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!
Sunday, April 20, 2008
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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