanism to deal with something much more pressing and certain like death?
Why? Because we didn’t evolve!
We were created with the intention that we would be together forever. We were given memory, love, compassion and host of other things to help us maintain relationships for a lifetime that was intended to last eternally. And there is the proof for heaven. We are created beings given exactly what we need to survive eternally. The grief is the proof that we were never intended to be apart and the longing for out loved ones is the evidence that we will be together again one day.
If it was any other way we would have protected ourselves against the inefficiencies of grief several millennia ago. Grief incapacitates, removes our desire to thrive, fills the mind with confusion and eliminates productivity. Now, why would a being looking for every way to thrive and survive evolve a mechanism like that?
Answer – it wouldn’t and didn’t. It’s God’s proof, hope, truth and comfort given to us to help our relationships endure even during the most agonizing of separations. Grief is the very proof that heaven and those we love are waiting for us.
Grief is actually a part of the hope. Our pain is the proof of heaven to come!
How I know the Holy Spirit is at work
The Photo Story
Written by Andi Morice
March 24, 2008
This may seem unimportant to some, but to me it was just another pearl on the necklace of God’s faithfulness. The fact that it was in regards to a relatively unimportant, worldly and very materialistic thing just proves all the more that God cares about all the details – even the smallest. He chooses very personal ways to show us that He has been in control all along and is completely unsurprised with any event no matter how tragic.
Every year the boys would pose for a photo that we would then turn into a tie for Tony for Father’s Day. I’d also get one paper copy to hang up. Well, I was looking at all the photos and noticed that the one from 2006 was missing. I did remember that year I did not order a copy, but I can’t for the life of me remember way. So, even thought that was two years ago, I thought I would call the company and see if they still had it on file somewhere. I was very hopeful that they did, but I knew that chances would be very slim.
The first response was, “No, we don’t keep photos past one year.” So, I asked if they could check in unconventional channels – i.e. emails to the tie place, old computer back-up archives, customer complaint records (since we happened to have trouble with the tie that year). I did tell them that Nick had left us in February and they tried their hardest to accommodate us – but to no avail.
Then, about an hour later the phone rang with a shaky-voiced woman on the line asking for me. They had found the photo. She was amazed at how the odds were stacked against us, but the photo not only survived the yearly purging, but was found by the only person who would even know of a one-time event two years ago that effected only a very few photos.
Apparently, when we visited the studio that year, a woman named Andrea was our photographer. During that time, and for only six months in total, they were backing up all of their photos on a second drive. They were switching from film to digital and wanted to ensure no glitches. They were fairly confident all would go well since they were one of the last stores to switch, but the back-ups were made anyways. Then they were placed in a box in the backroom of the store.
As the months and years past, the employee turn-over rate was high until only Andrea and one other employee were left from that 2006 crew. Andrea never worked Mondays, but since it was a holiday week, the schedules had been altered and she worked a short-shift to cover for a fellow employee. The other long-time employee was on vacation for the week. Even though her shift was ending, Andrea decided to grab the ringing phone one last time before she left for the day. I was on the line and after hearing the story she felt compelled to see what she could do.
It was when she heard that our photos were taken in the spring of 2006 that she thought of that box of back-ups. Without much hope she loaded it on the computer. Then she began to shake and her eyes welled up with tears. She called me and asked, “Were your boys wearing Sox shirts and holding baseball bats?” When I said, “yes” she said, “We not only have the photo – we have the whole sitting.”
What are the chances that we would come during those six months? What are the odds that the box would be put in a closet and forgotten about and never purged? Why would I call on Monday when Andrea never works and she would pick up the phone when she should be punching out? Why did she have a soul of compassion and a diligent spirit to search out that old dusty box for the one in a thousand chance the photo would be there?
Why?
Because God wanted to remove all possibility that we would say, “what luck!” or “How fortunate” and instead realize that He cares for us in all ways and He had been holding us and preparing us for years before this even happened. He is showing us how very present He is and He is even taking the time to speak to us at our level – where we will understand. Some silly photos that won’t last, but speak volumes about His love and care and compassion for us.
Thank you, Lord, for being so clear when I am so weak.
Thank You for condescending to my level so that Your meaning is precisely understood.
You love, Oh Lord, reaches to the heavens. Your faithfulness stretches to the sky.
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