Kids and grief

It's back to school time here in our house and that means lots of new experiences for our kids.

As we prepare and buy new school supplies, try to plan first day new outfits, learn our new teacher's names, it is a happy (and chaotic) time, but there is still an air of sadness that seems like it will never leave.

Also new are the comments which are becoming a part of our everyday lives. I'm not quite sure how to deal with these unusual circumstances, and, truth be told, I get downright angry at my father for leaving us (me) in this place, where I have to struggle with this.
For instance, the other day as we went through the checkout with our loads of notebooks, crayons, markers, scissors, rulers and binders, the cashier began a friendly conversation with the kids about school. You know, the standard "Are you excited for school?" and "What school will you be going to?". Well, as the kids sat chatting away to this very nice and talkative stranger, my bright 4 yr. old climbed up on the bag area to say "My grandpa died. He shot himself. We are kind of sad," as I quickly attempted to cover her mouth with my hand and give a weak smile of apology.
You see, kids don't feel the same shame as adults do when talking about suicide. If you are uncomfortable speaking about it, the root of that is usually shame. What will people think about me if they knew? What does it say about the kind of daughter that I was? I don't want anyone's pity, but why do I have to deal with this? Why did he chose to go this way?


For kids, it is vitally important that you speak of the death, and how it happened- the experts all say that the worst thing you can do is hide it from them, as one day they will find out and they will have to grieve all over again, their trust in you will be called to question. Kids process death differently, and with suicide, they don't understand the stigma surrounding it. Kids need to talk, talk and talk about their loved one, and their death. Grandpa Dale is a regular part of our conversations here, and many days I have to stop myself from stopping them- it is all a part of their healing process.

One day last week it got really cool during the night. Our windows were all open so we woke up with a chill in our bones. During breakfast, my 6 yr. said, "Mom, at least grandpa wasn't cold, since he is inside that warm little box. It must be super warm for him in there!" (Grandpa was cremated and for now sits in my room.) I chuckled at the logic of a 6 yr old, but I also realized something else in that moment.... my kids are always thinking of their grandpa and their loss. This is something we will all have to live with, learn how to navigate through. Any moment could bring on sadness and tears, or memories that leave us smiling, but Grandpa Dale left a void in our lives that will never be filled.

The only thing I have to battle the sadness, to deal with the unanswered questions and the burning anger that my kids even have to deal with this in their young lives is God. Without Him, I would be too weak to smile in these moments or cry without being completly overtaken in grief. He promises to heal the wounds left by my dad.

He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds. PS. 147:3

Fear not

"Love anything and your heart will be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give it to no one, not even an animal. Wrap it carefully around with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements. Lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket, safe, dark, motionless, airless, it will change. It will not be broken, it will become unbreakable,impenetrable, irredeemable. To love is to be vulnerable." -CS Lewis

God has been really working on my heart the last week. And when I mean working, I want you to understand that I am not picturing a man sitting at a desk, punching buttons on a computer and having the occasional phone call with a co-worker. I'm talking the really hard labor kind of work. The type of work that calls out the bulldozer, the backhoe, the dump truck, the crane and the ditch-digger.

All of the above mentioned machines are good for demolition and rebuilding. So many things in my heart were brought to the surface by my dad's suicide. The guilt, the anger, the sadness, but most of all the abandonment. My heart was shattered by this event... and worse than that, my dad wanted my heart to be shattered.

The way I saw it, I only had two choices. I could allow my emotions to overwhelm and consume me (some days they most certainly do) or, I can let God have all my pain, my hurt, my disappointment and my guilt. It's not easy to hand this stuff over, it is more like a complete demolition.

I tell Him I don't want any of it anymore, He serves as the contractor boss-man, and calls in the bulldozer to knock down the walls built up in my heart. He calls on the backhoe to make sure the soil has been dug deep and the roots of any hurts are pulled completely up. After carefully inspecting (the way any good boss-man would) to make sure that the demolition is complete, he orders all of the torn down, worn out, angry, old pieces of twisted metal, heavy brick, and old cement, into the back of a dump truck. This truck is headed on a one way trip. It will leave all of the broken pieces of my life, at the dump where they belong.

Next, the Boss-man calls in the re-building team. The steamroller is called in to level and flatten the ground, He needs to make certain it is done properly so that the foundation can be firm. Next, the cement truck, to lay the foundation. After that ,the crane, to set into place all the walls- properly. They must be straight and solid. The old walls were brick, built to protect and hide the hurt inside, but these new walls are made of shiny, clear, unblemished glass- there is no hiding anything behind these new walls. the roof, the paint and the final touches- voila! A brand-new solid building standing on the same old ground.

Just like a building cannot be built in one day, this work God is doing in my heart will be a long process. It has begun, and as long as I step back and allow the Boss-man to call the shots, I will make it through this a new and different person.. much better than before.

This week, I have had to battle fear. Will I become like my dad was? Is it in my genes? Will I battle the same demons that my dad battled, and in the end believed? Will I be sad forever? Can I deal with this much pain without going completely crazy? Can I ever just have a "normal" life? Will "it" hit me when I get older? Will I become hard and calloused? Will I hate my children too?

God tells us to "fear not" over and over again in the Bible. Even if I take this at only face value it is clear that God doesn't call us to fear- anything- at all.

