Thought Filled Thursdays: Trauma, Triggers, Troubles... Truth to Stand On

I wanted to write a post about trauma, triggers, things that trouble us and some truth to stand on in the days to come. I've long said that there are three primary things that got me through my grief: Truth, Talking and Tears. I have reached a place where the tears mean and come for different reasons than they once did, and I must admit that I had a period of time where it felt as if I couldn't cry another drop of wet sorrow over my son - even if I wanted to. I just felt all cried out. Still... The tears are important, as are the things that triggered them and the truth that I discovered in them when I talked about my loss, my God and the places I had been with Justin since we began this journey together some 20 years ago..

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Tammy wrote a terrific post about things that trigger her memories, her tears and her to work through her grief. Be sure to read about it here. It is such a reminder about the importance of allowing your heart and body to fully express grief as it comes in your life.

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I am a visual/audio person. Images and music tend to have a significant impact on me for some reason - so as I was beginning to write this post a few scenes came to mind and along the way that song at the end landed on me with a deep sense of truth tucked away inside of it.

(**Tissue warning... Tissue Warning... Sobbing scenes ahead.**)

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The first two video clips are from Terms of Endearment staring Shirley McClaine and Deborah Winger. This movie was produced in 1983. I remember being a high school student when my brother and I hosted a sleepover for all our neighborhood friends. Four girls and four boys were sitting in my bedroom floor watching this movie in the middle of the night. All four girls were blubbering and wiping their noses in a full on ugly cry while the boys looked on in awe at all that estrogen charged emotion.

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For me, Shirley McClaine fighting for her daughter was like those last few days of Justin's life when it felt like the world had stopped and all I wanted was to take care of my son and make sure everyone responded with his best interest at heart.

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For many days no one would tell us what was happening with my Jay-bird. He lay in that bed, his blood pressure and temperature were looking really good. With his summer tan on his face he looked so peaceful sleeping there. But, his cranial pressure - the indicator for the severity of the swelling on his brain - just kept rising. On the seventh day, Monday, August 22nd, everything in my life felt upside down. The doctors had come in early while I was away and my dad was with him. I had returned home overnight to go to my own doctor and take my daughters to school. They said that one of his pupil's had stopped responding to light which could mean that he was taking a turn for the worst. My dad called and I prayed. "Lord, please... just let him be alive when I get there."

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I had told the doctors for days that we wanted the complete, unvarnished truth. By noon, when the neurosurgeon's had avoided my son's room and talking to me for the second time I was a frantic mess. I was crying, shaking and ANGRY. I felt much of what Shirley McClaine expresses in this scene - except my son didn't need a shot for pain. I needed answers about his condition - answers no one seemed willing to provide.

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The social worker assigned to be our advocate during Justin's eight day ordeal at the hospital advised me to call the doctor's office and ask them to help me. I went back to the nurse's station. Within minutes I was on the line with a Physician's Assistant who had not even seen my son in the hospital. He placed me on hold and reviewed my son's file and films. I felt like I had been there forever when he came back on and said, "Ma'am, though I have not examined your son I would say that we need to do a test and I will order it for tomorrow or the next day. This test will measure the blood flow to your son's brain."

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I already sensed what the results of that test would be... Still, at least I had some sort of answer to what the doctor's were thinking. He assured me that we would have definitive answers about my son's condition after this test was completed. I asked my husband to call the elders and have them come along with our pastor and family. I did not want to deal with people - I just wanted to have those who'd loved us longest and those who had been there for my son during the most difficult months to pray with us over him before we released him to God. Apparently, Scott did not convey that message. That night more than 150 people arrived at the hospital and my father "ran the tour." When the nurses gave him the heads up that he could bring as many people back as he could - four at a time - he began walking out and leading people back to the room for five minute visits where he explained all the details of the monitors and held onto his hope that my son was going to live.

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I, on the other hand, had been sitting on my cot while his nurse, Donna, checked his pupils as was the hourly routine. When she looked up with discouraged eyes that showed me a heart aching for our family all she could do was whisper. "We've lost his other pupil."

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The finality of those words lay over me like a thick, suffocating blanket. My son had slipped away. I felt the warm wet tears that had been mine for days as Justin's condition hit peaks and then dove into valleys ... "That's not good is it?"

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She shook her head, came to my side and sat and held me in her arms as I cried. She wept, too. It touched me in the deep places of my heart the way the staff of the hospital loved on us and met with us in our need. They took good care of my baby and my family during those awful days when tragedy visited us and death consumed one of our own.

These next scenes mark out some of how I felt on August 23, 2005. Such peace in the passing, but then terrible angst. One of my prayers that week was for God to make the outcome sure. Either He was going to heal and restore my son or He wasn't this side of heaven. By that last day, my heart cry was not to bring my son back in a broken state, but to make it absolutely certain and to leave no doubt about God's will. When the doctor's told us that they were sure his brain stem had hemorrhaged on his way back from the last test and they would be in to turn off his ventilator so we should gather our family... Again I felt peace mixed with deep sorrow.

Certainty.

