What would it look like?

Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.

Matthew 5: 4

This was the title of our sermon last weekend.  I was so happy that this lesson was being taught.  It's not a common lesson.  There are many people that have not learned it.  It's a lesson that I learned the hard way.

When someone is hurting

       RUN TO them

                      NOT FROM them

We spent so much of our first year mourning by ourselves.  It made a difficult process almost impossible.  People didn't want to be with us.  We were sad.  We were broken.  Why be with people like that when you can be with people that make you laugh and feel good about yourself?  I suppose that in our society, it's natural to be drawn to the good.  We found that it was only truly exceptional people that were willing and able to be our friends while we were stuck in our pit of grief. 

This past week I have been wondering what our world would look like if people would naturally flock to those who were hurting.  Not only to those that are physically hurting from disease but to those that are in true emotional pain. 

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  What would it look like if we chose to spend our time sending a kind email to a hurting friend instead of watching a funny clip on UTube? 
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  What would it look like if we picked up the phone and called a hurting friend instead of spending 10 minutes waiting in line at Starbucks for a coffee? 
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  What would it look like if every time we went to the grocery store we picked up a "I'm thinking about you" card instead of spending that money on a some sort of fattening, processed junk food item? 
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  What would it look like if once a month we invited our hurting friends over for dinner instead of calling our "fun" friends to hang out?
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  What would it look like if we presented ourselves with authenticity and honesty instead of falsely and superficially so that we were easier to relate to?
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  What would it look like if we spent an hour sitting on the couch wiping the tears of a hurting friend instead of watching a reality TV show?

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  What would it look like if we made cookies for a stranger in pain and left them on their door with a sweet note instead of eating them ourselves?

We all feel confined by a lack of time and resources.  People often say if I had more time, I would help others.  Or, if I had more money, I would do something nice for someone.  The truth is that for the most part, we spend our time and money on things that are important to us.  I hope that someday, we will consider the hurting to be important.

Ecclesiasties 7:2

Its is better to go to a house of mourning than to go to a house of feasting, for death is the destiny of every man; the living should take this to heart.

touched

My heart was touched last week in a way that is hard to describe and I just had to share. 

A week ago, my kids were on break and I took them to Disneyland for the day.  My twins gymnastics coach also coordinates the parade at California Adventure Park.  She asked us to meet up with her just before the parade started.  As she welcomed all of my kids, she handed each of them a special Mickey ears hat.  But these weren't just regular hats.  She had each of the characters in the parade autograph them which made them extra special.  My kids were absolutely thrilled as she handed one to each of them. 

Then...something remarkable happened.  Something that I would have never imagined in my wildest dreams.  With a smile on her face, she turned to me and looked me directly in the eyes (something few people do -- especially under these circumstances).  While our eyes were connected, and with a smile on her face, she handed me the 5th hat from her hand.  As she handed it to me she said... "for Nate". 

I couldn't believe it.  That was the first time that someone had acknowledged Nate as BEING one of my 5 kids.  That was the first time that someone had given a gift TO him.  That was the first time that I really felt like someone recognized my son as being a "part" of our family (not part of our past).

As I looked at the hat, I noticed that it was from their "Year of a Million Dreams" promotion 2 years ago.  They were probably overstock that she found in a store room.  But, I don't believe that she found them on accident.  First of all, the background of the hat is blue sky which is meaningful to me.  Second, there are white clouds over the blue sky which is where my kids point to when they talk of their brother being in Heaven.  And finally, I turned the hat around and noticed the date:

2008 = Two Thousand andNate

I didn't have the words to tell her what her small gesture meant to me.  I tried to thank her but I was completely caught off guard.  She barely even knows our family and only knows Nate's basic story.  I was shocked that she would do something like this.  That she would touch my heart in such a profound way.

Before the parade started, she walked me and the kids over to a special viewing area where all of the parade characters gave us special attention as they passed by.  It was an experience that my kids will never forget and it was a gesture that I will never forget.