"For I am the Lord, your God, who takes hold of your right hand and says to you, Do not fear; I will help you." Is. 41:13

You came near me when I called you, and you said "Do not fear." Lam. 3:57

For me, it is clear, I must allow God to demolish first the fear and to listen to His truths about my fears. "Fear not, you are mine, and while you can't change the circumstances, you can allow me to change YOU."

Hope Again

It's a sunny day here, and I am sitting outside watching my kids play on the trampoline,with water. The normal pounce is amplified when wet, and it has the added bonus of becoming like a slip and slide. Their squeals delight me, their laughter brings a smile to my face, their joy heals my heart.

" A cheerful heart is good medicine, but a crushed spirit dries up bones" Proverbs 17:22

The weeks have gone by somewhat quickly, and although it seems like just yesterday since I got word of my father's death, it also seems like a lifetime ago. I have been on an emotional roller coaster- not knowing what is around the next turn, how it will turn my stomach, make me cry, or terrify, or anger me.

God has really worked in me this last week. I came to the place where my grief threatened to eat me up alive. I was angry, broken, full of sorrow. It was here in this place, that I decided that I could allow my father and his actions to rule my life: to bring heartbreak to my family, disrupt my children's lives, bring fear to my heart.... or I could hand it ALL over to the Lord to heal, and not allow it to rule over me. It was his decision after all. I'm still living!

This is much easier said than done. One runs the risk of "stuffing it", casting out all the memories, emotions associated with the lost person. It is a fine and sometimes blurry line that I walk between allowing God to have it, and pretending it isn't happening to me.

But, I can tell you, God is the Great Physician. He does heal. Handing it over to Him has been a daily thing on my part, sometimes hourly, sometimes every minute, but He is all about healing!

I've found reasons to be glad! My step-dad and his family came to stay with us. How healing for my heart to get a hug from the man I called my dad my whole life. To know that God hasn't abandoned me and neither has this man, who really has no "blood" tie at all.

I've found myself feeling glad that I get the blessing of having children. That God has entrusted me to raise them, and as such, I get to see life through their sweet eyes.

I've looked at the flowers, newly planted in my yard, and seen the beauty of their color, in hues of pinks, oranges, and yellows.Enjoyed the excitement of the butterflies that dance around them on a clear day.

All of these feelings seemed lost just a month ago. Swallowed up by the word "suicide". But hope has come, and I am beginning to return to normal. God has given me joy and happiness in aspects of my life apart from my grief. Life can, will and does go on... and it is not empty.

"Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but a longing fulfilled is the tree of life." Proverbs 13:12

No one else understands?

We had a nice weekend. We traveled to a cousin's wedding 4 hrs away, which was lovely. It was great to see family, but for me these happy moments are tainted. I can somewhat enjoy things, but not with free abandonment.
I have learned that I can go on living... I just need to put on a mask. I smile, joke, laugh, have conversations. My mask says "I'm fine, nothing can bring me down!" but my heart speaks a different story. At the wedding there was a traditional father/daughter dance. I left the room during this as I thought of my dad, and how he should have danced with me and cherished me as a daughter. My thoughts turned then to how incredibly blessed my daughters are with their daddy. Not a day goes by that he doesn't speak words of love to them. He makes sure they understand that they are valuable and cherished in his eyes.... what a gift God has given them! I stand totally thankful- the chain of my father, and his father before him, is broken with this man.



While I was escaping the father/daughter dance, I started thinking "Is this my life now? Will I have to wear this mask everywhere I go so people don't ask questions, so they don't see the pain? Will I spend the rest of my life running away at the things that bring sorrow to my heart? Will everything in sight remind me of myhuge, huge loss? Will I ever be normal?"

Of course, this wasn't the first time I have had to deal with questions like these. But the isolation that comes from having no one else understand can be devastating. I'm trapped, in my own mind, with my own memories, my own sorrows. I want to allow others to help me carry them, but they can't understand. I've found that since people don't know what to say they will simply avoid the topic, and not even acknowledge the huge tragedy that has just occurred in our family.
I have also had numerous sweet, wonderful friends and kind people reach out with words of empathy, encouragement, and kindness... but I still feel alone.

I've learned that feeling alone is something very normal to survivors of suicide. I feel alone most days, but I know I'm not alone. I was reading a new book the other day and the author brought up a point which left me breathless. His point was this: the God I serve is a God of emotion. Not only did he send his son to the cross, he did that so that he could identify with man. Theologian John Cavadini says that through Jesus "God actually experiences something new and knows first hand- as one of us mortals-suffering and anguish within a fallen world....In Christ, God truly enters into radical historical solidarity with human suffering."
God doesn't just know about my loss, he knows first hand. The Bible says we are created in the image of God, and the God of the Bible weeps, mourns, grieves and hurts. My emotions aren't just created in man, but instead a mirror image of my Creator!
I protect myself from fully feeling my loss, because my grief is simply overwhelming... but God can feel my grief in full force, He can handle it.

Ps 116:5 says "Our God is full of compassion", compassion means "to suffer with". God is not distant and aloof, He is present and sharing my grief. What an amazing thought that carries with it a comfort indescribable.

These thoughts gave all new meaning to my feeling of isolation. No doubt God is not only with me, but He loved my dad even more than I did, He not only knows my pain, but he feels it with me. Someone else DOES indeed understand.