For years, October 30th glared at me from the
calendar. Every day that approached was
like another page turning in “The Monster at the End of This Book” (see THIS
for more details—with pictures!).
This year, I’m not sure what’s different…Is it the pace of
life? Is it the fact that physically, this year has left me feeling pretty
spent (and marginally emotionally uninvested)? Is it the fact that I am
finally, truly at peace with a clearer understanding that my daughter—who would
be turning 9 this year—is, beyond the shadow of a doubt, with my Savior?
I generally have my prayer time on my commute to work. I
feel like I can have an unadulterated, uncensored, frighteningly-but-beautifully
frank conversation with the Lord, free from pretense or interruption (with the
glaring exception of the occasional eruption of road rage). This morning, we
talked about Hannah…about the fact that my concrete beliefs that there is a
Heaven, that Jesus is there, and that my daughter is with Him, are probably the
only reason I have survived the loss of my firstborn. Without that knowledge,
without knowing Him (in as broken of a way as I do), I would be lost. Even with
that, there were days the despair was so heavy that I wanted to end it all. I
will never, ever forget those days of darkness…there really is nothing like it.
It’s like living in a state of suffocation…but not quite enough that you get
the bliss of unconsciousness. It’s scary, because all you want is to be
extinguished; however, your own faith keeps you from pulling the trigger
yourself. You just pray that something else kills you (I can’t tell you how
many times I prayed my heart would just explode). It’s the hardest thing a soul
can go through…And we survived.
We made it (oh, the fear that goes into making that actual
statement…there is no pride there, trust me. There is simply the
acknowledgement and gratitude of the Spirit of God that kept us from
self-destructing). I’m not sure how I didn’t off myself, or how David didn’t
lock me up (or why he hasn’t as of today…I’m not ruling it out as a possibility
at some point in my life, LOL), other than by the grace of God. And how thankful am I, for that grace? If not
for the grace of God…I wouldn’t be here. Jericho wouldn’t be here.
When I think of all of the joy that would be missing from
the world, without that little boy…
God is good, y’all. He sustains us, even at our weakest, our
most unlovable, our most vulnerable. He doesn’t walk away, even when we yell at
Him in our anger. He doesn’t give up, even when we don’t want to breathe. He
stays, even when we are unfaithful.
His ways are not our ways. His plans don’t make a lot of
sense to us…and who are we, to think that they have to? I had a friend who
recently said, “I’m sick of being told that God has a plan for all of this. If
this is His plan, His plan SUCKS.”
After I took a few steps to the side, so as to avoid the
proverbial lightning strike (God doesn’t really do that…I hope), I didn’t
really say anything back to her. I just told her that I understood. It’s true…to
us. Sometimes His plans just suck. Going into heart failure sucked. It sucked, to lose my daughter. It sucked,
when my husband lost his job. Those years of unemployment/underemployment? THEY
SUCKED. Finding out I had cancer this summer? IT SUCKS. Do I think that God
sits in Heaven, intentionally inflicting pain on His constituents? No…but I
certainly think He uses it to draw us into Him. He takes these things…these
results of living in a fallen world that hates His children…and He recognizes
that they hurt. Jesus wept when His friend Lazarus died. He wept, even when He
knew what was to come. He cried because it sucks when your friends die…even
when You’re the Son of God. Jesus cried in the Garden of Gethsemane. Why? Because
He knew what was to come…He knew it would hurt…He knew it would separate Him
from His Father…and He knew it was gonna suck, BIG TIME. Sometimes, God’s plans
just suck.
(It’s at this point that I recall how many times I got into
trouble for saying something/someone totally sucked, in elementary-junior
high-high school. Never really broke that habit.)
Even though things are arduous (fancy-talk for “sucky”), it’s
only for a little while in the grand scheme of things. There is always, always,
ALWAYS another side to the battle. There’s a break in the storm; even
hurricanes eventually come to an end, although they seem insurmountable in the
process.
It WILL get better, because He is. HE IS.
We have that truth—the truth of The Great I Am. Sometimes,
those two little words are all we can wrap ourselves around in the middle of
the chaos…
I spent about an hour on the phone with my Mama the other
day. She’s taught me a lot, and I feel like she’s lived a lot of life in a few
years. I’m sure I’ve aged her a few decades on my own, although you’d never
know it to look at her—she’s super snazzy!!!! I’d like to be more like her,
when I grow up. We discussed the fact that this summer was pretty much a great
big pile of poo. Seriously—getting cancer (albeit, “the good kind”) really
trashed most of my plans. It took up all of my vacation time, rendered me
unable to tend to my garden (big waste of $$), made me unable to really have
too much fun (minus my concerts—those were a blast), and I am STILL dealing
with trying to get my meds regulated. She took quite a bit of care of me and JD
during that time; the emotional toll of being told mid-surgery that your child
(even a grown-up child) has cancer is pretty great….even when it’s “the good
kind” (that phrase!). If not for the ever-changing antics of JD (and my
concerts), I’d like to forget most of this summer. So would my mother. She really
took my diagnosis hard, and I think she still struggles with the aftermath.