Going forward I don't expect people to treat Nate in the same way as my other kids.  I know that there is a difference and it would be awkward for people to start buying him gifts.  But for this moment, I felt honored to be the mother of 5.  For this moment, it didn't feel like someone was missing.  For this moment, my heart felt complete.  I can't imagine that there will ever be another gesture that touches my heart in such a deep and profound way.  Ever.

relief

Easter fun!

March is FINALLY over.  I am so incredibly relieved. 

We survived all of our 2nd anniversaries and even enjoyed ourselves quite a bit throughout the month.  We didn't have as many people helping us through the month of March as we did last year.  But that was okay.  We are stronger now and not as needy.  We are just so grateful for those that did volunteer to be our friends.  I wish that they could all get an award.  They deserve it!!!

Last week was the roughest.  It was the 2 year anniversary of Nate's death, the anniversary of his funeral and ... Easter.

Easter is a bittersweet holiday for us.  It's special because it's the one and only Holiday that Nate was with us and difficult because it's another "holiday".  I found myself reflecting a lot that day about how special our Easter was 2 years ago.  It was extremely difficult to be in the Hospital on a holiday.  However, Nate was off the ventilator and we got to hold him that day.  That is a memory that will be forever etched into my memory.  Easter and holding my sweet Nathan.  Those will always go hand in hand.

This Easter, I attended my first family gathering in 2 years (with the exception of my FIL's funeral).  We only stayed an hour and let's just say that I survived.  We planned some fun activities to help the time pass and the kids enjoyed themselves despite not knowing who most of the people were.  I am glad that I am who I am now.  I am glad that I am not the same person that I was.  Attending events like that serve as a good reality check.  I know that I am on the path that I want to be.  I just don't fully trust myself yet.  I want to be polite.  Just polite.  Nothing more and nothing less.

It's been a huge relief getting past last week and then Easter.   Now we're on Spring Break.  No homework, school schedules, sports (4 of them), and no early mornings - yipee!!!  We have been super busy going to Disneyland, the movies, Chuck E Cheese, ice skating and playing video games (them not me).  I had a bunch of free passes to these fun places and I think that we used them all!  It has been such a wonderful week.  I don't want it to end. I keep telling myself that Summers coming and I can't wait to do this everyday!!!

*** You may have noticed that Kyla has a cast on her arm in the above photo.  She fell off the swing 2 weeks ago and broke it (it was a crooked break and had to be "re-set" by a specialist).  She had just finished a 2 hour advanced gymnastics class where she was flipping all over the place and doing all kinds of dangerous stuff.  And then she falls off our backyard swing while eating a snack.  Crazy!  She's been a trooper though.  No complaining and it comes off in 2 more weeks!  Figures that we would have to deal with more medical drama during the month of March-ugh!!!

Support

http://butterflymommies.blogspot.com/

I am linking up with the beautiful Butterfly Mommy women for a McLinky.  Here's the question that they are asking:


What forms of support helped you the most during your time of loss and even now? How would you recommend other people support grieving mothers? (As we know, many times people who love us often don't know what to say or how to act.)

I thought about how to answer this for a while and then realized that the best way for people to support a grieving mother is for them to understand what it's like.  Last year, the first post that I ever wrote was my "Drowning" post.  Those words just poured out from my soul in an attempt to explain what it feels like when your child dies.  So, I am re-posting it.  I hope that my experience and my words will give others insight so that no Mommy has to grieve alone.

Drowning

This past year+ has been the worst experience that anyone could ever imagine. No one wants to walk through the nightmare of losing a child. Nothing else seems comparable. Losing Nate was horrific. But on top of losing our son, we also lost almost all of our friends and family. Almost everyone that we knew walked away from us during the first year and we felt all alone and like no one cared.

We've heard over and over and over again how people didn't know what to do so they didn't do anything. I don't want anyone else to have to go through this.





When someone experiences a tragedy, they need support-- A lot of support.



