A Year

Its been a year since she went home. This is a picture of the last time we saw her smile, shared her laughter, hugged her hard to say goodbye. But not hard enough. We didn't cherish the moment like we could have, we didn't linger and express the love we should have. How could we have known?
Something about this picture is so touching to me - the way she is elusive... there, but not - looking toward something else, somewhere else, just as she is today.

This past year has been one of such... change for me. I've known death before, through the loss of grandparents, aunts, uncles, parents of friends... but this was my first real taste of mourning. My naivete was stripped from me, and I was laid bare to the harsh realities of this world. I have, at times, felt foolish, for the way I never knew how much loss hurts.

Its hard to believe an entire year has already passed. So many memories are still so fresh, and still painful. Over time, I am trying to replace the last memories... the ones of that night, when the phones rang, that week of tears, food, people everywhere, that day of sunshine and wind when the earth was opened and the casket was lowered down.... with earlier memories, the memories of her life - her laughter, her voice, her smile, and the love she freely poured out on everyone. But even those memories are bittersweet. We miss her.

Here is a photobook I made to try to capture some of the memories - it is but a small portion.

I thought I had many more things to write, but I think for now, I will leave it as that. Thank you to all of you who have upheld us in kind words and deeds, prayers and love, in the past year.

Remembering

Don't Turn your Back

My maternal grandparents lived in Kitty Hawk, in the Outer Banks of North Carolina. I have many summer memories of the beach - sand, waves, fishing off the pier, and finding toads in the outdoor shower. One lesson my parents did well to teach me from as early as I can remember was "Don't turn your back on the ocean". The ocean, while steady in its tidal schedules, can be unpredictable in the power of the waves that come, sometimes small and gentle, and at other times, suddenly larger, stronger. If one of those larger and stronger waves catches you unprepared, it can very easily pull you into its swirling, suffocating darkness.

Grief, I have discovered, is much like the ocean. No matter how much I am aware of it, I often find myself unprepared, with my back towards its reality... and then I am caught, suffocating, swirling in confusion. It happens so unpredictably. While at Home Depot, something unknown reminds me of how my boys used to be excitedly waiting to "be taller than Aunt Becca". The phone rings, and our hearts catch, wondering if the caller brings good or devastating news. Checking voice mails brings back the remembered messages of callers, voices choked with shared sorrow, leaving condolences. Our screensaver cycles through pictures, every now and then displaying a beautiful smile that we all miss. These swift memories, seemingly from out of nowhere, leave me gasping for breath, feeling such a weight on my chest that there seems no room for air.

While this is not new to the so, so many who have experienced loss before, it is new to us. Our lives were comparatively blissfully calm, with only gentle, small waves of pain lapping in now and then, generally easy to ride out, escape from, or avoid. Now, we find ourselves still reeling from the initial tidal wave of shock and sorrow, and our balance is unsteady at best. The ocean of mourning is just like an ocean of water. There's no turning one's back on it, trying to pretend all is "back to normal" and move forward in that way. There's moving forward, yes, but in a different way than before. The ocean of grief has to be acknowledged, not ignored, and moving forward often means walking along side the waters, rather than away from it. And sometimes, it means facing the waters head on, even as we slowly make our way toward safety.

And what is our safety in this struggle, in our desperate gasps for air and fight against this tide of sorrow? Thankfully, we have One. And while the pain lingers, He promises us that He will carry us through it:

"...Fear not, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by your name; You are Mine. When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; And through the rivers, they shall not overflow you..."
Isaiah 43:1b-2a

Lord, please continue to comfort us as we heal.

A Reminder of Grief

I see my sons, young brothers, working together, straining muscles to lift and carry a heavy basket, and an image flashes through my mind.

The too recent image of other young, but grown, brothers, and a young husband, working together, straining muscles - to lift and carry a casket - of their much too young sister and wife - with a burden in their hearts far heavier than the wooden box they carry in their arms.

A flash, an instant, and heartbreak overwhelms.

I thank you all so much for your continued prayers and love. I hope that no one minds if I occasionally voice the reality of our journey as we travel through grief, hand in hand with the Lord.

An Outpouring of Love

I have been so touched by the incredible outpouring of love everyone has shown us through this past week of grieving. An overwhelming amount of comments here, on facebook, private emails, phone calls, cards, hugs, gifts, offers of time, food, personal appearances, and most of all, prayers, have been given to us, and we are so grateful for each and every one of them. The arms of Christ have reached out and comforted us through all of you, and it has been a beautiful thing.

The funeral was yesterday, and it was, well, hard. I find myself still bewildered by it all - not in the questioning God kind of way, but more in the "is this REALLY happening?!" kind of way. It seems so unreal, and I know that now everything is settled, the time for a deeper mourning will come upon us. But God is faithful. One morning in particular I woke up feeling so helpless and weak in my grief, and at a loss for how to best comfort my husband, and the Lord gave me this verse:

Do you not know? Have you not heard? The Everlasting God, the LORD, the Creator of the ends of the earth Does not become weary or tired. His understanding is inscrutable. He gives strength to the weary, And to him who lacks might He increases power. Though youths grow weary and tired, And vigorous young men stumble badly, Yet those who wait for the LORD Will gain new strength; They will mount up with wings like eagles, They will run and not get tired, They will walk and not become weary.
Isaiah 40:28-31

The biggest comfort I have found through all of this is resting in the knowledge that in everything, even pain and loss - GOD IS GOOD. He is the Almighty, the one who suffers with us, the one who bears us up when we cannot bear ourselves, He is our strength in our ever present weakness. He has proven this over and over again through this week, through His comforting Spirit, and through His people who have reached out to offer everything they can. We are so blessed. Thanks be to Him, and to all of you, as well.

Wordless Wednesday

But when this perishable will have put on the imperishable, and this mortal will have put on immortality, then will come about the saying that is written, "DEATH IS SWALLOWED UP in victory. "O DEATH, WHERE IS YOUR VICTORY? O DEATH, WHERE IS YOUR STING?...but thanks be to God, who gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ."
1 Corinthians 15:54-55, 57

Prayer Request

Very suddenly last night, our family lost a precious loved one. Michael's sister had an accident in her home and passed away, at the age of 27. While we rejoice that she is seeing her Savior face-to-face - what an amazing, blessed thing! - we are stinging with the pain of the realization of our earthly loss.

Becca was unlike anyone I had ever met. She overflowed with love and joy, always. When I first encountered it, in my worldly cynicism, thought that surely it must be fake, superficial. I very quickly learned that it wasn't. It was the love of God pouring through her - she radiated with the reflection of His light shining in her life. Everyone whose life she touched felt loved and special, and her heart was tangible.

Please pray - for her parents, her brothers and sister, her brother and sisters-in-law, neices, nephews, friends, and especially for her husband. They were newly married, only 9 months into their union together, and he is obviously distraught.

Michael and she had a relationship that went beyond the average brother and sister affection... they had a deep love for one another and a bond that is difficult to describe. He is hurting, as are we all. We appreciate your prayers very much.

I am so thankful that she was a child of God! Even through our suffering here, I can only imagine her joy unspeakable as she entered His presence. Praise the Lord!