Author: Judy

And so it continues

 

This has been a very difficult week. I no doubt that the struggle began on Monday. There is an ongoing legal process as charges were filed related to the accident that took Christopher’s life. Technically, the outcome of this trial has no bearing on my life, but it is a painful process non the less as I have been told that I will be expected to appear which keeps me “reminiscing” about that terrible night. There was yet another continuance. Once again, I was reminded that I am totally out of control as I have been since December 7, 2007. There is no part of this process that considers me or how I feel or what I’ve lost. That is so very frustrating.

It is quite a conflict to be put in a position to continue to have to re-live the night that forever changed my life and my recurring disbelief. It is odd to spend time recalling something that I simply can’t believe has happened. Even when I tell people, I find myself wondering when I will be caught in this lie. Certainly, I’l be proven wrong and find that this really didn’t happen.
Add to all this, I am in the first semester of a doctoral program which is very overwhelming most of the time. I am working part-time. This week, my mom innocently commented on how my life has changed. My response was that it all changed in one night. This came with the realization that there is nothing about my life that is as it would be had Christopher not died.
This is yet another source of internal conflict. I have much for which to be thankful, but it is hard to appreciate something that came at such a high price. I’d give it all up to go back and have the life that I had planned for, the life that should of, could of, would of been.
But that’s not my choice, it’s not an option. None of this has been my choice and so it continues. It makes it tough to be thankful. I didn’t want this life. I wanted to see my son grow up and enjoy his life. I don’t know how I will ever be able to enjoy my life because, no matter how wonderful things are or become, they will never been enough to offset for what I lost that night. I don’t know how to reconcile this and allow myself to be happy. I want my old life back.

Endless

 

Today, we had a guest speaker in one of my classes. We got to talking about the fact that we use medical language to talk about helping people through difficult transitions. The example was the word, healing. He commented that it implies that we will get done with the process. The he added closure and asked, “what is that anyways?” He knows of what he speaks; his son, Christopher, died in a car accident almost 4 years ago.

Another friend who has walked me though this hideous process recently told me, “Grieving the loss of a child may not have an end as you know.” This is not what I wanted to hear and yet people keep telling me the same thing.

I just don’t understand how they expect me to go forward with no hope of relief this side of heaven.

The trouble with groups . . .

 

The trouble with group gatherings is that there are just too many people! I have to be honest, I have never liked parties or other types of group gatherings. I’ve always dreaded them, but forced myself to go, knowing that I’d have a good time.

Last night, I had a wonderful opportunity to get to know my new classmates and the faculty from my doctoral program. It was a very casual pot-luck dinner. . . . just my speed. I had prepared my contribution, but, as usual, I was dreading it. It was fine, just as always, but on the way home, I was overwhelmed with sadness. It was very similar to what I experience when I leave church.
I finally figured it out! I don’t like to be around a lot of people who may not have know about Christopher’s death. It bothers me (makes me sad) to work so hard to be happy and they have no clue. I’ve had several gatherings at my house since Christopher’s passing, but all the attendees knew of my loss. That somehow made having a good time okay. With these people last night, I felt so dishonest; I allowed them to believe that I am just looking forward to what is ahead of me.
Same with church. I feel like I’m just faking it, playing church, looking as if I am just all full of unwavering faith. That couldn’t be farther from the truth. So, again, I feel like I am being dishonest.
And yet, nobody really wants to know or deal with this. Nobody really can say or do anything to help. I just can’t pretend; it doesn’t work for me.

Sad in the most unexpected places

 

I think that one of the things that has surprised me is the unexpected places at which sad sneaks up on me. Last night, I was watching a movie called Mrs. Washington Goes to Smith (cute title huh?). It is about a woman, probably in her fifties who returned to college (hence, my curiosity). At the end, when she graduates, her daughter tells her how proud she is.