Though it's impossible to truly understand...I want people to have some concept of what losing a child is like. So, I've often explained it to others in the following ways:



It's like losing a leg. It's painful. It hurts. You are now an amputee. You used to have 2 legs like everyone else, but now you are different. You are never completely whole again. It takes a long time to get up and learn to walk. It's really, really hard work. Sometimes you fall down. Sometimes you can run. You learn to live without it but it never grows back. Your life moves forward but part of you is always missing.



Or...it's like playing in a football game. You're on the field battling. It's an endless battle. You're exhausted and out of fuel. Sometimes you have a good run and go forward a few yards. Sometimes you get sacked and you're flat on your back. There are many people in the stands cheering you on. They want you to succeed. They really do. But they're sitting comfortably in their seats, eating their hot dogs and drinking their sodas. You need people to help you strategize. You need people to bring you water. You need people to carry you to the 1st down marker. A few help coach you. But most people stay in their seats while you're fighting for your life on the field. You feel all alone.



But...I think that the best way to describe it is like you're drowning.

• If you saw someone drowning, would you jump in and help them?
  
• Would you risk being cold and uncomfortable?
  
• Would you risk getting pulled under water to save someone else?Most people would probably say of course they would jump in and rescue someone if they were drowning. We like to believe that we would be that type of person. But in reality, are we?
  
  _____________________________________________________________
  
  When Nate died it felt like someone dropped us off in the ocean 1000 miles from shore and said "swim back". In addition, we were attached to a flimsy raft where our other 4 scared and confused kids were clinging on . It was a heavy load and we were the weakest we had ever been. We never prepared for a swim like that and in fact just finished a marathon of 25 days fighting for Nate's life right before we were dropped off. We began a seemingly impossible journey exhausted.
  
  
  When we were initially dropped into the ocean, many people surrounded us with their boats. They decorated the water around us, helped us pay for our journey there and sent many notes of sympathy. It felt so good to be loved. We really appreciated that support. But after the first week or so, most of the boats sailed away into the sunset. We buried our son and then we found ourselves in the middle of the ocean all alone.
  
  We struggled to keep our heads above water. Some days we were stronger than others but most days we were drowning. We worked to make sure that our kids were safe. We worked to direct their raft where it needed to go. We tried to keep their heads above water. Many times it caused ours to go under.
  
  We could see the boats go by that were filled with people that we knew. They were enjoying the sun and rejoicing with their friends and families. It was hard for us to see what our lives used to be like. How we used to have fun with friends. How we used to laugh and rejoice in our many blessings. We couldn't relate to that anymore. We were so far removed from that joy and happiness, it was hard to be around it. We couldn't ever imagine being happy or joyful again.
  
  
  We also saw many party boats cruising by filled with family members. We had asked for previously planned events to be postponed given that our family was grieving -- but they weren't. As the party boats sailed by, we saw them laughing and smiling and having a wonderful time. We never saw them look our way to see if our heads were above water -- often times they weren't. Maybe that's why they didn't see us. We didn't understand how they could plan celebrations while we were 1000 miles from land and struggling to survive. We wondered if they missed our presence or if they would even notice if we just let go and sank into the abyss. We were so tired and drained. I couldn't imagine living like this forever. We were so far away from shore that we couldn't even see it. I was tempted to just let go.
  
  Many boats would drop us some food. We needed food and were too far from shore to get it ourselves so that was really, really helpful. We were so incredibly thankful for that. But we had to tread water while we were eating. Because we were so exhausted, it was hard to catch our breath. From above the water we appeared somewhat normal. But under the water our bodies were constantly flailing about -- working hard to keep from sinking. We were running on empty.
  
  
  
  Sometimes, a boat would stop by and let us climb on board to rest for a while. Occasionally, a boat would give us some direction on where we needed to go or how we could tread water more effectively. But most of the time, they would just speed on by. The wake the boats made would cause us to ingest water and sometimes start to sink. We would have to fight even harder to stay afloat.
  
  A couple of our favorite boats invited us onto their houseboats. That was huge. We needed to regain some strength before we continued our swim. We needed to feel supported. It was a relief to be carried for a while.
  
