Staying Close Through Tragedy

The deeper that sorrow carves into your being the more joy you can contain. Is not the cup that holds your wine the very cup that was burned in the potter's oven? ~ Kahlil Gibran (1883-1931)

It's been twenty-seven years ago today. More than half my life span. Yet it doesn't take much for the remembrance of that day to overwhelm me. The explosion of the hall light when I flipped the switch, the smoke, the flames, the unbearable knowledge that I laid my Sarah down for her nap and I'd never hold her again...My heart just doesn't want to go there, that place where memories drag me down into a dark place. 

I write my posts in my head long before I begin to type. A few nights ago as I was trying to drift to sleep the words started -- each one making pock marks on my heart as once again the scabs were pulled away. 

Grief is a personal darkness. Yes, there are extended family and friends who walk beside you; we even had a loving, and hurting, church family who cried with us and kept their arms around us each painful day. But a parent's heart cannot be "fixed" even with love. And as RB and I stumbled through the darkness of that first year after our sweet Sarah left our arms to live with our Heavenly Father we found that each of us had to find our own way.

In the midst of our separate grieving processes we determined to find a way through the bleakness without becoming a part of the daunting statistics of failed marriages when faced with losing a child. 

1.  Get away with each other. Viewing daily the dirt pile where our house once stood was hard. Most weekends throughout the ensuing months, we'd take off overnight to get away. , Sometimes just forty-five miles away to a motel; other times a little farther -- even once to quiet Shakertown in Kentucky. We had Melanie to give structure to our time away (3-year-olds think they need food, baths and playtime) and RB and I connected even it was just holding hands while driving. If you can't go a distance, take walks together, clasp hands, even if you don't say a word. Go for an ice cream cone, or take an hour and visit friends.

2. Accept the grieving pattern of the other. It is one of the greatest gifts you can offer. RB and I didn't hit the stages of grief at the same time, nor in the same manner. No two people grieve exactly alike.  Listen to your spouse without judging how they process their grief. Remember that even though they may not cry constantly does not mean the level of grief doesn't contain the same intensity.

3. One  suggestion you read in books on grief is to find a good counselor. Honestly, that never occurred to me. I think it's because we were living with the senior pastor and wife -- already dear friends. They listened, cried, and remembered Sarah. Janet ate enough baked potatoes with me that it should have caused a potato shortage in Idaho. If you don't have a local, understanding relationship in place, a counselor is important, however.

4. Communicate with each other. It's important to speak the name of your child. Many times others are afraid to mention their name in case it makes the grief worse. In reality, hearing Sarah's name gave validity to her life (and still does). We also wanted Melanie to remember her sister. She wasn't quite three and most of what she remembers is what we've told her. Interestingly, twenty-one years later, she and Shawn named their daughter Sarah Morgan... RB and I would laugh and cry over our Sarah stories but verbalizing was vital in keeping us connected.

5. Invite God into your grief. Your spiritual life takes a hit when grief is present. In another way, you are dependent on God to get through each day. RB and I held hands in the dark the first night after Sarah's death and promised we'd let God make us better instead of bitter through our pain. We prayed for each other, shared the promises of God, and reminded each other that God was good. We prayed that God would use Sarah's death to further His Kingdom work. We found a triangle bond -- with God at the top -- was steel-strong, even when our hearts were bursting.

6. Laugh. I know, it's a strange suggestion, but we needed lighthearted moments. I recall one time when grief was particularly over-whelming. I asked RB what would happen if I started screaming and couldn't stop. He didn't miss a heartbeat, "They have places for people like that."  And I laughed. There were other times that laughing at ourselves broke that deep pain. Yes, we ended up there again, crushed at the bottom of despair, but the breath of laughter was a blessing. 

We don't have all the answers; we just tried to grieve well. We didn't always accomplish it, but keeping our love a priority meant we could lean hard on each other. Our marriage not only survived the 78% divorce rate of parents who experience the loss of a child, but the bond is stronger than ever. 

RB's still my soul mate, my best friend, and I'm so blessed to "do life" with him -- in joy or in sorrow. 

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Wedded Wednesday