I graduate on Saturday and, while I know that Christopher would complain about going to commencement, he would be there, and I believe that he would be proud of me. Even on Friday, there is a reception put on by the College of Social Work for graduates and their families. I would have so enjoyed having Christopher there with me and I know he would have made an appearance; that’s is just who he was.
So, a dumb movie on the Hallmark Channel has a scene that reminds me of yet another aspect of my loss that I had not considered. Not what I expected; but, then again, sad is never is really much of a surprise at this point

The truth? It’s all about relationship

 

I have been struggling with a lot of emotion lately, not a surprise to many, but certainly I am growing tired of it. I see the same thing in my cousin. My latest issue is dealing with my anger, but there is always the unpredictable sadness, overwhelming loneliness, and the unexpected tears.

There is a large part of me that knows that this is all understandable; there is probably nobody who would say to me that I need to get over it (although that is not to say that they don’t think it, but I can’t worry about that.) So why have I withdrawn; why is my cousin hesitant to go out with groups of friends that he has gone out with since high school? I can’t speak for her, but I think that for me, I don’t have confidence in relationship to be able to trust that they will tolerate these emotions. I didn’t worry about this in the beginning, but I am losing patience with the process, so I figure that those around me are as well. This is a big part of my current decision to forgo church these days; caring people just evoke too much emotion and what if they can’t handle it or won’t tolerate it?
Add to that, I am so conflicted. I loved being known as Christopher’s mom! Now, that privilege comes with the unending reality that I will always be the parent of a child who died too young. While I love talking about Christopher, inevitably, the “rest of the story” will come up. This makes new relationship difficult; this is a great concern as I start the doctoral program in fall.
As far as God is concerned, I put Him in the group that I assume is growing tired of hearing the same stories, hurts and frustrations. Add to that, the confusion that comes from the reality that “His prints are all over this one.” As I mentioned before, I have taken great comfort in the reality that the crash and Christopher’s death were not out of God’s control . . . It was not arbitrary. Even as comforting as it is, it comes with a lot of complications in my heart. I have no problem with it, when it comes to Christopher; I know that he is not missing this world. The problem is how God reconciles this to His love for me. I haven’t gotten there, and yet I know that His plan is perfect.
When I know that my emotions are not consistent with what I know and believe to be true, my first assessment tells me that my emotions are wrong. If I have invalid emotions, then why would I take them to the person, God in this case, at whom they are directed? It feels like something that I just need to work through. That’s where I am stuck. I have come to this point many times in my relationship with God, where I know that I am wrong and I don’t know what more He can do for me to get my feelings in like with His truth.
In the meantime, I need to try to trust my friends and just let them deal with it. Those who can’t or don’t want to will certainly move on and that needs to be fine.

On being angry . . .

 

Since Christopher died, I would never have said that I was angry. I have been devastated, in great pain and in total disbelief, but not angry. I have tried to be a comfort to those involved in and around the accident, not a vessel of anger. I have tried to use my experience to comfort those who have lost children, not letting anger be a part of my equation.

This is a situation where I don’t know where angry fits in. Am I angry that Christopher died? I suppose. Am I angry that there are some who haven’t responded as I might have hoped? Probably. And where does God fit into all of this? Am I angry with God that Christopher died? I don’t think so (but there are some who would argue with me on this one).

I think that I am mainly confused about God in all of this. Those who knew me before Christopher came into my life would testify to the fact that I never dreamed that I could love and be loved as I was in my relationship with Christopher. And it is true. For me, allowing myself to hope and believe that love was possible for me was a huge step. And, by God’s grace, I took it. Then 13 years later, the whole “experiment” came crashing down. I don’t know what to make of this. Do I feel betrayed? Yes I do. God certainly gave me more in Christopher than I had ever hoped, but then to take him away. I don’t understand that. But angry?

Doesn’t anger need an object? I am trying to figure out at what am I angry. I am not angry at Christopher – he was just a passenger in a car that night. I don’t think that I am angry with the drivers of the cars that night, although I think that there was a lot of poor decisions made that night. Who do you vent to or yell at if you are made at an event? Maybe I am angry with God. Afterall, He is sovereign and certainly could have prevented it.