  To our surprise, a few boats going by that were filled with people we barely knew or complete strangers would jump in and tread water with us from time to time. We couldn't believe that people who didn't even know us would be willing to be wet and uncomfortable. It was nice to have the company and helped get us through many long and exhausting days.
  
  
  But most of the time... we were alone. We sent out many "maydays" and flares to tell people that we were drowning and needed help. So many that we can't even count. It took a lot of energy to send those signals. So much energy that it would cause us to go under for a while. But we needed to risk it. We needed rescuing.
  
  Many boats would confirm our signal but would continue on with their voyage. Most would say that they would be there to help us but then, we never heard from them again. Some seemed to hear our call for help but didn't understand the message so they would just throw us a rubber ducky. It was a nice gesture but it wasn't helpful.
  
  Some of them replied with apologies for not being there and acknowledged their own failures. A few stopped by to tell us that we weren't doing "it" the "right way". We couldn't believe that people would criticize us when we were drowning but there were several that did. A couple family members replied with a personal attack. We were so vulnerable and weak. We just didn't have the strength to overcome the rejection.
  
  Others would say that they would be there at 2pm. We would think that all we had to do was make it until 2 and then we could rest for a while. We would countdown the minutes. But then 2 would come and go. 3 would come and go. And by the time they arrived at 4, we had ingested so much water, the rest wasn't beneficial.
  

There was almost always a reason why people weren't able to help us. Perhaps it's because they thought that we were strong and could swim alone. I don't know how anyone could be expected to swim 1000 miles alone. Perhaps some can but we couldn't. Or, maybe it's because they didn't want to get their comfortable, dry clothes wet. Wet clothes are uncomfortable and why be uncomfortable when you don't have to be.


In the last few months, we've gained strength from some wonderful people that have allowed us to rest on their boats, jumped in and swam with us and have continued to encourage us on. Surprisingly, almost all of those people were people that we barely knew or complete strangers a year ago. We never would have expected that they would have been the ones to rescue us. It's been hard on them. Because we didn't have a lot of support, we sadly wore some of them out. The ones that remain will always have a special place in our heart. We couldn't have continued swimming without their help. Honestly, I believe that we would still be drowning if they didn't jump in and help us.


At present, we are still swimming. We have developed a good stroke and are no longer treading water or going under. Most days the sky's are blue and the sun is shining. There are days when storms roll by and the sea's are very rough. Sometimes we are tussled around in the waves or swept off course by the current. Some days we are pushed under water by people or circumstances. It's still hard to get back to the surface when that happens.

We can see the shore now. It's under the blue sky. We're headed towards it. It will take us thousands of strokes to get there. We have a few lighthouses directing us and a few tugboats pulling us along. It's such a huge relief to finally know where we need to go and to have people that are helping us swim. We are lucky. We still have quite a journey ahead of us but we have the peace of knowing where we're going. When we arrive, we will be tired but stronger. We will never be the same.

When someone is hurting

RUN TO THEM not from them!

March 30th, Two Thousand ...NATE (2008)

Two years ago today, I began this journey.  I haven't talked much about what happened before.  I wanted to share it today.  Like many of you, I have been through a lot and I have come a long way.  Here is the story of what started it all:

March 30, 2008
The day started off great. The ICU doctors did rounds that morning and all said that Nate looked great. All of his tubes were out with the exception of a one for his antibiotics. The cardiologist told us that his heart was functioning well and they were making plans to send him home within a day or two. The only thing that they were concerned about were his feedings. They told us that he needed to maintain full feedings in order to be released.  Erik brought the kids up at about 10:30 that morning. I met them in the hall and asked him to take the kids to the playroom for a while so that Nate could focus on his 11am feeding. When we were in Los Angeles, the kids weren't allowed to stay in his room for more than a few minutes, but at CHOC, we were able to spend time together as a family and the kids got lots of time to love on their brother. Because of that, his room was noisy at times and he sometimes got distracted eating. So, Erik and the kids went off to the playroom.

