Day by day, more people leave, and tomorrow our last visitors will travel home. My nuclear family, all that remains, will experience one week together before some return home to North Carolina.
Then the “new normal” will really start to settle as we grasp for new routines.
My mind strives to protect me by covering me mainly in denial. Most of the time, reality feels miles away. I dream constantly of my Mother: dreams telling her why she shouldn’t leave, dreams of me finding her in witness protection, dreams that continue to deny reality. A properly-working mind knows when one has the capacity to wake up to reality, but for now my mind operates mainly from shock and denial.
I am anxious for when my mind will allow me to feel everything it must, for “pain demands to be felt,” and thus it’s only a matter of time.
Today, I am simply grateful again for everyone’s phenomenal support.
Daily Tip for Communicating with Someone in Mourning
The less decisions a person in mourning needs to make, the better. Mourning requires an enormous amount of mental energy, and helping make a decision alleviates a bit of mental fatigue.
Our second church service since Mom left us filled me with encouragement once more. A healthy amount of tears dripped from my sore eyes onto my pallid cheeks as we sang of God’s good plans, his faithfulness, and his constance. All of which I believe, and I mean really believe.
However, I mentioned the dissonance between faith and desperate circumstances during Mom’s Celebration of Life, and I want to share more of what exactly that looks like. Suffering forces people to confront their inmost beliefs, and that is completely healthy and can become beautiful. My Mom loved Jesus with her entire being: the cacophony of confusion left in her wake prompts intense introspection and deconstruction.
Our Father in heaven,
your name be honored as holy.
Your kingdom come,
Your will be done
on earth as it is in heaven.
Give us this day our daily bread.
And forgive us our debts,
as we also have forgiven our debtors.
And do not bring us into temptation,
but deliver us from the evil one.
Matthew 6:9-13, CSB
Now, please understand, I’m not looking for answers and I do not plan to provide any at this time, but I do want to share the questions clamoring in my mind. Thoughts that, perhaps, cloud your mind as well. Maybe sharing my thoughts will help those echoing the same to feel less alone and less afraid, because two thoughts can be true at the same time: one can trust God and be utterly confused and skeptical at the same time. Thus, my questions:
• Good fathers are supposed to protect their family. Why don’t you [God] protect mine?
• If Jesus is the abundant life, how could my mom die? She loved him.
• If he [God] knew what Mom needed, why weren’t her needs met?
I’ve said this so many times — I believe that God can do all things, but I fear what he will allow to happen. This is precisely why: I have not experienced twice how despair and hopelessness kill those whom I love, and those who legitimately love Jesus.
Today, I was incredibly overwhelmed by the generosity and the care from mine and Scott’s small group. They ensured our current needs were met and provided provisions for our future needs. My family has experienced such incredible and support from people being the hands and feet of Jesus, and, because of them, right now my faith remains strong. I wrestle through these complex questions, but it is abundantly clear that we have our daily bread, that God is providing and caring for us, and that we will get through this. I cannot thank our community enough for all they have done. You have eclipsed this horribly dark and tragic time with light and love and I am amazed and humbled at all of this. Thank you.
Tips for Communicating with Someone in Mourning
Acknowledging the situation is better than avoiding the topic altogether. It may be awkward to speak up, but a simple “I see you,” goes a long way 💙
Funeral preparations cease but a few friends and family members from out of town remain close. Reality slowly creeps in as the whispers of finding a “new normal” lingers just around the corner. In a matter of days, most of the world will return to work while we begin to reorganize our lives.
My Daddy, of course, will have the most significant adjustment for his day-to-day life. Already, he sleeps without my Mom, but he has not had to experience a “typical” day without her. They were partners, they were friends, and they were lovers. I always thought they really would be that couple from The Notebook: I never thought this could happen.
Their relationship was an anchor in my life. They endured and overcame agonizing trauma together again and again and again, and they were the best of friends. Growing up, I always wanted a marriage like theirs. Since getting married, I still wanted a relationship like theirs! My marvelous husband and I watched their love for one another with reverence and admiration. They were such an amazing team. They loved being together and they loved each other well. It’s difficult not to be really angry with my mom when I think of their truly inspirational marriage… and then it’s really, really, really sad.
As my brother Luke reminded, my siblings and I had never known a world without Mom until eight days ago.
Rehabilitation — that’s the word that keeps bustling through my mind. Learning to live without Mom feels like rehabilitating back into normal society: walking, driving, talking, biking, writing, smiling, and so much more, feels so foreign and unnatural. I feel as though I can barely hold a thought or concept in my mind.