There was not absolution for me until they turned off the machines and there was no gasp of air, no shaking, nothing that suggested my son was still in that body. He had slipped away quietly while no one was looking. He tread the path to heaven with Jesus by his side and I knew with absolute certainty that he would never awaken to me on earth again. The sobs of death consumed me as that truth settled into my life for the first time. I bathed his body, held him tight and left him to the medical examiner. He still is my son.
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The Steel Magnolias funeral scene has always reduced me to tears. The things that M'lynn expresses at the funeral reflected my own heart about the death of my child. She recounted the last minutes with "there was no gasp, no tremble - just peace" She said her husband couldn't take it, he left. Her son-in-law couldn't take it... he left. That men, "they're supposed to be made of steel or something, but they couldn't take it... I was there when that beautiful creature drifted into my life and I was there when she drifted out. It was the most precious moment of my life."
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I felt all that and more in those hours leading up to and out of my son's death. I recently asked my husband where he was standing when they turned off Justin's machines. His answer? By the door. He spent little time in the room with Justin and I, barely able to stand the "frankenstein-esque" monitor in his skull and all the bleating machines and wires that ran to and from his body.

Since I've given you some heavier scenes to contemplate earlier I thought I would drop this next one in because it makes us laugh. It so accurately expresses the full range of anger, emotional tumult and that uncanny role of humor in our tears that can come in times of great tragedy.

This final scene was met with a round of cheers as my daughters and I watched this serial drama for teenagers. One Tree Hill is on the CW (formerly the WB) each week and we've followed it off and on from its inception.

This scene is between the original group of One Tree Hill who are now adults and teachers in the life of a teenager who was killed when he accidentally walked in on an armed robbery at a gas station. I include it because there is truth to stand on in these lines... and it is truth hard to find in the entertainment industry these days. When others are crying out that self-awareness and getting in touch with your inner child or nature, and society says we create our own realities... Here is this little serial drama that does not get it right half the time declaring the truth for all to see. Thank God He uses even the mundane to reveal Himself in small ways.

There's an old saying "God will not give us more than we can bear." But, as I read the Scriptures I hear the Holy Spirit saying something fresh in 1 Corinthians 10:12-13 "Therefore let him who thinks he stands take heed lest he fall. 13 No temptation has overtaken you except such as is common to man; but God is faithful, who will not allow you to be tempted beyond what you are able, but with the temptation will also make the way of escape, that you may be able to bear it." (NKJV, emphasis mine)
God is faithful to keep us from being pushed beyond our limits. In and of our own power and strength we have nothing, Scripture tells us that His strength is made perfect in our weakness - meaning it is proven powerful in the weakest, most devastating moments of our lives. When I read 1 Corinthians 10:13 it speaks this to me: "God will not give us more than HE can bear." That passage says that with God I can withstand any trial, any suffering, any temptation and overcome because He makes the way.
Paul reports in his epistles as having been afflicted by a thorn in the flesh that He prayed three times to have removed. But, rather than removing the thorn, God provided him the grace to endure the tempest and the storm. God will provide the same for you. He is the God of all comfort. He sustains those who are weak and hurting. He comforts those who suffer and mourn and He gives grace and strength to those who feel as if they cannot go on. He causes us to stand. We have a Rock in Jesus Christ upon which to STAND FIRM. So .... my friends, Stand. When you think you'll give up. Stand. When you're down on you're luck. Stand. Get up... Can't you hear Him saying, Get up and Stand with Me in this. He wants you to stand.

Stand
(As Sung by Rascal Flatts)
"You feel like a candle in a hurricane
Just like a picture with a broken frame
Alone and helpless
Like you've lost your fight
But you'll be alright, you'll be alright
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[Chorus:]
Cause when push comes to shove
You taste what you're made of
You might bend, till you break
Cause its all you can take
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On your knees you look up
Decide you've had enough
You get mad you get strong
Wipe your hands shake it off
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Then you Stand,
Then you stand
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Life's like a novel
With the end ripped out
The edge of a canyon
With only one way down
Take what you're given before its gone
Start holding on,
keep holding on
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[Repeat Chorus]
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Every time you get up
And get back in the race
One more small piece of you
Starts to fall into place
Oh...
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[Repeat Chorus]

With my love and prayers,

Michelle

Painfully aware of how behind I am...

I will post you a devotion shortly! I am inside of 24 hours of leaving for San Antonio and I cannot wait. However, I also know that I have been thinking of my J-Bird.... He is celebrating his third anniversary in heaven this weekend and I just love him so so much.

God has been so faithful, so wonderful and this year I have experienced the Joy of the Lord returning in my life. It wasn't an easy thing to discover - it took two years of hard grief work and at times choosing joy even when I didn't really feel that joyful in my heart.

God is faithful, ladies and He is good - He will bless you beyond measure in every way if you trust in Him and surrender your wounded heart to His tender care.

Last Friday, on the anniversary of his accident, I was with my girlfriends from Life Group when I asked God to show me where He was that night three years ago.

He showed me three things:

1. Him holding my arms up as we praised Him for delivering Justin through his surgery that night.

2. Tenderly caring for my son while I went to get some sleep in preparation for the long hours of waiting that would come over eight days. He was indeed preparing him to go home.

3. In the hearts of all the people, the nurses and doctors as well as our family and friends who came out in droves to take care of us, pray for us and walk with us through that very difficult time.

Saturday, I will be getting ready for a P J Party at the hotel when the hour comes that my son finally made his journey home. God is good, is He not! Hold onto Him dear sisters, with everything you have got!

Lord Have Mercy...

* Do you find yourself in the midst of a time when your eyes cannot focus on the daily details of life much less where God is in the middle of all your pain? Yes/No and explain.

* How have you found grief to be physically, emotionally and mentally exhausting?