At 11am I started giving Nate his bottle. He ate 1/2 of it really well and I sat him up to burp. As I did, Nathan began to struggle and his monitors started beeping. The nurse came in to see if everything was okay and within seconds, Nate turned blue from head to toe. She grabbed him out of my arms and pushed the CODE BLUE button. Within a minute, a dozen nurses, doctors and respiratory specialists were at his bedside. It was extremely chaotic. I called Erik and told him that Nate was CODE BLUE and he needed to get up here. He left the kids with hospital volunteers and hurried upstairs. Together, we sat down in the back corner of the room and started praying. We asked God to let him live and begged him not to take him. The room became louder and more chaotic as the time went on. The doctors performed CPR and intubated him (breathing tube) and he came back --but his heart rate was sporadic and he was obviously in peril. As they did an echocardiogram, Nate was looking around the room and we were talking to him. We told him how much we loved him and we told him that he was going to be okay. The results of the echocardiogram were not good. They detected something--which they suspected was a large blood clot and before we were given an explanation doctors started yelling for a cut down tray. It was exactly like the traumas that we've seen on TV, only this was our kid and it was real. We were briefly told that they did not have time to get to the operating room and they handed us masks with instructions to put them on. Then, right in front of us they began operating on our baby boy. The hospital chaplain came in and sat with us. She repeatedly insisted that we call someone to start a prayer chain. Most everyone we knew was in church at the time so we just left a handful of messages. We kept thinking that any moment they were going to say that everything was fine. He was perfectly healthy just a few moments ago.



During the next hour, they frantically tried to save him. We kept hearing them call out for "more epy" and "more blood." His body temperature was too low so they were microwaving saline and trying to warm him up. We kept praying and pleading with God. There were glimpses of hope when the surgeon would say that they had a heartbeat but that was diminished when someone else would say he's losing too much blood. At 1:10 that afternoon, the doctors all became very quiet. One of them stepped over to us and told us that they were going to stop working on him because he was gone. We pleaded for them to keep trying but they said that all of the CPR had popped his heart and there was no hope. Then a doctor told us that "they stopped." Those were the two worst words that we've ever heard and at that moment we knew that life would never be the same again. Our Nathan Ryan was gone. His heart was broken and now ours was. It took them a few minutes to put him back together and then we were able to hold him. We were holding him but he wasn't there. We had to beg the doctors to take his breathing tube out and they told us that they needed permission from the Coroner. So Erik actually had to talk on the phone to the Coroner and after an hour or so, they took it out. We held him and kissed him and cried.


But the worst wasn't over. We still had to tell the kids what happened. We went to an empty room down the hall and one by one, they brought the kids in. We are supposed to protect them and now we had to tell them that their baby brother had died. They all cried and cried. It was devastating to see our kids in that much pain and there was nothing that we could do. Friends took the kids back to the playroom so that we could say goodbye to Nathan. We held him again and we asked our Pastor to dedicate him to God. The whole day was so surreal. A few hours ago they said that we could go home and now our son was dead. And the worst part about it was that we watched him die and there was nothing that we could do.

 ***The hospital won't admit anything but we strongly believe that they caused the blodclot when they took out his central line 18 hours prior.  We have done a lot of research and can't find any other explanation for our sweet boy to have such a large clot.  For some reason they didn't detect it ...until it was too late. 

criticism

I wrote a post the other day about switching from some of the "easy" roads to a few "difficult" roads.  I want to make it clear that the difficult roads do not include re-connecting with past relationships.  "Friendship" is defined differently to me now.  "Family" is defined differently to me now.  I have no intention of going backward and forgetting all that I have learned these past two years. 

For me, difficult roads include going to events and being in the company with people that left us alone to drown.  Until now, I have opted out of almost everything.  I have only stretched myself to meet the needs of my husband and my kids on a few occasions.  Other than that, our family as a whole has been staying on the easy road.  I love the easy road.  I have found so much comfort on the easy road.  But I am at a point now where I want to stretch and I want to grow.  I can't do that if I don't try the difficult road.

