Thursday, March 21, 2013

Compassion Runs Deep


I never thought I would be able to smile and laugh on Lilly's birthday. It seemed so strange to me. Sometimes I still know what it is to feel as if I will never be able to smile again, and yet there I was, enjoying company of good friends, even on her "Heaven Day".

Some will say it is a testament to our strength and heroic courage in handling our grief. I say it is the grace of God with compassion and support from others. When someone genuinely shares our tears, it is like they have stepped into our world of hurt and somehow their strength helps to carry the immense weight of it all.

A week before Lilly's birthday, I was pleasantly surprised by a billing girl in the dentist office. We have had some insurance problems due to policies being wrongfully canceled after Lilly died. Instead of canceling her insurance they canceled all of our plans...

I had to explain that my daughter had died a year ago and why our insurance company still seems to get confused, and then there I was, in the middle of a dentist office with a stranger hugging me and asking to hear my story. I gave her the short version, and she shared about her niece, Mya, whose heart stopped beating just a few days before she was due.

As I looked into this strangers teary eyes, full of compassion and genuine interest, I thought, "she must know my Lord." By the time we said goodbye she had said Lilly's name more than most people I know have in a year. It was heartening that she did not run away or look at me as if she might be able to catch my pain like a disease.

Moments like that begin to restore my faith in humanity and remind me of the things Lilly has taught me. However, like most highs, I should have known a trench was waiting just ahead.


On the way home from this very encounter, I was pulled over in a speed trap, going 45 in a 35. Right in front of the cemetery. The cop was abrupt and rude as I silently handed him my information, and I cursed my absent mind as he went back to his car to write my ticket.

While I waited, a funeral procession went by. Being alone with my thoughts on the best of days can be dangerous, and here I was sitting so close to her little body, reliving her own funeral. Not the best situation for a bereaved mother with an anxiety problem. I took some deep breaths and tried desperately to hold it together just long enough to get my stupid ticket and get home so I could break down there.

When I finally calmed down, probably hours later, to tell Casey what happened, he called it the perfect storm of events. Because it did not stop with the ticket and the funeral procession directly across from the cemetery where my daughter lies. He told me that the court date for the ticket was on February 19th, of all the days in this wretched world....it was her birthday.

I fell completely apart.

I'm sure he thought I was trying to get out of a ticket, but what an actress I would have to be to pull off the crazy, wild sobs rolling from the depths of that hurt. I tried to put up my hand to stop his rambling, I couldn't make out any of it anyway, and I explained; "please sir, I just need a minute, my daughter died last year and that happens to be her birthday". He mumbled something like "sorry about that loss", and continued to spew his superfluous information in a tone soaked with cold indifference.

I don't know if it was the drastic digression in compassion between this encounter and the one I had just had moments ago at the dentist office, or if it was the break of trust in a figure that is supposed to be on my side; but as he tossed my ticket in my passenger window and walked away, leaving me a crumpled mess, I grew hysterical to the point that I knew I could not drive.

How I dialed the phone and communicated my location to Casey, I'm really not sure. I know he couldn't make out anything I said for at least 15 minutes.

The emotional roller coaster between Joy and Sorrow exhausted me. It does most days actually, this just happened to be more than I could physically/emotionally handle. I couldn't stop shaking. The only thing that stifled my wild sobs was my fear of scaring Isaac.


I wish I could say this was a one time thing. But the truth is, it happens more often than you want to know. Less now that I am taking medication, but really that just prolongs the time between episodes.

This separation of parent and child....there is something so unnatural about it, something so wrong it's on the verge of evil. It is like daily torture. Dying little by little, every moment she can't be with me.

Children aren't supposed to die. We are supposed to leave them once we are confident they are comfortable and safe to be left on their own in the world.

I don't have any deep theological wisdom filled thoughts to share...just my daily struggle to keep breathing....to want to keep breathing...without her....

My initial reason for sharing this story was to move others toward compassion rather than judgement or preoccupation with self. You never know what the person behind you at the checkout has been through. Who knows if the woman you complain to about your children is secretly hurting because she can't have her own.

