Living with Loss

Watching the one you love die due to traumatic injury is trauma itself. The death of a loved one is so difficult to integrate into our lives. When that loved one is a child it can be more challenging because a child’s death comes with a uniqueness that makes incorporating the death into our lives very difficult. Our own beliefs and personalities can drive how we manage the grieving process. As a child I observed many people deal with the death of a loved one. I guess I adopted some of those things as my own. My parents never shielded me from the reality of death and for that I am ever grateful. But, there is still a personal learning curve and there are moments of witnessing death that sit upon my heart which I’ve never forgotten. I recall the young man in high school who died from leukemia, his open casket, the ball cap on his head. I recall crying from deep within my soul. Though I did not know him well at all, for years I went to visit his grave. I don’t know why, I just...

I just washed the sheets and as I made up the bed the side of top sheet fell across the bedrail. The thought of death rushed crossed my mind, the white sheet across the bed, the body on the bed, the hospital, the goodbyes, the pity of it all.  So often the slightest of thing will bring a totally unconnected thought, yet be so tightly entwined in my grief. This life full of simple daily actions is filled with little sparks that fuel the fire of horrors that fill my mind. I just wonder when that will stop. That ritual drive to work fills my stomach with bile and angst every time. The sight of a young man with curly brown hair sends my heart to rushing. The smell of the hardware store never fails to cause my knees to buckle, the acrid smell hits my nostril and my stomach turns, the tears well in my eyes and I want to run away, far away. It's like it was all yesterday. How can one escape the face of death when everything around is covered in its shroud. The river flow...

That moon called to me last night. During the first year or two of Wyatt's death, I often sat outside at night, just me and the moon. I would sit there for however long we needed together. I would cry and then somehow feel better after I talked to the moon as if it were Wyatt. Sometimes, I would wake at 2:00 in the morning and go in the back yard and sit under the light of the moon. The moon would peek through the trees as if playing a game with me. I would challenge myself to get a clear view as if we were having a conversation. Last night that moon called me again; I wrapped myself in Wyatt's quilt and sat under its brightness and talked to my boy. It's been a while since I've done that; it's not easy, it takes a lot to open your heart enough to feel the sorrow.  I had to cry. I had to tell him I missed him. After a bit, I came inside and as I went to close the window shutters, I looked out and there was the beautiful moon shining in the window ...

When we share time with our children, explore life through their eyes and enjoy simple moments, we are blessed with some pretty awesome gifts, both for them and for us.    On this fourth anniversary of Wyatt’s death, we choose to remember his life and all the joy he brought to our world. This world is a better place because he was here.   We are better people because he was our son. We choose to remember his life; forever our beautiful boy, our Little Warrior. The Little Warrior When choosing his name, we always knew our son must have a strong name, for he would be strong, not just in muscle but in will and temperament. His name could not be common nor could it be odd, this name had to describe him, give him the character distinctive to the person we knew he would become. We never really came to a decision and as my belly grew to an enormous size the question of his name was still unanswered.   My projected due date came and went.   Jim’s gra...

  I looked new grief in the face today. I hurt. I saw the pain, the hopelessness, the deep sorrow of grieving a child. His eyes were tired, and then he laid his head down on the mailbox that stood between us, my neighbor and me. The fatigue of grieving covered his face and his body was bent with the heaviness of it all. This is his second loss, the twin to the son he lost thirty years ago. This one comes with trapping and thoughts unlike the first. It’s hit him hard. There are no more children, his wife is dead. He’s alone. He’s lonely. He’s sad. I ache for him. I want to make it all better for him, but I know I can’t, this is his journey. He says I’m strong. He sees me breathing, walking, he believes me to be strong. I share that my times of wailing and crying are done in private, and it hurts so badly to open your heart and allow the sorrow to be, to know the absence, to acknowledge the death, to understand all that was lost and to have it seared into the soul and vanq...

When this journey began three and half years ago the anguish that filled my soul was so intense and so encompassing, there was nothing that could enter my mind but the horror of death and the absence of life. My soul was engorged with grief. It seemed writing was my balm, an outlet to share my hurt and the cathartic flow of words somehow released the pain. Yet now, words have no solace. Now, the grief is different, its changing to a more erratic and unpredictable creature that tucks neatly in the center of my life, lurking for the opportunity to jump in my face and throw me back to the reality of death. It's very sinister using hope as a weapon. Being blanketed in sorrow was easier, knowing nothing but sadness is simple; living with grief and weaving it into the fabric of life is daunting. Just when you think your moving forward, grief attacks and the silence of life's emptiness booms in my head. Hope dissipates. I understa...

A father and daughter were commissioned today to go forth to Cuba to share the gifts of Christ through their music ministry. I saw them standing there together and was struck by how fortunate they were to be able to share this experience; that the father took time to purposely engage in life with his child. It’s difficult in our busy lives to put aside the obligations of the day and commit to being actively engaged in our child’s life. We want to left life go along like a predictable Swiss train. No worries, no real problems, children just need food and water and a little attention, then they will go on by themselves as we watch quietly from the station. But it doesn’t happen that way. Life assaults us with pebbles, rocks and boulders….denting the shiny exterior of our predictable Swiss train, sometimes even causing it to stop. It is our commitment to sharing time with our children and the gifts that result from that time that sustain us in strife and sorrow. I watched the...