Losing a Child: Always Andy's Mom

When applying to medical school, potential students are required to write a personal statement to accompany the application. I remember specifically what I wrote in my statement because I was in the pain of grief. I wrote that I was applying to medical school to become a doctor both because of, and in spite of, my parents' battles with cancer and my mom's recent death.

You see, without the cancer, I never would have really been exposed to the medical community. My plan in life was to become a writer or a librarian. I loved reading and always wanted to surround myself with books. After cancer entered our lives though, I became exposed to the world of medicine and I started feeling the longing to help ease the suffering of others.

However, after my mother's death, the 'in spite of' part became a reality as well. Mom did not get better. My pain after losing her was worse than anything I had experienced. As I completed my junior year of college after my mom died, I began to have doubts. Would I really be able to do this career anymore? Would the memories of my mom's illness be too much for me? Onward I went through the process, however, hoping that in the end, emotionally, I would be OK.

This reminds me so much of my faith and relationship with God after the death of Andy. WIthout my faith, I am certain that I would not have been able to get through this pain. I turn to him in my pain and suffering. I look for others to be God's hands and feet to help me. I have felt the love of God and others surround me when I am at my lowest points.

On the other hand, however, I have at times felt so alone and abandoned by God. I can feel like He betrayed me or let me down in some way. I feel disappointed by God and have often felt so angry that He would allow Andy to die and for this to be my life right now. I want to shout out against Him and turn away.

In the end though, I think my faith journey needs to continue on in the same way that my medical school journey did. I just kept on the path working through those feelings of anxiety and doubt about my future. I went to medical school and ended up not being a doctor treating suffering cancer patients, but one that focused on healthy children and families. It was better than what I could have dreamed.

Down the road, my faith certainly will not look the same as it did before Andy died, but hopefully, at some point, I will be able to look back and see that it is in fact, better and stronger than I could have ever imagined. That day is not today, certainly, but, until then, I just keep going.

Since this week's livestream fell on Veteran's Day here in the US, it made Gwen and I think about ideas of sacrifice and honor. We set aside this day to honor veterans and the sacrifices that they made while fighting to defend this country. Military awards are often given as an honor for military heroism or outstanding service. Over a military career, a serviceperson might earn many such awards which can be displayed on military uniforms.

Grieving people go through many sacrifices themselves after losing loved ones. We lose not only our child but often our sense of purpose and security. We lose our hopes and dreams for the future. We may feel that life is hardly worth living. We certainly don't feel we deserve to be honored with a medal.

I honestly feel like some days I am just barely hanging on, but I was challenged by two different people this week. The first was my dear, sweet aunt Penny who has been like a mother to me since the death of my mom in college. After listening to last week's podcast with David Kessler, my aunt wrote, 'Marcy, what you have done on your grief journey fills my heart with love. I know you won't like me saying this, but you are my hero.' She was right, I didn't like hearing those words at all. I am not a hero. I can think of dozens of people who are heroes, but that certainly does not describe me.

Then Gwen challenged me again in this episode. She asked grieving parents to submit names for awards they could earn in their own grief journeys. All of the answers were amazing, but some of my personal favorites were the Changed Heart Award, the Best Fake Smile Award, and the Got Out of Bed Award. She then asked me what my award would be. I was quick to think that I really didn't deserve an award, but then I thought of Aunt Penny and being her hero.

If I am her hero, then maybe I do deserve an award. And if I can be a hero, then we can all be heroes. We may not have a special day or be able to wear a uniform covered with medals, but we can honor ourselves and each other because what we are doing is heroic, even if some days, we only earn the Got Out of Bed award.

All people who have lost a close family member will likely have experienced working with a funeral director in those first hours and days after the death. For people who die older or after a prolonged illness, they may have met with a funeral director ahead of time and even made plans. For those of us experiencing a sudden loss, however, we suddenly are met by an absolute stranger who is taxed with guiding us through the most traumatic experience of our lives.

I will never forget Justin, our funeral director. He seemed to sense exactly what I needed without me having to say it. When we were asked about a cemetery plot, he was quick to not only guide us to a beautiful township cemetery that I had never noticed before, he arranged someone to meet us there to show us an area with three available plots, one for Andy and the other two to be saved for Eric and me. He was the first person to recommend that I call Gwen at Starlight Ministries. He told me that he would take fingerprints of Andy in case I would later want them for a necklace or even a tattoo.

Probably the most important thing that Justin did for me had to do with Andy's hair. In the last year of his life, Andy started to get very particular about his hair. I got him a small tub of styling creme at my hair salon. We both loved the smell, and he would fix his hair and then ask me to smell his head. I would happily bend over slightly and smell the top of his head and smile, thinking that as he grew, someday he would be the one having to bend over for me.

I tried to explain to Justin exactly how Andy liked his hair as I tearfully handed him the tub of cream along with Andy's confirmation suit. I also asked him to be careful and try not to remove the fingerprints that Andy had left at the bottom of the container. Justin then handed the tub back to me and asked if I would want to do his hair before the visitation instead. I nodded and began to cry. When we arrived before the visitation the next day, sitting beside Andy was a stool and a small water bottle that I could use to wet his hair. I got to fix my boy's hair one more time, just the way he liked it.

