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.