* What helps you to get through those times?
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As I weighed these questions, I thought about how the early stages of grief consumed my life. Avoidance, denial, physical illness, forgetfulness, mental and emotional exhaustion. It took me back to those early days just after the accident.
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The prayer of my heart those long and tedious hours sitting watching the numbers progressively rise as my son's brain continually swelled while his body lay still and looked quite normal to me. He appeared to be asleep, his summer tan still tinting his arms and cheeks. I whispered to him the second day as I swabbed his body with a soft white wash cloth.

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"Justin, we need you to rest, baby. Get well, don't fight - don't worry about us, just rest. We're all here, we love you and we need you back."

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I found a scab in his right ear and used the wet cloth to wipe as much of the dried blood away. Thinking it was merely the remaining blood from his head wound, I wiped at it a little too hard and he pulled his head away. It was the first sign of life I had seen since he had been sedated right after surgery on Monday evening. A few moments later as I washed his face, my hand brushed his eyelashes and they fluttered just a bit. Perhaps an involuntary response, but a sign of life just the same. Just enough for this momma to hang onto her hope.

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The next morning I came in to find the nurse was ignoring my son's rising brain pressure number and not talking to the doctors about it at all. I was upset by her lack of concern from my son's condition and made a promise to my son as I stood next to his bed.

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"Momma's here, baby, and I'm not going anywhere. They are going to have to run me out of here to get rid of me. About ten minutes later, they did. The full rotation staff came in and asked me to wait in the waiting room until they finished their exam. "I kissed his forehead and told him I would be right back."

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When I returned a half hour later, the nurse was busy trying to settle him back in. I was still holding on to the prognosis that some who were injured as bad as my son had awakened from worse injuries to return to normal lives. I wanted a miracle for my son.

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The nurse looked at me and said, "I don't know what happened, but as soon as you left all his numbers went off the charts!"

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I started laughing, "That's my son. I promised him I would not leave him unless you made me leave. Then a few minutes later I told him I was leaving. He went nuts because he thought I broke my promise."

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More hope, more life being seen. My son was in there, somewhere. I sang to him, bathed him, talked with him and sat beside him praying. That same night the nurse who had left him so "uncared" for the night before returned and I kept my promise. I stayed right by his side all night long. They moved him to a private room and he had a couple of good days. But, by Sunday evening, things were progressively growing worse.

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After they moved him to the private room I prayed differently. I spent all those hours in that room on my roll-a-way cot staring at the numbers watching him grow more and more still. The ventilator pumped a breath full of oxygen into his body rhythmically, the monitors beeped in time to his heartbeat and his brain pressure number slowly and steadily began to rise.

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The head nurse shared with me that we could be in the hospital with him in a coma for years and though there was a chance he would awaken and recover... We needed to be prepared for him to wake up in any state of disrepair, including the chance that he might not awaken at all. In that moment, as I considered that my life-loving, mischievious, wild at heart son might have to live the rest of his life as a child in a man's body... My heart and my prayer changed.

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Where I had asked for a miracle all those hours before, now I pled for mercy.

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"Dear Lord God, You can heal Him and if it is Your will - restore Him Lord, give us a miracle. But, God if he is not going to be able to live his life fully and enjoy it - then, Lord, please have mercy on my son and give me peace to accept it. In Jesus name I ask these things, Amen."

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My eyes filled with tears, my body growing wearier with sorrow... All I could think was that God was waiting for my baby if he didn't survive. I blessed my heart as the presence of God and His Holy Spirit filled the room in those last few days. You could sense and feel His presence at work comforting and ministering to my son's spirit as well as those of us who were preparing to say goodbye. I asked one final thing: "Lord, make is certain. If my hope is in Heaven, then leave no doubt." My son's brain hemorraghed sometime between 3:00 and 5:00 PM on Tuesday, August 23, 2005. Doctors called him officially brain dead at 5:00 PM in that same room where I had prayed for mercy, I also surrendered my son.

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It broke my heart to say goodbye, and as I left the building I remember being so weary of the hospital and the waiting. There was some relief that we now knew what to do next. But, the sorrow would encompass me in the months ahead. I would even grow sick, unable to cope with the simplest of tasks. I would forget to pay the bills I paid every month like the rent and phone. I would function in a realm of normalcy but all of it seemed to lack something vital - my heart.

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The funeral came and I cried the many tears we do in such a time as this. I remember feeling so lost as we returned to the church after the graveside service. I sat staring off into space, alone at the table without so much as a thought in my head. I was numb, exhausted and I had cried every last tear I could muster. I didn't even eat as I recall. My friends came over and pulled me to a table to themselves. There we sat and they told me funny stories that brought laughter in the moment but sadness later as I cried my heart out on the way back to my cousin's house where we had stayed since the day of the accident. I found a quiet couch in the back of the house and lay my body down to rest. I slept for hours undisturbed. I awoke to a dream and for many months I watched the doors and the horizon for any sign that my son would come home. My heart would ache, my arms grow weary of being empty, and I longed to hear his laughter and raspy voice just one more time. I wanted him back so badly and I would sit at his grave and ask God not to allow me to make him an idol.

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Somehow, I found my way through the weary, brokeness of sorrow to a place where the sun shines brighter and the trips to the cemetery are fewer and farther between. I can laugh without guilt, I can love without regret and though I still miss him in big ways... I know that someday we will stand in the presence of God together and bask in His glory as a family once again!

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He is not lost to me, just in the safest keeping I could ask for - resting in the arms of grace at the foot of the Throne of God. Heaven is a glorious place and if I cannot have him with me here, I can be okay with God having him there. To Him be the Glory.

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Salve for our wounded souls:

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Today as we think about the mercy we need for our weary and tired souls, let us look ahead to a place of total healing, total love and total grace: Heaven.