Denial persists more than anything right now, a dull ache thumps within me at all times, but most of the time I can’t believe my Mom’s gone and I can’t believe my mom left me feels like a distant thought and not an annihilating reality. My Momma, I still mumble in shock. Moments of mayhem pierce me to the core, preparing me for when the shock wears off and when I’ll have to truly face this menacing reality.
My Mom grounded and anchored my life, creating stability and safety. What now?
Daily Tip for Communicating with Someone in Mourning
I have provided many things not to say — all of which from comments multiple people have made, not just one-off comments as to not single anyone out — but there are so many good things people say as well.
“I’m sorry” feels like such a weak thing to say, but it encompasses a tremendous amount of emotion and care. The short phrase empathizes with the mourners and often creates an understanding between two hurting people.
Future Ways to Help
Small tasks are incredibly helpful — doing a load of laundry, wiping down a counter, calling to set up a dental appointment. Sometimes it’s hard for me to even remember to put a pair of shoes on – it’s invaluable to notice those little things that may be neglected and to help one another out.
This surreal week will haunt me for the rest of my life, and yet I’ll remember your kindness vividly in the days to come.
Love permeates everything and its warmth reaches my deep wounds. Tonight, I remember that the New Testament word “Salvation” is the same Greek/Hebrew word for “Healing”. Jehova-Rapha: The God who Heals, written throughout the Old Testament. The God who heals broken hearts and broken minds. The God who binds our wounds and holds us up. El Roi: The God who Sees. The God who sees me — who sees us in our pain.
I live amongst a community of mourners: I know you’re hurting too. I know you loved her, and I know it’s so hard to fathom life without her. She was such a light, such a joy, and so… “sparkly” as my Grandpa, my mom’s dad, described. I love it – she was so sparkly.
Life is so confusing right now. It still doesn’t feel real, until it hits and it hurts excruciatingly. I don’t want it to feel real, I don’t want it to be real. None of us do.
Thank you for being here, for watching, for reading. For holding my hand, playing with my hair, and hugging me. Thank you for loving my mom.
I’m 27 years old: I thought my family was supposed to be growing at this point in my life, not shrinking, but I’ve lost a brother, a mother, and we can’t get pregnant. We’ve been “trying” for two years now, for all you well-intended people that keep telling us we need to have kids. I don’t like to talk about it, it’s deeply personal. But today? It’s just another wound in a long list of hurts.
It’s hard to trust God in times like these — life can be so cruel, and this feels devastatingly horrific. I see the support of God in the provision for my family, in the food at our table, in our ability to have my remaining living family here, in the friends that hold us, clean for us, and provide for us. The support is palpable, but it’s still hard to trust God. I so often say “I know God can do anything, but I am also vividly aware of what he will allow.” Here we are again, harrowing in what God will allow.
Our table felt so small after Patrick died. Our immediate family of six became a family of five, and now our family of five becomes a family of four. Oh but wait! “They’re always with you!” No, there’re not in the empty chair. It’s still just as painful without them in it. When I was a child, I used to think families of four were so little. Family of four? We had four kids in ours! And it was loud. Now, it’s so quiet. So somber. So mournful. It should be — we loved our Mommy.
It’s so tense and so stressful and so sad. A myriad of emotions waiting to burst from our eyes or escape from our lips.
Daily Tip for Communicating with Someone in Mourning
Just… be so gracious. As you can read, I’m a little snippy today. I need a lot of grace. Don’t be surprised if someone deep in mourning gets a little snippy with you. It’s not you, it’s all we’ve got going on.
I know many of you reading this are likewise deep in mourning — be gracious with yourself and with your family. I’m sorry if those around you haven’t experienced much grief — it’s incredibly hard to fathom a grieving mind if you haven’t experienced a deep personal loss.
Future Ways to Help
Lawncare: My parents’ have a beautiful lawn, with gorgeous trees and plants. A lawncare service would be very helpful. Beyond a lawncare service, weeds grow so fast here — if you drop by, maybe scan the lawn before coming inside and pick some weeds if you are willing and able to.
Gift cards: Right now we have plenty of food, but in a few months, making dinner every night will feel overwhelming.
Any little act of service helps. All those small little normal tasks feel like such monstrous feats when your heart is hurting.
If you can’t physically help but still want to do something, please consider the GoFund Me: https://gofund.me/6617c101
Thank you, immensely, for everyone who has shown up to help, who has given, and who has prayed. Every little bit helps 💙
We do many things when we operate out of fear instead of love: we kick and we scream, we beg and we plead, we ache and we cry, and we break and we bleed, until we shatter into tiny pieces and crumble gently to the cold and unforgiving floor.
“This is tragedy,” we internalize as we attempt to grasp our broken pieces scattered about us. We trace the ceiling with our eyes as the chill from the floor sends ice down our backs.