My husband and I have talked a lot this week about why we have avoided the difficult road this past year.  We had a LIGHT BULB moment and then it all made sense.

Criticism

Criticism is the reason that we have avoided the difficult road. 

The difficult road is not filled with love and acceptance.  It is not filled with compassion and understanding.  That's why we have avoided it.  All of the bumps in that road just hurt.  They hurt bad. 

Why is it that people that have absolutely no idea what it feels like to bury a child are the ones that are telling us that we are doing it wrong? I have yet to hear a criticism from anyone that has walked this walk.

In looking back, we have found that a majority of people we know have taken the liberty of criticizing us.  For some reason, in our darkest hour they blamed us for their poor actions.  Here are a few of the ones that my husband and I have received:

• You're not handling the death of your son well.
• You need to be stronger for your kids.
• We didn't come over because you didn't make us feel welcome.
• My dad died and I handled it better than you are handling Nate's death. 
• You didn't tell us what you needed so we didn't know what to do.
• You looked sad so I didn't know what to say.
• You didn't respond to my email so I stopped trying.
• You need to go on anti-depressants so you can get back to normal.
• We're hurt and upset that you don't want to be around our babies.
• You should be OVER it by now.
• You should be happy that Nate is in Heaven and get back to your good life.
• I don't care what you are going through, life goes on for everyone else.
• Don't you know that God won't give you more than you can handle?

It always felt like we were doing something wrong.  That nothing was wrong with anyone else -- the problem was US!  A large majority of these criticism's came from family members.  This is the reason that we retreated.  We felt like we were under attack.  And, in reality...we were.  These are not words of comfort. 

Now that we are considering the difficult road we are preparing to deal with criticism.  We have been so vulnerable and so insecure that whenever we were told that we were doing something wrong it just devastated us.  It was so hard to hear.  Instead of being lifted up, we were crushed.  

God is teaching me that I can be weak and He can handle these situations for us.  He knows that I certainly didn't do a very good job when I was trying to handle it myself.  I want to trust Him.  I want to be confident in myself so that I can reject these criticisms as they surface.  I am weak but He is strong.  I am hoping that He will use His strength to  carry me the first few miles.  This is my motivation:


Put your heart right...Reach out to God...Then face the world again, firm and courageous. Then all your troubles will fade from your memory, like floods that are past and remembered no more. (Job 11:13, 15-16 TEV)

two roads

For the past year or so, my husband and I have been choosing to take the "easy" road.  In the beginning, we tried to push ourselves into relationships and situations... it wasn't working.  We were trying to force others to help us and we didn't understand why they didn't.  These attempts prevented us from healing and we found ourselves sinking down deeper in our grief.  It literally felt like people were pushing us under water and preventing us from getting up.  We needed to take a step back.  We looked at the fork in the road and chose the "easy" road.  The easy road was an important part of our healing.  It allowed us to focus on our family without being hurt over and over by others.  It was a good road for us.

Our grief counselor informed us that it's very normal for people to walk away from those that have experienced a tragedy.  There are many reasons why they do this.  However, he told us that many of them will check back in between the 2-3 year mark.  For some, it's a realization of their wrongs.  Their attempts to rationalize their actions are no longer believable and they feel a need to rectify their behavior.  For others, it's the hope that we are "better" now.  That the storm has passed and we can return to the relationship that we had previously.

Whatever the reason, it puts us into a difficult position.  An uncomfortable position.  A lot of time has passed.  A lot of things are changed.  It's like when a couple is dating and breaks up.  They try to be "just friends" but it doesn't work.  Once you have a close, intimate relationship with someone it's difficult to go backward.

I am finding that I am facing a fork in the road.  This is uncomfortable for me.  I want to stay on the easy road.  The road that I have found comfort in.  The road that has allowed me to heal.  I don't know if I want to take the other road.  There are a lot of bumps in that road.  There are a lot of pitfalls in that road.  There are a lot of unknowns in that road.

God is showing me that when I am weak, He is strong.  I need to trust in Him and go down the difficult road.  It's not easy.