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Revelations (NKJV)

Chapter 22

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And he showed me a pure river of water of life,

clear as crystal, proceeding from the throne of God

and of the Lamb.

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2 In the middle of its street, and on either side

of the river, was the tree of life, which bore twelve fruits,

each tree yielding its fruit every month. The leaves of the tree

were for the healing of the nations.

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3 And there shall be no more curse, but

the throne of God and of the Lamb shall be in it,

and His servants shall serve Him.

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4 They shall see His face, and

His name shall be on their foreheads.

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5 There shall be no night there:

They need no lamp nor light of the sun,

for the Lord God gives them light.

And they shall reign forever and ever.

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6 Then he said to me,

"These words are faithful and true."

And the Lord God of the holy prophets sent His angel

to show His servants the things which must shortly take place.

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7 "Behold, I am coming quickly!

Blessed is he who keeps the words of

the prophecy of this book."

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8 Now I, John, saw and heard these things.

And when I heard and saw, I fell down to worship

before the feet of the angel who showed me these things.

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9 Then he said to me, "See that you do not do that.

For I am your fellow servant, and of your brethren

the prophets, and of those who keep

the words of this book. Worship God."

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10 And he said to me, "Do not seal the words of

the prophecy of this book, for the time is at hand.

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11 He who is unjust, let him be unjust still;

he who is filthy, let him be filthy still; he who is righteous,

let him be righteous still; he who is holy, let him be holy still."

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12 "And behold, I am coming quickly,

and My reward is with Me, to give to

every one according to his work.

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13 I am the Alpha and the Omega,

the Beginning and the End,

the First and the Last."

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14 Blessed are those who do His commandments,

that they may have the right to the tree of life,

and may enter through the gates into the city.

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15 But outside are dogs and sorcerers and

sexually immoral and murderers and idolaters,

and whoever loves and practices a lie.

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16 "I, Jesus, have sent My angel to testify to you

these things in the churches. I am the Root and

the Offspring of David, the Bright and Morning Star."

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17 And the Spirit and the bride say,

"Come!" And let him who hears say, "Come!"

And let him who thirsts come.

Whoever desires, let him take

the water of life freely.

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18 For I testify to everyone who hears the

words of the prophecy of this book:

If anyone adds to these things,

God will add to him the plagues

that are written in this book;

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19 and if anyone takes away from the words

of the book of this prophecy, God shall take

away his part from the Book of Life, from the holy city,

and from the things which are written in this book.

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20 He who testifies to these things says,

"Surely I am coming quickly." Amen.

Even so, come, Lord Jesus!

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21 The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ be with you all. Amen.

I was left alone...

I prepared this week's post early since I have much to do this weekend! Be Blessed! I'm praying for you all!

As a grieving mother, I felt utterly alone. I remember in those first few weeks after Justin's death, Scott or I visited our family doctor at least five or six times. I to get more medication to deal with the stress I might be feeling, and Scott for his annual dose of allergy induced upper respiratory infection. I remember Dr. Hoover's word to the two of us the day Scott went in for his appointment.

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"Remember, men and women grieve differently. Give yourself some room and some time. Be patient with each other."

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Later, when I would go in for an individual appointment he would relay to me his own personal grief and how difficult it was for he and his wife during that time.

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"Men often feel like they have to be strong for their wives. They don't know what you need from them and they don't know how to respond to you."

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It was a sobering and defeating thought, but a much needed message. What Dr. Hoover didn't warn me about was the dream I was going to have in those early weeks. A nightmare really. I have had two nightmares and a couple of comforting dreams since Justin's death nearly three years ago, but truthfully I didn't know what to do with those first two very painful and realistic nightmares.

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In the first, I found myself sitting in the floor of my bedroom at home holding the cold, dead body of my 17 year old son. As I sat there weeping uncontrollably trying to pull him more and more into my lap, I noticed that my children and my husband were continually walking through the room and around the house. They even stepped over us, but no one acknowledged what I was doing. No one seemed to noticed how desperately I needed to take care of my son.

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I woke up as the vision of my dead son laying in my arms continued on the screen in my mind. In my nightmare I sat in the floor screaming at my family, "Would somebody please just help me take care of him?"

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I am not even kidding or exaggerating when I tell you that I woke up not only angry, but loaded for bear! I bolted up in my bed and immediately swung my clenched and shaking fist meeting my husband in the shoulder and startling him from his sleep. He barely had time to groggily respond before I jumped out of bed, ran to the bathroom to weep my eyes out.

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After that morning of anger and sorrow all mixed up in my heart and my head, I found myself growing with great intensity more and more angry. The object of my fiery anger: my husband.

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Why?

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I still don't really know, but I do know that I came to call those periods of rage and anguish my "irrational" fits of anger. As I said in my introductory post, I learned what to do in those moments. I left the building. I just would disappear for a little while and get my head and my heart back on track. In those moments I needed to be alone.