I am so conflicted. From that first night in December 2007, I have taken great comfort in the fact that Christopher’s death was not an “accident” in the sense that it was out of God’s control. That has given me great comfort, but there has been a heavy sense of betrayal in having Christopher snatched from me that night. How can you be express anger with God?

I need to be made a something specific. I need to be able to yell at something – hit something/someone. I need to take this out on someone before it eats me from the inside out. I need to be angry at someone who will yell back and challenge me to deal with it, who will provoke me to get it all out. Otherwise it just has to stay inside and fester.

I am a person that needs to get things out. That is one of the things that made Christopher and good match for me; he was more than willing to engage with me. In contrast, I had a college roommate who was the nicest girl that you would even want to meet. She was too nice. I can remember getting ready to have a hard talk with her about something important (like closet space) and as soon as I brought it up, she’d apologize. She didn’t let me get it out. I’d just retreat in a neighbor dorm room and sleep until I stuffed it back in.

That is what makes this so hard. I feel like everybody I talk to just says, its okay to be angry. It is like they apologize too quickly. Don’t people understand? I need an argument to get it out. Processing it hasn’t worked for 19 months and I don’t suspect that it will work anytime soon. There are events coming that might provoke me to get it out, but that will neither be the time nor the place.

I have to deal with this now. And I don’t know how.

No Happy Endings

 

My cousin, Linda, had a son, Kevin, who was killed last August (2008) while riding his motorcycle. The man who was driving the car that hit and killed Kevin has been acquitted of vehicular homicide while driving under the influence. He was, however, found guilty of two DUI-related counts, along with recklessly endangering another person. I think that I’ve decided that at this point, it really doesn’t matter. There is no verdict that would have made anything better for Linda and her family.


What would justice look like in the case of a drunk man who killed your son? I don’t think that there is or even can be justice in this type of situation. Justice is something that you just can’t look for or expect. There is nothing just about a child’s (no matter the age) death as a result of someone’s recklessness.

A child – Kevin was 30. Another friend of min had a child die this past fall of cystic fibrosis. Shaun was 28. Christopher was just 17. Non of these young men were “children,” but they were the child of a loving mother. There is no age limit on the definition of an untimely loss of a child. Anytime a child dies before their parent, it is untimely; it is just not right. It is not “just” whatever that is.

Justice – the first definition of justice on dictionary.com is “the quality of being just; righteousness, equitableness, or moral rightness.” Would somebody tell me what is morally right about a man, with a previous DUI, killing Kevin? Even if this man had gone to jail for a bazillion years, would that make this situation meet the definition? Would that have made the situation equitable? Would that have made this situation fair? Of course not!

So where does that leave Linda; where does it leave me? I think that the bottom line is that Linda and I need to accept the reality that there is nothing that can ever happen that is going to make our situations fair; there will be no justice. The price we have paid is far to great.

If we can’t get justice, what is the answer? I fear that the answer is forgiveness. I hate even saying this as it sounds so “good”. Trust me, I am not that good, nor do I think that this is easy. Linda is closer to forgiveness than I am because she is closer to angry than I am. I don’t want to be angry. Angry takes a lot of energy and I don’t have any energy to spare. It is all I can do to get through each day. I don’t want to be angry and honestly, I don’t think that I am willing to be angry.

I guess I am just hoping that angry is not a necessary part of this process.

Companionship needed . . .

 

Among the many things I lost that night was my friend, my companion. Now, I know that it was going to lose Christopher as a daily companion ultimately and it would be sooner than I would have liked, but I always figured it would be gradual. Besides, even when he moved out, we would still be in touch and he would still be available if I had a real need. Last Fall semester, I had a wonderful roommate and this week, a friend from work is staying pending a final move to Oklahoma.

