How We Grieve

Grief is so universal but so very individual. Just as each person gravitates toward their own style of music, clothing, and tastes—based on how they're wired, so does each person also journey through grief at his own pace and in her own way. It's unique to the person.

Therefore, no one can tell me or you how to feel or process. And there's certainly no timeline to this.

To be honest, a few people have either hinted or blatantly told me it's time to move on. In fact, at 57 days out, someone said, "The best thing you can do is not focus on what has happened. Leave the past in the past. Let's focus on your future instead." 

I'm sure it was offered up with the best intentions, but some free advice? Never say that to a grieving mother. That's my son you're asking me to forget. 

My past has bled into my present and will forever affect my future. For one person, it may take 6 months to fully grieve. And still for another, it may take 3 years to heal. For me? Who knows. I'll know when I know. None of these scenarios are wrong.

My introverted husband has wanted to be out in public. He's itched to get back into his job and be with the bros. And my extroverted self has holed up in the four walls of our home, paranoid that if I see you in the grocery store and make eye contact, I may have an epic meltdown. 

I promise we're getting better and better. But there are still triggers of our son's death all around us.

Brand-new babies in carriers. Hospitals right around the corner. A cemetery just a few miles away where Joel's body lies. Follow-up correspondence from doctors we visited. A sweet baby daughter that occasionally calls out, "Brudder," at random. A due date that just recently passed.

It is what it is. Give us time. Bless us in the grieving.

Literal waves of emotions can hit at any time that make me think I'll never be normal again. And the fact is, I won't. We may find our new normal, but the truth is, there’s no moving on from this as "The Old Us." Those people are gone. There’s only "The New Us" now—or rather "The Changed Us." (I like the latter one better.)

But hopefully, "The Changed Us" is a good thing. We'll be more sanctified when this window of sadness comes to a close. We believe Jesus will bring restoration and redemption as time moves on. 

So for that, we ask you to continue to pray for our family. Pray that God would be so very near, give us new hearts, and give us fresh eyes for the bigger picture in this grand story he's writing.

30 Days

We've needed our people now more than ever.

For 37 years, my dad and mom have walked closely with me through my poorest decisions, greatest accomplishments, worst heartbreaks, and highest triumphs. And so it goes with this, they've been imperative to this process. We literally could not have survived from one day to the next without them.

However, they've never experienced the death of a child, so they'll readily admit they can't speak from having worn these shoes before.

On the other hand, the death of a child isn't new for Nathan's family. His parents also experienced the death of their youngest daughter and Nathan's little sister, Esther, more than 25 years ago, just hours after she was born. As a result of their own heartache, they've been massive encouragers for us as we've tried to put the pieces back together.

For me, Nathan's mom has been a God-send since she's walked through this muck and mire before. Our hearts automatically bonded even closer when Joel died because of her loss of sweet Esther. It's no coincidence that God placed her in my life by marriage nearly three years ago.

I wish you could know her like I do. She's kind, thoughtful, considerate, and wise. And when she speaks, it's always carefully thought out, so you perk up and listen. Nathan is the same way. He gets it from her.

Just a few days after Joel died, I'll never forget the time she sat down next to me in my favorite chair in our living room as I wept. She wrapped her arms around me, and said, "Thirty days. Live fully in the grief. Feel every emotion. Embrace it all. Then, after 30 days, you'll see a difference. Trust me. It's biblical."

I listened because I knew she knew.

In those first 30 days, Nathan and I both experienced every sort of crazy emotion: anger, denial, depression, abandonment, sadness, anger, confusion, acceptance, guilt, regret. Did I mention anger? (That one came up a lot—and it still does.)

But by Day 31, I didn't feel any better so I thought her theory didn't apply to me. Then, in walks Day 32. Miraculously, I woke up and said, "I feel marginally better." And Nathan seemed to be better too.

She was right.

In that chair, she painted a few pictures to prepare me for what was to come. One was called "The Roller Coaster." Up and down and up and down. She said I'd ride it for a while—experiencing every emotion in the book—and then I'd start to see it even out more and more as time went on.

She was right.

Then, she painted a picture called "The Well." There would be days when we'd be in the bottom of it, in the darkness, wondering if we'd every get out and see light again. And other days, we'd find ourselves at the top looking down into it, thanking God we weren't in the bottom. But don't call it too soon because we could be back in the pits again within minutes.

Boy, was she right.

We'll still there. Some days, we're up. Some days, we're down. But each day since Day 32 has been an ever-so-slight improvement from the day before. I know in six months, we'll look back and breathe a bit easier. I pray after a year, we'll look back and see Joel's birth and death with eyes of joy instead of pure sadness.

Those practical pieces of advice from all sides have sustained us—especially on the days God has felt so silent. They've reminded us we aren't alone. We'll breathe again. There's hope for tomorrow.