But how can we feel that which is no longer connected to us? In shambles, we attempt to hold ourselves together. In truth, we’ve already fallen quite apart entirely.
No, our dust cannot be pieced back together.
— — —
On of my favorite quotes looms in Lewis Carroll’s Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, awaiting an eager reader’s interpretation.
“I could tell you my adventures–beginning from this morning,” said Alice a little timidly: “But it’s no use going back to yesterday, because I was a different person then”
Too often “yesterday” prompts me to silently fear the plights of tomorrow and disregard the joys of today. It’s astounding how much a single day can alter one’s perception for the remainder of his or her life.
May 11, 2019: 3 Days before Patrick’s Funeral
Broken is a scary place to be–it’s vulnerable and alone, exposing and frightening–but, perhaps it’s the safest place to be. In David Platt’s Radical, Platt ponders: “What if the center of God’s will is in reality the most unsafe place for us to be?” Platt proposes that following God often leads us into perilous and/or painful circumstances that strengthen our faith and build the kingdom of God beyond the pain that we can see.
In Faith in the Fog, Jeff Lucas’s exploration of the interaction between Christ and Peter when Christ inquires, “Simon, son of John, do you love me more than these?” Lucas describes the dangerous draw to complacent avoidance:
Sometimes I’m lured by the thought of a safe, predictable, even dull existence. I don’t want a purpose-driven life. I don’t want purpose, and I certainly don’t want driven–I just want life.
Longing for consistency, we can foolishly allow fear to ransack our thoughts and carry us to places we know we shouldn’t go and prompt us to do things we regret–we’ll run from the goodness we fear into the clutches of a deceptive “safe place,” where we find comfort in the familiar. Unfortunately, familiarity does not equate to safety.
Tranquility is monotony’s gift. It’s the security one feels in the comfortability of a changeless season, but it can be precariously complacent. Succumbing to temptation to live a life dedicated to ease causes us to miss the opportunity to indulge with those who suffer and to build one another up from places of deep depravity and heartache.
Believe me, I crave “normal,” “easy,” and “safe,” now more than ever, but surrendering to “I don’t care” and embracing a simple life dedicated to fear steals any opportunity to glorify God with my gift of suffering.
Numbing one’s pain never helps–instead numbness creates a welcoming environment for sin to manifest through disbelief. When we choose to numb ourselves to the desires of God–desires for life and abundance and suffering–we reject the of goodness in His plan.
I don’t want to care anymore–life is easier when we don’t care about what’s happening around us, right?? That’s the illusion of denial. Denial deceives us into believing that all is well when the world is on fire, and, in the end, we burn along with the rest of the world because we weren’t discerning enough to escape the flames.
— — —
When I dreamed of the future, I never imagined that my brother would not be in it.
That day and the following two months changed [and continue to change] me more than I was willing to admit to myself and to others; I fear my emotional response to his death, I fear my past, and I fear healing from the events that mar me. Healing seems like letting go of someone who was supposed to be with me forever.
I’ve been reduced to dust, as Lysa TerKeurst defines these kinds of seasons in her book, It’s Not Supposed to Be This Way. Dust moments–they’re the moments that forever change your existence and shatter who you once were. I liked what my life was like back then. I liked how my family looked back then. I liked who I was back then. But, like Alice, I am not who I was yesterday, my circumstances today are not like they were, and I will never return to the woman that I was at that time.
-- -- --
Do I love God more than I love what I had hoped for Patrick?
I spent months in fear of that question–I spent months in fear of how his death will affect my perception of life itself. Months.
This time, I was broken beyond repair. My family was broken beyond repair. It feels like I died on that day, but I kept living. I kept breathing. I kept moving. But I was reduced to dust, and life mollified me.
I have so much to fear, but I also have so much to live.
I have changed. I’ve changed so much since May 7, 2019. My entire outlook on life and death is dramatically different than what it once was, and I am so incredibly thankful for that.
— — —
A friend loves at all times, and a brother is born for adversity.
Proverbs 17:17
My sweet friend, Jocelyn, came to visit me this past weekend. Jocelyn’s been an endearing blessing for my entire life–she’s safe, she’s welcoming, and she’s encouraging. She loves Jesus and she loves me and my family, and she came along my side and gladly stayed in the messy room I’ve neglected since May. She told me it’s okay, and she told me I was strong. She went on a crazy adventure with me and smiled and laughed the whole time.
Virginia Beach, August 2019
Jocelyn helped me get back on my feet–it’s truly amazing how life-giving a lifelong friend can be. It’s so sweet how Jesus uses those around us to build us up.