I think that when I have people around, I realize that I don’t like who I’ve become since this whole thing began. I don’t like being around me, never sure what I am doing to do or say or feel. There is nothing that is safe anymore, nothing comfortable. Everything is an effort; I have to keep it under control.
I am beginning to understand why my cousin doesn’t go out much since her son died. People are not safe because people cause you to let yourself feel again and feeling is not fun any more. Behind everything I do or say, is a pain that might get out if I open the doors of my heart again. My heart can no longer be trusted; it is a scary place.
That is why God doesn’t work for me right now. God requires my heart; He requires honesty. I am afraid of what all comes with that. I can’t take the chance anymore of what He might require in relationship. I am also not sure that I trust Him. How do you trust someone who allowed you to be hurt so very deeply.
God didn’t cause Christopher to die, but if you believe that He is sovereign (and I do), then I don’t know how to take Him out of the equation of what happened that night. He didn’t cause it, but He was there; He could of stopped it, but He didn’t.
I know He loves Christopher; this has never really be about Christopher as I know that he is in a better place, relieved of having to endure this life. I know He loves me, but I don’t know if I like this kind of love. I simply can’t reconcile it to any kind of love that I understand. Yes, His ways are not my ways, but that doesn’t seem to bring me any comfort.
I don’t like what this has done to me; I don’t like being shut off from emotions that I just learned how to let myself feel. That was Christopher’s greatest gift to me, allowing me to love and be loved, and I think I may have lost it the night that I lost him. I am sliding back to a posture that life is about staying busy until you die. I don’t know if I can live like this, just going through the motions, not able to feel because it is once again not safe. Unlike my life before Chrisotpher, I know what I am missing and I don’t want to live without it.
This time, it is not because I don’t feel, but because I feel so very deeply and that scares me.

Yet another Catch 22

 

Okay – I really should have read the book, but the phrase “Catch 22” applies in so many ways to this terrible process of grieving the loss of a child. And I am not alone in this observation.

Last night, I was talking to my cousin, Linda, whose son was riding a motorcycle when he was killed by a drunk drive last August. We don’t see everything the same, but there are more things in common than not. One thing is that it has grown difficult to be around people who care. It is much easier to be with strangers who don’t look at you, knowingly. Both she and I have found church difficult even thought it has been a part of our lives for years (hers more than mine). She is much more cynical than I. I don’t like to be around to people who care because I hear sincerity when they ask how I am doing. She, on the other hand, knows that they care, but she doesn’t thing that they really want to know. After all, who really wants to know how painful all of this is.
And yet, we complain about how lonely this process is. I am coming to realize that is it lonely because all this feeling wears you out and with every question, the heart is torn open and it takes an enormous amount of energy to keep it together while trying to figure out how to answer in a way that is not devastating to either one.
At the same time, my biggest fear is that people will forget Christopher. People deal with this fear in many different ways. I know people who have had decals or bumper stickers made memorializing their child. I know of people who have gotten tattoos in memory of their child. I don’t want it to be such an effort for people to remember Christopher. I am certain that is why I speak so freely of him.
I know that there are people who were touching by having known Christopher and if he comes to mind, they think fondly of him. At the same time, I feel certain that I am the only person in the world who thinks of him every single day.
That (and many other things) makes me very sad.

Honest to God . . . Not so easy

 

During the past almost 19 months, I have been thankful that I haven’t had a lot of friends who tried to console me with spiritual platitudes. You know the sayings, “God has a plan”, “God needed another angel”, “God is in control”, and all sorts of things that I would say that I believe (maybe with the exception of the angel comments), but which provide no comfort in times like these.

Having said that, I have been found to say things that I truly believe, but I am not speaking from my heart, just my head, effectively making these my own little platitudes. The problem is that these were words based on past experience of relationship with God, not at all based on current assurances received from Him.
As time has passed, I have unrealistically expected that this would get easier. When it did, I would reunite with my God. It hasn’t gotten any better and now I don’t know when I’ll be able to be honest with God.
There is a real catch-22 situation when you know you don’t have what it takes to deal with the pain apart from God, but you have distanced yourself from Him because of so many unanswered questions.
On one hand, the questions are unanswered because they have been unasked, but how do you ask without feeling like you are questioning the God of the universe about, “What could You have possibly been thinking when You let this happened?” And yet, that is the only question that matters to me right now.
There is no good answer – maybe there is a good answer, but not one that I expect will find satisfactory. Then what am I to do?
So I just don’t ask . . . denying myself relationship with the only One who can bring relief.