This is how a funeral director can help a family. This memory is one of the last that I have with Andy. Today's guest, Angie, has worked as a funeral director for many years. She, too, made a point to help with the little things that are important to families. She helped many parents who lost their children. Angie said that she used to wonder how those parents did it. She would think to herself, 'If I lost one of my kids, I would be a heap, and people would have to push me around in a wheelchair.'

After a tragic accident killed her son, Chad, it suddenly was her. Angie was the mother who had lost her child, and she wasn't being pushed around in a wheelchair. She was making the decisions that she usually helped others make; she was living her nightmare. She did these things because there was no other option.

This experience changed Angie as it changes all of us. Initially, she wondered if she could even be a funeral director anymore, but as time has gone on, she sees again that she can still help others while she experiences pain. As she helps write obituaries, Angie now notices just how many parents have children who have died before them. She has extra compassion for these families, and occasionally, when the time seems right, she shares a little bit of her story to offer hope and comfort to another.

Today's guest, Rachel, has had a long relationship with grief starting in her teens when her dad died in a car accident. Over the years, she was there for the deaths of several other loved ones. She had even witnessed family members who lost children. She saw those who 'grieved well' and those who did not. I think that if you had asked her before Easter weekend 2019, if there was really anything that grief could throw her way that would be completely unexpected or shocking, Rachel would have answered no.

Shorty after her dad's death, Rachel saw a hypnotherapist who gave her an amazing analogy. He said that our memories are like a huge filing cabinet of emotions. When we have a joyful or a painful experience, we need to open the filing cabinet and the appropriate file and place it inside. Whether it is a big memory or a little one, we still have to open that file. When you have a big file filled with grief, opening it to even add something little can release the floodgates of pain.

This analogy that makes so much sense to me. I can better understand how going to the grocery store and seeing that favorite yogurt or box of cereal can affect us so deeply. That little bit of pain causes me to open the pain file, and once that file has been opened, I suddenly am overwhelmed by the pain and am sobbing in the grocery store aisle.

When the tragic events of April 20th happened, and Rachel's teen son, Matty was killed in a car accident, Rachel's pain file was blown wide open. Everything she thought she knew was suddenly thrown on its head. All grief is horrible, but this grief consumed her being. Her filing cabinet was upended and those emotional files were everywhere. The pain memories tainted everything.

This is how overwhelming grief can feel. My emotions are a jumbled mess and the painful memories that I want to file in the pain file, are everywhere. I think back to joyful, happy family memories and the pain is there. The pain seems to be everywhere, covering everything.

Over time, hopefully, we can start to set the filing cabinet up again. We try to separate and file the memories as we have done in the past. We hope that someday, the joy file doesn't feel stained by the pain file anymore. We wait for the time that little comments and conversations don't make us open that pain file quite so often. Until that day comes, however, know that it is completely OK and normal to cry in the grocery store aisle over a box of cereal.

Tommy was a joyful 2 year old with a contagious belly laugh. He always raced around the house and neighborhood chasing after his two older brothers (ages 4 and 5) trying to keep up. His mom, Meredith, shared in today's episode what their family of six was like leading up to Tommy's death. They were in what she describes as 'a beautiful season in life.' They had completed their family and had just decided to dedicate their life to missions and Bible translation.

After a mild fall about 3 weeks after that decision, Tommy complained of neck pain and had an episode of vomiting. When the neck pain continued two days later, and he seemed to be off balance walking, they went to the ER where he was diagnosed with a brain tumor. Although the diagnosis was devastating, the family was told that with this type of cancer, surgery was almost always curative. While waiting through the next day for surgery, though, Tommy, coded. They were able to get a heartbeat back and perform the surgery that was originally going to cure him.

Meredith and her family and friends did not give up on Tommy. She just knew that God would save him. She knew that a miracle would happen. God would not let her child die. He would show people the amazing power of prayer. They had dedicated their lives to God's service; God would not 'let them down.'

But, what happens when desperate prayers are not answered in the way that you want? What happens when you, everyone you know, and even people all around the world whom you don't know pray that your son will live, and yet, he does not? We talk about feeling the need to search for a reason for this. Why did this happen? Was God trying to teach them something?

After Tommy's death, the plans for mission work were dropped as they worked to heal as a family. They searched for answers to these questions, for some silver lining to this tragedy. After a year and a half of searching an answer though, they came to a new realization. There is not one answer to the question 'why', and there is not always one grand 'reason' for everything that results in something amazing happening here on earth.

We do not need to, and cannot, know all the answers. The idea of a prosperity gospel where good things will happen to you if you pray hard enough or live a life for Christ is not real life. Bad things happen to good people, people who pray and pray and pray some more. We do not just experience joy-filled lives. Life is often filled with great pain. In those times of great pain, God is not simply pounding His fist at us or trying to teach us some grand lesson; He is crying beside us.

The hard lesson that Meredith and I have both learned is that running from the pain or pretending the pain is not there does not work. We need to accept that while here on earth, we live in the pain, and God can walk beside us and even hold us during these times. We should not be afraid to even walk toward that pain to be with others who suffer. This does not mean that we will not experience joy and laughter again, just that it will be in the midst of our pain. As humans, we are able to feel more than one emotion at the same time. Some days, the joy and laughter may be the dominant emotion, while other days it may be our overwhelming sadness. It is all OK.