Those first nine months of my grief, I hardly knew what to think much less to ask for... All I wanted was to keep those around me from feeling as bad as I did. I felt as if no one on earth could either understand or relate to how I felt.
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Those months were filled with well-meaning and loved friends and family offering their advice, their comfort and their services to me. All much to no avail. Nothing helped. One evening I sat at my computer IMing an "Internet pen pal" when I got an email. It was from a young woman I attended church with, worked with and mentored through women's ministry. Her words: "I need to help you, you need me to help you... Tell me what to do to help you."
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My emotions tipped the Richter scale as I responded in as nice a way as I could muster. In short, there are some parts of my journey that I will have to make alone, some parts that are intended for me to share with others and some parts that are still even hard for me to imagine at a time like this. I wrote from my heart: "What I need is for people not to tell me what I need right now. This may be hard for you to understand, but you ask what you can do for me and all I can say is this: Unless you can bring my son back to me, I don't know what I need. But if you think you might like to go for ice cream one day - call me I may need to get out. And, in the case that I don't feel up to it - it's not personal... It's just where I am. Sorting out the messiness of grief with God."
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I so desperately wanted to be alone in my grief that I know I shut people out and shut my emotions down in public. People close to me knew my grief was palpable. They saw it in my eyes and expressed in a strong embrace. But, as much as I didn't know what to do with the loneliness, sadness and anger... They didn't know what to do with me.
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At Christmas, a friend hugged my neck as I was weeping bitter, sorrowful tears at the end of the service. She tried to sooth me as I gushed, "I just miss him so much."
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Time felt as if it stood still, and my heart felt as if it would split right in two when she responded: "But, he ain't missin' you."
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Perhaps I needed to hear that, but I didn't want to - I didn't want to think that a moment of life in heaven passed for Justin without him being joyfully aware of how much he was missed and loved by his mother here on earth. He just has to know that... He just has to. And, he does. He was made perfect in Christ when he came face to face with Him in heaven. He has perfect knowledge and the truth of that comforts me, but it is bittersweet.

So it is with the many things I have discovered about life and God in my grief. One thing I know for sure - it is true. Though my God doesn't like what I do at times, He never leaves me and He never forsakes me. Though I forsake Him and grow angry or disillusioned with Him - He stays close, and walks along behind me until I decide to turn around and acknowledge He is there. He then will take me up in His strong and loving arms and comfort me as only He can.
He strokes my hair and rocks me as He sings a soothing song in my ear. "There, there Beloved..." I hear the gentle whisper of His voice say to me, "I know your sorrow is great. That your suffering is breaking your heart. But, have faith, My Child, I redeem the losses and make good the suffering. I mend broken hearts and carry your tears in a bottle marking each occasion that you have cried. You are My Child, and I love You, as much as I love My Son... So, I also love You. I know how You feel, sweet Child, for I gave up My Son for You. Your son is safely in my care and he will be here, in your cloud of witnesses. And when the time is right, his voice will be one of many calling to you beckoning you Home."

YOU MAY WANT TO WRITE DOWN OR PRINT OUT THE FOLLOWING QUESTIONS. Share your answers if you are comfortable. Mostly allow these answers to resonate in your heart of hearts and allow God to bring His truth to your pain.
How do you relate to the desolation and the loneliness of grief?
How have you learned to deal with your anger in grief?
How has God proven to you that He will never leave you or forsake you?
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Has someone who meant well said or done something that ended up making your grief worse instead of better?
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Have you found the grace to forgive them?
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At this point in your grief, what brings you the most comfort?
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Share one thing that you are thankful for or a special memory of your child.
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SALVE FOR OUR WOUNDED SOULS:
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"Praise be to the God and
Father of our Lord Jesus Christ,
the Father of compassion
and the God of all comfort,
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4 who comforts us in all our
troubles, so that we can comfort
those in any trouble with the comfort
we ourselves have received from God.
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5 For just as the sufferings of Christ
flow over into our lives, so also through
Christ our comfort overflows.
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6 If we are distressed,
it is for your comfort and salvation;
if we are comforted, it is for your comfort,
which produces in you patient endurance
of the same sufferings we suffer.
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7 And our hope for you is firm,
because we know that just as you share in
our sufferings, so also you share in our comfort.
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8 We do not want you to be uninformed,
brothers, about the hardships we suffered in
the province of Asia. We were under great
pressure, far beyond our ability to endure,
so that we despaired even of life.
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9 Indeed, in our hearts we felt the sentence
of death. But this happened that we might not rely
on ourselves but on God, who raises the dead.
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10 He has delivered us from such a deadly peril,
and he will deliver us. On him we have set our hope
that he will continue to deliver us,
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11 as you help us by your prayers. Then many will
give thanks on our behalf for the gracious favor granted
us in answer to the prayers of many.
2 Corinthians 1:3-11 (NIV)

What would my title be?

As my husband negotiated the sea of glowing red lights in the dusky skylight along Loop 820, I found myself revisiting old thoughts.

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The next exit is Beach Street, if we took the exit and turned left it would only be a few stoplights before we are passing through the intersection at Fossil Creek Boulevard. I barely notice the cars as we pass, all I can do is stare across the median trying to figure out where the fifty foot mark is south of the intersection. That is where his head struck the pavement after my son was thrown from the car he was riding in. Fifty feet, a little more than four yards would end my son's life. I try to picture him lying there, the paramedics working on him to bring him back to life. Tears sting my eyes as I notice a dead bouquet of flowers tied to a tree near the intersection. Did someone leave those for Justin?

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My eyes are burgeoning with hot wet wells of sorrow as I try to bring myself back from the incessant wandering of my mind. I revisit that day in mid-August 2005 often when I am in that part of town. The day our lives changed forever. .

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"People who lose their spouses are widows, children who lose their parents are orphans... but what would my title be?" Tears fall free a slow, single drop at a time as I give voice to a new thought.

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My husband meets my eyes for just a moment before returning his attention back to the road. He shrugs before saying softly, "I don't know." .