Every 6 months for the next 2 years, I will have tests; because of the high reoccurrence
of this kind of cancer, I’ll probably have labs to monitor my thyroid levels
for the rest of my life (also, to maintain the dosage of replacement medication
that I have to take). That’s a lot to
ask of a person as a patient; I think it’s more to ask of that patient’s
mother. My mom has held my hand through 10 of my 11 surgeries; it’s safe to say
that this one was the hardest on her. Cancer is a kind of chaos that requires
clinging to “I Am.” Even the “good kind” of cancer wreaks havoc on a mother,
when it’s her child. My mom really hit her knees through this process, and I
know her prayers have been heard.
Mom and I talked about my fears and frustrations in our
phone call. The change of seasons…grayer days…gloomy weather…the
ever-approaching end of the month…It all affects me, emotionally and
spiritually. I look for ways to escape; I find myself dealing with irrational
fears. I don’t want to go anywhere; I just want my blanket and a fireplace
screensaver on Netflix. I eat more, and I make bad choices. I’m more
introspective and less social; I bake more, and channel my lack of adventure
into a recipe book. The irrational fears are a problem. The “what ifs” go from
a murmur in the back of my brain to a screaming chorus in my head that makes me
paranoid about everything, and there is a daily battle to keep it in check. You
could say that my natural crazy gets “turnt up,” and it’s a problem. Mom talked
to me about prayer, and I said that I wondered if it’s the natural fear
associated with Halloween that I’m subconsciously picking up on? She said it’s
not…it’s this time of the year. She’s right.
Not having a birthday party to celebrate is a nagging
constant in my brain and in my heart…I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that it
hurts. This time of the year makes me more emotionally sensitive. I HAVE to
disassociate; I have to unplug. I have to make myself stay off of Facebook for
a few days; I have to stop reading the news (I think I need to do that,
regardless of the time of the year). There are 29 days each fall where the
clock is pounding in my head…where was I, what was I doing, what was Hannah
doing? Only in the past 3 years has that improved, and that is honestly because
having a toddler means that I don’t have time to climb down that rabbit hole. It’s
an unfair pressure to say this about my son, but he has, in so many ways,
pushed me to a different place of healing where Hannah is concerned. You
simply, physically, cannot focus on the sadness and on what you missed, when there
is a child that takes up most of your attention. Days become markers on the
calendar, rather than the overwhelming emotional valleys. Life forces you to
move through and walk forward, rather than stopping (notice I didn’t say “move
on.” That’s another discussion).
That’s not to say there aren’t pauses, and that there aren’t
moments where it hits…that there aren’t moments like this morning, where I
wonder what would have been? What would she be like? I have no idea…
But I know what her brother is like.
And I suspect that had she made it…had she survived…he
wouldn’t be here (we wouldn’t have tried again, because of the damage I
sustained to my heart. I really don’t think David would have wanted to risk
another pregnancy, and I think I would have been reluctant to, as well). God
has a plan for that little boy that we have yet to have a clue toward…
I think the greatest way to celebrate Hannah’s birthday is
to thank her…Having her, knowing what motherhood felt like, loving someone so
strongly and having that blessing to hold in my arms, was the greatest gift I’ve
ever been given outside of my salvation. She has an eternal impact on my life
and on my soul, and I am grateful for the chance I had to hold her. My son is
in no way, shape, or form, a replacement for her…but he IS a response to her. I
knew that I knew that I KNEW that we were meant to be parents after Hannah
died, and we pursued that dream until it became a reality…The reality known as
Jericho.
What we have does not replace what was lost…and focusing on
our present is the best way to honor the past.
So, on October 30th, I’d like to say that the day
will go on as mostly “normal:” David and I will both go to work; JD will go to
daycare. We have a meeting scheduled that afternoon, and I may convince David
to go out to dinner; otherwise, we will treat the day as any other. At the end
of the day, though, I will get a candle out of our coat closet. It’s a Birthday
Cake candle, made by a mother in Kentucky who lost her son. I light it one day
a year, on Hannah’s birthday. I will
light that candle, and we will pause…we will hold our son a little tighter, and
maybe keep the bedtime ritual a little more relaxed…We will kiss our boy, and
we will be thankful for the love we have, for the grace of God, and for the
beauty of knowing the peace of the Great I Am…We will marvel at the good, the
bad, the sometimes-perceived “suckiness”, and the overall, misunderstood
awesomeness of the plans of God….And we will cling to the verse that David
chose as our wedding verse, because every year, it just becomes more and more
clear that only He fully knows what He is doing; all we know is that we can
rest in His plans because above all, He is a good God:
9. However, as it is written: “What
no eye has seen, what no ear has heard, and what no human mind has conceived”
the things God has prepared for those who love Him—I Cor. 2:9 (NIV)