— — —
Yes, I have changed, and yes, I have broken entirely. I have been reduced to unrecognizable dust. God brings life from the dust, and He’s given me another chance at life. He rejuvenated my perspective and has lifted my spirit. I am not who I was, and I am okay with that. I am healing, I am being made new, and I am living.
— — —
When love compels us, any fear we have becomes worth the risk. Love emboldens and strengthens. Love is what picks us up from the floor:
For the love of Christ controls us, because we have concluded this: that one has died for all, therefore all have died; and he died for all, that those who live might no longer live for themselves but for him who for their sake died and was raised.
II Corinthians 5:14-15
It’s the warmth of a loving Father, welcoming his cold and tired prodigal home with open arms. Our refuge and our rock–our God and our redeemer. He takes the dust that we are and renews us entirely.
“You never give up on me”, the amazement flowed from the tears in Patrick’s eyes.
But, I thought, the truth is that I gave up on you years ago.
Yet I’m still here.
Maybe I tricked myself into believing that I gave up on you. Maybe it’s because I was well acquainted with the pain you cause[d], but I’m thankful that you realized I hadn’t given up on you even when I thought I had.
No, I never gave up on you. I believed in every single breath you gave.
— — —
I spent the last two months two months pretending that the most horrific events of my past did not happen. I went on eight different trips and visited 13 different cities; it’s funny how you can trick your mind into believing false narratives simply because you long for something greater. I want to believe that earnestness exists, that redemption persists, and that goodness triumphs.
But I don’t.
Or, at least, I didn’t.
Eight trips filled with laughter and memories, yet the plane rides or car drives confronted me with the realities I so desperately wished to ignore. On the plane and in the car–that’s where I fell apart.
You can only smile for so long before tears force their way out, leaving you exposed to an onlooking world. And on airplanes?? Lord bless those sitting next to me… they didn’t ask for this mess. Though, neither did I.
Thoughts on my final plane ride brutally scorned me: “If I love God, how could I _____?” “If you love someone, why do you purposefully act malignant?” “If I had done _____ would he still be here?”
One’s mind and heart quickly betray him in times of immense tragedy, rendering him confused and pained. Mine convinced me to ignore reality again and again and again, until reality assaulted my mind into submission. You cannot outrun the truth, no matter how bleak it is.
— — —
It’s was Tuesday night, three months and one day since we found out about my Patrick’s demise.
I’m in church and it’s dark. Unable to hold anything back, I release emotions I do not deserve to have–no one should endure circumstances like this.
My roommate Lauren reaches over:
“I’m proud of you, Hope. You’re finally grieving.”
Aaaaand I’ve cried everyday since. Moments so full of anguish that I stop breathing and have to literally remind myself how to function. WELCOME TO GRIEF, HOPE. It’s about time…
— — —
April 24, 2019
“I feel like we are a team specifically you and me to beat this. It means alot,” Patrick texts me.
“That’s right we are. You are going to beat this. Absolutely.”
“Every time I see you, you say we got this and i actually believe it for once”
I believed it too, Patrick. I believed it too. I still cannot believe that you are gone.
— — —
When you lose someone you love, it is as though all light has departed. Reality dims. Hope fades. Confusion suffocates.
Recklessness ensues when you stop believing in redemption: Satan tempts you to believe that actions are meaningless. You grew weary in doing good works. Look where they got you? I questioned as the tears soaked my sweatshirt.
The truth is, there are some things we will never let go of; we must live through the emptiness and press on because of Christ’s mercy. Sometimes the most disheartening circumstances are the manifolds of God’s mercy. While it’s laborious to perceive, there is much glory in earth’s eternal despondency.
I tried to stop hoping. I attempted to “give up” on those that I love dearly as a coping mechanism, but I cannot.
Even after the tragedies I’ve witnessed first-hand–no matter how “safe” disassociation and pessimism may make me feel–I cannot stop believing in redemption.
I don’t recognize much “light” these days. Engulfed in darkness, wrestling through disappointment and heartache: nonetheless, I still believe in redemption.
I see hurting people all around me, the heartbroken who respond by attempting to break themselves and to break those around them, but somehow I still believe in redemption. Side note: Please, seek help and guidance when you need it, friends. No one is past redemption’s threshold–if he would only focus on what he knows to be true. Not all is lost.
In The Fellowship of the Rings, Tolkien exemplifies the relationship between hope and heartache: “The world is indeed full of peril, and in it there are many dark places; but still there is much that is fair, and though in all lands love is now mingled with grief, it grows perhaps the greater.”
I cannot see the goodness in this situation, and I feel far more broken than I can express, but I trust and I hope in what I know is True.
Exposed 