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My heart aches as the confusion begins to roll around like marbles dropped on a tile floor. The clattering and scattering of my thoughts seems to radiate to my stomach as a large knot forms there building up pressure and heating my cheeks. My hands shake and I know that it is going to be a difficult night at support group.
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Tonight my husband is going with me. I had to beg him to go... He never wants to be in that environment very long. His pain is different, his grief somehow lessened by the fact that Justin was my son and not his. At least that is the way I see it. He can't comfort me, he can't help me and he certainly can't understand me. Most of the time I am angry at him and I don't even know why. .

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A few days later I would learn my new title: Bereaved Parent. Bereaved parents are just one of many forms of the "bereaved" in our society. The definition in Webster's states bereaved is a noun meaning one who is suffering the death of a loved one. That definition feels so slight, so inadequate. It lumps my grief in with someone grieving a long lost family member as well as those grieving the death of their parents or spouse, even a friend or pet could be considered a "loved one." Yet, I am bereaved. Out of my mind off the chart bereaved.

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So crazy with grief that I would become so frustrate I would leave the house for hours at a time and turn off my cell phone because I feared saying something that I would regret to my husband or daughters. One such occasion I cried all the way through a movie and then went to Build-a-Bear where I created a little stuffed dog with scraggly hair and brown and white patches all over just so I could experience the process. I wanted to see what they did when they stuff them because Justin once went willingly to the store with a group of teenage girls from our youth. when one of the girls would not kiss the little heart they put inside, Justin readily did so on her behalf. The bear was a gift for the girls mother and just one of the endearing qualities of my boy that I fondly recall more often these days.

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I found the little, unstuffed mutt hanging on a peg protruding from the wall near the front of the store. I pulled him down and petted his fur telling myself I wouldn't buy it if there were no clothes that made me think of Justin.

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You may be thinking it is an odd thing for me to associate a little patched dog with my son, but that day... when his friends and he were in that accident... the police reported that my 220 lb. 6 foot plus son was hanging out the window of the tiny Mazda car he was in barking like a dog at passing traffic. So, every since that day, I have seen little stuffed dogs and thought of my boy.

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I wandered over to the "boy" clothes and found a little pair of khaki shorts, some boxer shorts and a striped red and navy polo shirt. I added a little red ball cap to my collection of stuff and proceeded to find shoes. After all, shoes seem to be very important to me. His shoes sit in the garage seemingly waiting for his return to use them again. I found a pair of shoes that resembled "skater" shoes and my ensemble was complete. I was buying a dog... a stuffed dog that is. I stood in line with very small children and grinned weakly.

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When it was my turn the teenager running the "stuffin' machine" smiled and said, "I'll only make you kiss the heart."
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She ran each child through a litany of exercises to ensure their new "pet" would live a good, joyful and fulfilling life because his/her "heart" was right. I kissed the little gingham heart I had selected and she tossed it in before stuffing him until he was just a little soft. After my dog was stuffed, I dressed him and took him to the "identification station." Here I would give him a name: Justin. I put in our address and his family's name. Then I went to "check out." I paid a whopping $50.00 for my little dose of Build-a-Bear comfort.

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My girls laugh out loud when someone new comes over and accidentally sits on Justin in the stray chair he is occupying. I yell, "Don't sit on Justin!" I then go and lovingly pick up my little dog and relocate him to a safer place.

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Weird? I know.

Necessary? Absolutely...

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Why? I don't know.

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I'm bereaved.

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It has been two summers since I first began visiting that little support group called H. O. P. E. where those who have lost a child meet weekly to Help Other Parents Endure. I found healing in those early months there. I was on my way and just needed to find some necessary Truth, Taking and cry a well full of Tears to find that place where comfort and peace seem to flow again. Today I can tell you that the Joy of the Lord is my strength, but it hasn't always been that way.

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My son, Justin Brant Newsom, went home to be with the Lord on August 23, 2005. He was involved in a two car collision at the intersection of N. Beach Street and Fossil Creek Boulevard on August 15, 2005. His injuries were numerous and severe. It was the head injury that would ultimately claim his life. Doctors determined he was brain dead on Tuesday, August 23rd just eight days after the accident. He was 17 years, 5 months 12 days, 3 hours and 18 minutes old. We buried him on August 27th and filled the sanctuary of our church to overflowing where I delivered the eulogy to every one's surprise.

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I tell them, as I will tell you: Any strength you find in me, any grace at all, will be of God and not my own will because in my flesh I am a squalling mess on the floor hating every aspect of this loss, but in my heart and my soul I know God has a plan and a purpose that will bring forth something good and a greater glory unto Himself. My son is in the safest keeping of all, in the loving presence of His Savior and Heavenly Father until I finally make the journey home when my life on this earth is through. His legacy lives on in the testimony and love of his family and I am so grateful for the 17 years I had with him. He was a gift and a blessing in so many ways.
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Feel free to share the stories of your loss and your children with me in the comments. If you will email me a photo and the name and sunrise (birth) date and sunset (death) date... I will prepare a post each month to introduce members and their children.

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Our next post will be Monday, June 2nd when prayer requests will be posted and prayed over. If you have a prayer request you would like to post please email me with your information and I will include it in my post.

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The Thursday Scripture we will be reflecting on is:

Please read this Scripture and even this Chapter of Scripture if you are up to it. Consider how the elements described by one who has suffered the loss of children is feeling. How does he describe himself? What does he note about what is happening around him?

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Until we meet again, Be Blessed.

Have you been to the Upper Room?

I remember when Justin had been in the hospital those eight long awful days. We were exhausted, looking for a miracle and praying for mercy. We simply wanted to wake up and find ourselves free of the nightmare that engulfed our lives. But, on that Tuesday morning, we awoke instead to the reality that my son was indeed slipping into eternity and leaving this world behind.