Maybe we should stop and think a little more before we judge. Compassion can go a very long way into the heart of the hurting. But so can negligence and scorn.


Monday, March 4, 2013

Celebration of Life and Hope

Last week we remembered what would have been Lilly's 1st birthday and then her "Heaven Day".

We went to the cemetery and covered her cold bed with rose petals. It was frigid and snowing on her birthday. I hate the thought of her in that icy ground. It's irrational, but I have often told Casey how much I regret not covering her with a blanket before they closed my daughter away from me in that tiny casket.




I was touched by those who came out in this cold to be with us and send balloons to the heavens in honor of miss Lillian Hope. We don't deserve the measure of grace and kindness others have showered on us even now, a year since she rocked our world.



After each balloon release (we did a small one on her birthday as it was freezing, and held the big event on her Heaven Day which was warm and sunny) we invited everyone to a reception. I made Lilly a cake, as I will do with all my children's birthdays, and fussed over a clean house like I haven't for months.


As I was dusting parts of the house that hadn't been touched for more than a year, I felt like it was more than just preparing for company. It felt like, emotionally we were clearing the dusty corners of our hearts, picking ourselves up, brushing ourselves off and staggering forward into our new world.

On Saturday I read from 2 Samuel 12:19-23. As I was looking up the scriptures I knew I wanted to read on the way to the cemetery, it hit me hard to realize the significance of the numerical location. Lilly lived and died 2/19-23/12...
19 David noticed that his attendants were whispering among themselves, and he realized the child was dead. “Is the child dead?” he asked.“Yes,” they replied, “he is dead.”20 Then David got up from the ground. After he had washed, put on lotions and changed his clothes, he went into the house of the Lord and worshiped. Then he went to his own house, and at his request they served him food, and he ate.21 His attendants asked him, “Why are you acting this way? While the child was alive, you fasted and wept, but now that the child is dead, you get up and eat!”22 He answered, “While the child was still alive, I fasted and wept. I thought, ‘Who knows? The Lord may be gracious to me and let the child live.’ 23 But now that he is dead, why should I go on fasting? Can I bring him back again? I will go to him, but he will not return to me.”
I explained that we were moving on, but that Lilly is and forever will be a part of our family. She will never be forgotten or overlooked. We move on because we have to, and by the grace of God and the love and support of others, we feel as if we can begin to stumble out of the blackness and into the shadow.



The fact that I will never see her again in this lifetime has been very difficult for me to grasp. If I could bring her back to me, I would. However, like King David, instead we must hold tight to the Hope of Heaven, everyday.

1 Thessalonians 4:13-17
13 Brothers and sisters, we do not want you to be uninformed about those who sleep in death, so that you do not grieve like the rest of mankind, who have no hope. 14 For we believe that Jesus died and rose again, and so we believe that God will bring with Jesus those who have fallen asleep in him. 15 According to the Lord’s word, we tell you that we who are still alive, who are left until the coming of the Lord, will certainly not precede those who have fallen asleep.16 For the Lord himself will come down from heaven, with a loud command, with the voice of the archangel and with the trumpet call of God, and the dead in Christ will rise first. 17 After that, we who are still alive and are left will be caught up together with them in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air. And so we will be with the Lord forever.

Before bedtime prayers that Tuesday, Isaac asked me if I was sad. He always knows when I'm feeling particularly down, whether I express it outwardly or not. I said, "Yes I'm sad because I wish Sissy could be with us, but I am so happy to have you." This is a conversation we have fairly often and he usually gives me a hug or kiss and goes on playing. At prayer time we ask him if there is anything he wants to tell Jesus. That night he said simply, "yeah I say Jesus make Momma happy". 

My sweet, sweet boy! What would I do without Isaac? I am baffled by mothers who lose their first child and find the strength to move on. Most days, Isaac is my only true reason to go on living. He is my gift. Certainly, God has blessed his name: Isaac-Laughter or "He will laugh" and John-God is gracious.




**In honor of our precious Lilly's memory, we have launched a website - lillianhope.com. Please visit the Give Hope page and/or pass the site along to other grieving hearts that may find it useful.