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I sat with him until they came to take him down for the final tests. The radioactive dye was injected into his veins. I walked over to his bedside and kissed his forehead, "When you get back you'll glow in the dark."
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I sat in that room for a while hoping he would come back very soon. Then I ventured out to the waiting area where friends and family were solemnly sitting. Some worked crossword puzzles while others stared out the window. We could not speak any words. We waited. Then, a little after noon, the desk clerk called our name. We went to her and she reported the doctors were prepared to speak with us. We all assembled in that little room just outside the ICU. The room marked "Family." We had hoped for a miracle. We expected a death sentence. We received the news we expected. Justin was gone. His body continued to live with the vitality of medicine and machines, but his soul and his spirit had made the ascent. Devestated.

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We went to his room and gathered around his bed. My father asked to pray. "Dear Lord, We are asking, if You will,... To use Your mighty power... To bring Justin back to us. In Jesus Name... AMEN."

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I knelt with my hands splayed across Justin's broad chest. Weeping. My heart ached as my father's quivering and broken voice echoed through the room. I could not believe we were living this nightmare. Then, like an answer to my father's prayer, the doctor walks into the room and says, "I'm sorry. We have to take him for another test. The radiologist saw something on the last test that he wants to confirm before we can go any further."

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They wheeled him out again. Another two hours. I made the trek from his room to the waiting area every fifteen to twenty minutes looking to spend just a little more time with him. Just to be close to him. That last walk felt like miles. I came around the corner and saw his bed and his body lying there as he had been for eight days.

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I walked up and checked his monitor screen. His brain pressure had been over 100 most of the day and now read 16. I had just a moment to look at the warm, tanned face of my oldest child and think... Could it be true? "God, either a miracle has happened here or he is really gone. Would you show me, please, what has happened?"

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I turned to go back and retrieve my family from the waiting area when his nurse walked in with the hospital chaplain. "We believe his brain hemmoraghed some time after we concluded the last test and when we got him back up here. I'm so sorry."

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"So, he really is gone."

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There was only a silent nod from the nurse as she fought back tears. My heart burst as much in relief as in pain. The waiting over. I did go out and gather my family. We returned to the room one last time. The machines were turned off. We watched his face turn blue. His mouth went slack within seconds. He was gone. Not a trace of life was left in him. I walked around and lay my head upon his chest listening for him to take one more breath. I had hoped to feel that faint heartbeat that promised life and a mistaken diagnosis.

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Nothing.

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He was gone. I continued to weep. The gutwrenching, pain-filled sobs of death erupted from deep within my being. They filled the room as the exhaustion of eight days of waiting, hoping and praying spilled forth from my heart and an overflow of sorrow washed out of my soul. He was gone.

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The next few days were difficult. News broke and we got calls inquiring if we had read the latest. The funeral plans had to be made. We sat around and talked about his life, how unreal our situation seemed and then we just cried. We did all these things together. We rarely slept. We just sat together and waited until we could bid him our final goodbye.

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We visited his body on the third day after his death. I remember walking in at five o'clock in the afternoon and seeing his lifeless body in that casket. I held his hand a moment and a chill ran through my body. He was cold. So cold.

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I slipped the small metal case that held his Bible beneath his hand. Patted it one time for good measure and stared long and hard at every inch of him.

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I sat down on the small couch in his state room and began to write. I wrote out his eulogy. I would deliver it to a room full of friends and family at the funeral. I sat there for what seemed like forever. The next day was more of the same. Sitting with his body, waiting and praying.

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As I read the account of Jesus' death, my mind ventures and my imagination paints a picture of the scene. The disciples are wondering what happened to Judas. They wonder why he betrayed Jesus. They're angry and unsettled about the events of the last 24 hours.

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Can you hear John telling his account of what he saw? "I followed them to the house of the high priest. I knew the guard at the door. Peter came with me. He and I ran after them. My eyes never left him. I thought I saw Judas in the crowd... I think he had been crying..."

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Can you see Peter sulking in the corner? He has been reviewing his behavior. His disbelief in the death of his savior and friend must have been palpable. He had been the one who believed from the first moment. The one who walked in faith with Christ the entire time. Peter was willing to kill and die for the Messiah, for Jesus. He had been willing to follow Jesus to death just hours before... But, in town with all those people who had watched Jesus being drug into the high Jewish court in chains... He choked. He ran. He denied.

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Can you see Mary? She is laying on the cot in the back of the room. She is exhausted as she revisits those scenes on the cross over and over again. There are no more tears. She has cried and wept bitterly over her firstborn. Mary Magdalene sits on the floor beside her cot weeping and stroking His mother's back. She murmurs words of comfort and sympathy. She buries her head and cries. Mary remembers her firstborn. He didn't even get a proper burial or funeral. He died a criminal. Her good, patient and loving son. God's Son.

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The other disciples begin to talk and the questions begin to float around the room. An argument breaks out in one conversation over who saw and did what... and when. Someone says, "Do you think he was really the Messiah now?"

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Have you been to the upper room? The hours of waiting, wondering what would come next. The waiting for the tap on the door and the soldiers to come and take them all to be tried. Their Savior was dead.

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Have you been to the Upper Room?

"Imagine All The Trouble I Would've Gotten Into..."

Last Friday morning I called hubs for the usual "On My Way To Drop Off Taylor At School" call when he said, "Hey, what do you think about Dinner and a Movie tonight?"

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A "his idea..." He asked me out on a date night! WOO HOO!

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I spent some time finding and buying tickets to the movie by phone that morning before running errands and hustling home to get a shower and pick out an outfit for the evening.

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(((YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT MY FRIDAYS LOOK LIKE! RUN. RUN. RUN. All. Day. Long.)))
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Which I did. I picked him up from work needing to "Up the Do" and put on my make-up... but I was officially dressed for our night out. He picked the restaurant and I picked the movie. We were going to see "Taken" with Liam Neeson (which BTW deserves a blog post all its own). We were out of the house in record time for Friday night.

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A slight detour by the movie theater as we walked to the restaurant (RAZZOOs. Aiy-eeeh!) And I discovered that the phone system haphazardly sold me a ticket to see a movie three days before while I was ordering the tickets for "Taken."
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So we returned the tickets and asked them why they charged us for three tickets. We got a refund on all three tickets and the fee for phone ordering --- AND we got the tickets to our movie. The manager told us worst case the system would re-charge us for the two tickets we purchased, and best case is we get to see the movie for free! BONUS. I told him if they were taking reviews for the phone system - "THUMBS DOWN!"

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Dinner was really great! I had Louisiana Bread Pudding which is one of my favorite Desserts. And, we went to Barnes and Noble* and he bought me a book called "Jewish Literacy." I am sitting in a huge overstuffed chair near the religious section holding a book with about 1,000 Sudoku puzzles and this book on Jewish literacy by Rabbi Joseph Telushkin when my husband walks up.

I said, "I really want this book."

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I held up both of the books. "But, I can't really decide which I want more."

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He smiled. "It's up to you."

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I weighed the two books. "Jewish Literacy it is."

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We both walked down the stairs and he picked up the new book by Stephen R. Lawhead he had been eyeing ("TUCK") and we were off to cash out. With our purchases in tow we trotted around the corner to the movie theater and saw our (a little extreme in the violence department) movie, but such a great story. I give the movie a good review with a violence warning on it. There is a theme of prostitution, drugs and human trafficking in this movie - But, parents with older teenage girls need to take their daughters to see this movie because it is very sobering to consider the risk our kids are at and the way they are seen as targets. (end of movie review)

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On the way home we drove through our prodigal stomping grounds. The Fort Worth Stockyards.

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I spotted a marquee advertising, "Bikini Contest Monday Nights."

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I asked my husband, "How is that different than strippers?"

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He said, "It's not."

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We talked about his days of "sowing wild oats," when - shocking, I know - he frequented strip clubs where his classmates from school worked. (Fortunately, I knew this already. AND, BTW his past just might pale in comparison with mine.) Anyway... I asked him when he stopped visiting those places and we talked about his first marriage. When he said, "I guess it was 1989 because I turned 21 that year."

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We were eerily close to the cemetery where Justin's earthly body rests and I suddenly realized my son and my husband are exactly 20 years different in age. Scott born in 1968 and Justin in 1988. I then began to think of all the things a 21 year old might be doing. What I would hope Justin would be doing and the tears began to fall. We stopped in at Sonic* for a soft drink when my hubs noticed my tears.

"Did I say something wrong?"

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I shook my head.

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"Just thinking about Jay."

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He gently took my hand and said, "I know his birthday is Wednesday."

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"Well, it is his birthday because he'd be 21. He's buried over there and when you said you were 21 in 1989 well, i just realized you were born exactly 20 years apart."

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For those who don't know the story: Justin was born illegitimate when I was 17 years old. His dad abandoned us shortly after I learned I was pregnant and well my dad came a hair's width away from prosecuting the father for statutory rape...

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My husband's next statement was thoughtful, surprising and a little funny to me.

"Imagine all the trouble I would've gotten into if I'd have known you then."

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I realized that was the first moment he talked about our past in a "what if" fashion... and that was sorta' good.

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"Well... at the very least you would have been Justin's dad and that would not have been any trouble at all."

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We both laughed and realized once again how lucky we are to have found each other.

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I admitted: "But... there is a chance that you wouldn't have liked me very much back then."

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"True." (Come to think of it... I don't know how I feel about that! Just kidding... I might not have liked him either.)

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"I guess things worked out the way they were supposed to... But, I still think if my parents would not have moved to Granbury - we'd have met much sooner." [BIG SMILE.]

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It was a really good night.

NOTE: I have a more recent (as in the last month) picture I wanted to share but it is locked up in my dear daughter's computer... She is napping and was to bothered to let me tranfer it to my computer. IMAGINE!

Funny Story

Most Moms think it, I'll say it. I just tried to beat and argue the adventure right out of my men because I longed for them to remain safe, sound and close to me AT ALL TIMES. I'm learning that there is a "wildness" to our men that God intended for them to have and trying to rid them of it usually creates quite the bit of chaos in the process.

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So today as I was reading about one adventurous boy's misstep on Facebook, I recalled my own son and his many adventurous missteps.

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Here is one:

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I'm at work and my cell phone rings.

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"Hello?"

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"Mom?"
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"Yes, Justin. I'm at work - what is it?"
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"Well, I was outside and I thought I'd see if I could throw the baseball over our [two story] house."

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"Yeah?"

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"And, well it sort of missed and accidentally hit the window instead."

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"J---UST---IN!"

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"I know. I just thought I would call and tell you."

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"So, did the ball just decide to change course after you threw it or did you generally throw it in the direction of the window."

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SILENCE.

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He just generally threw it in the direction of the window. I'm not even sure I still know the entire story.

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CLICK! - DIAL. TONE.