This is Shelly's mom, Jean, reporting in for her. She told me this evening to post some information. She is currently in the hospital again, has been there since Monday, with complications from her surgery a few weeks ago. She asks for prayer for her quick recovery, for the kids and Josh at home, and for our angels of mercy Zach and Rachel who have again stepped in to hold down the home front. Shelly and Josh are both having a difficult time dealing with this latest challenge. The why question has popped up. Mostly they are both concerned for kids who need to know life can be "normal." Pray for all of us, OK? We're dependent on those of you who hold us up before a God whose ways we don't always understand.
I have 4 kids
Things on the homefront continue on as normal. Josh's mom and dad are in town for the holiday weekend. We will be cooking out with friends tomorrow here at the house. Josh and I have always loved entertaining, and that has not changed since the accident. We are looking forward to it.
So, today I was posed an interesting question that I seem to encounter very regularly. When other mothers see you out and about with a child or children, you are often asked how many children you have. After almost three years, I still do not have a great answer for that one. I have read of many mothers who have no problem with answering. Some answer with the number of children they have living, others just say the total number. Me, I'm a total number girl. The only problem is- sometimes the conversation continues to how old are they? Hmmm.. this one always gets me a bit nervous cause I realize this could lead into an uncomfortable conversation. I have even met one that says she has "two that walk and one that flies." I am not really comfortable with this answer. I'm still at the point where I usually say 4 unless I figure we may have time for the converstation to continue.
Just 3 weeks after Ava died, we went to some friends for dinner. They had some neighbors stop by to see our friend's new baby girl. When they were leaving they asked how many children we had and Josh replied two. I thought I was going to puke and punch him at the same time. I felt like we were not acknowledging who she is in our lives. Now, after almost 3 years, I find myself doing the same thing at times.
I remember reading somewhere that losing your parents is like losing your past, but losing your child is like losing your future. This really captures how I felt soon after we lost Ava. It left so many questions in my mind, what were we going to do now, would we move back to the home where she died, would our kids remember their little sister (I now see this is my responsibility)? How was I going to continue on living and still be a mom who functioned for the rest of the kids. I didn't want my kids to look back at this time and think, "this is when we lost my mom, not just my sister." I still desired for my kids to have a happy childhood. I wanted my kids to be able to look back and see how present the Lord was through this ordeal, how he continued to be faithful to us even when we couldn't see it through our sorrow.
I realize now how differently Josh and I reacted to Ava's death emotionally. This was addressed while we went to see an amazing Christian counselor for a few months. There were so many feelings hurt, so many things we wished we could have done different, but the past was over and we couldn't change them. But we could change how we started hadling the future. We realized it seemed a little screwed up, but if we wanted to continue our friendships with those who had fallen off the map, it was us who were going to have to make the effort. I really balked at this idea and then realized I was just being totally selfish. Just because I lost a child did not give me permission to become self-involved.
Josh and I made a promise to each other, less than 8 hours after Ava died, that we would talk to each other. There were so many horrible things running through my mind that I would never have admitted out loud. Josh started by saying something that I couldn't believe he would admit and it opened up a huge door of communication for us. I remember admitting to thoughts that I couldn't believe I had, but I did.
One other thing we said from the start was we were going to cling to God, knowing he had a plan- even if we couldn't see it. I knew I was not going to like his plan, I never would, but I have never doubted that God knows better than I do. Yes, I still want Ava back into our family, but this is not possible during our Earthly life. I believe, 100%, that we will again be reunited with her. This life is just a blink of an eye, I will have plently of time to enjoy her come heaven.
A guide
I'm sure by now most of you have heard that the Christian artist, Steven Curtis Chapman's daughter Maria died yesterday after being run over by a car. Josh brought this to my attention this morning and it has occupied my thoughts ever since. It makes me feel such empathy for this family, knowing what they have ahead of them.
The overwhelming void that filled my entire being was all I could think about. I didn't dare shut my eyes because of the images that filled them when they were closed were too horrifying to recall. The loneliness while surrounded by all our loved ones did little to ease the pain. Eating was out of the question. I decided to drink black coffee because I liked it with cream. I wanted to do things differently, observe my pain in some inadequate way. I have read of another person doing this after grief. Guess I'm not so odd after all. Life took on a before and after era. Before Ava's accident and after. I remember watching Josh sleep the first night after she died and being amazed he could sleep. I was thankful that he could have a few minutes of escape. I recall sitting upstairs around 4 a.m., at my parent's house, with my mom, Holly and Josh's mom and just sitting there not knowing what to do. At times this desperate feeling that I needed to just DO something was overwhelming. I would pace and just yank at my hair, trying to make things right in my head. I wish could words could do justice to an emotion that I pray none of you will ever have to face.
Right now, I know what a family is experiencing, to a certain extent. Every story is different. Every person is different. But every Christian needs to make a willful decision to trust God. No matter how angry I go, no matter how little I understood, I knew deep down that my getting through this was not going to be successful if I didn't just lean on him. Those first few days, it was very hard to pray. It became more like guttural cries to a heavenly father who knew I was hurting. It meant acknowledging that God knew this was the plan for Ava from the start, but being really ticked. Ticked just doesn't do it any justice. Pissed, I was pissed. Why would God do this and what kind of a God was he to allow this to happen. I knew he could take my anger and my questions. But could I? Was I willing to really hear the truth if it wasn't what I wanted to hear. I can say that nearly three years later that I still don't like the plan, nor do I like how it has affected my life, but I trust in an Almighty Father whose desire is to bring other's close to him.
There are various times when I realize that the memories are growing hazier, easier to deal with. Losing Ava is not the very first thing I think of when my feet hit the floor. I would say rarely does 10 minutes go by when I don't think of her after waking. Just recently, I got out one too many bowls for the dinner table (I got out 5 and only needed 4. Ephram is not eating out of a bowl just yet). It's been three years, and we didn't have her with us too long, but it shows how much a part of us she still is.
It is my desire for Ephram to realize that he is not a replacement. God knew from the beginning that he would be part of our family. I want him to grow up feeling like he has an extra special place in our family- that he was God's gift to us, out of pain and suffering came joy and restoration. Who could ask for a better gift?
As time has passed many of my friends said how they were so unsure what to say and what to do. I thought I may be able to give some words that may be helpful if they are anything like me. Number one, I knew Ava was in a better place. I didn't need people telling me that- I wanted her here with me. That comment came as a slap in the face many times. That whole "she's in a better place" could well be saved for a few months down the road. Number two, "you can always have more children." At this point, I didn't want more children, I wanted Ava. Number three- "I lost my grandma (aunt, uncle, cousin 68 year old mother) last month, I know what you're going through." I hated that one. Until you have lost a child, you don't know. Just like I don't know what it's like to lose a mother or father at a young age, or be a child who has lost a sibling. Don't claim to understand unless you really do. I clung to those who had lost a child and the knowledge and advice they could give me. Lastly, I know Ava was young. Those who had had early miscarriages cannot possibly know the grief of losing a living child, or of a having a birth where the baby was too young to survive. We held our babies. We saw their faces, Saw the potential for life. Don't get me wrong, I know miscarriage is heartbreaking, but please don't compare it. Comparisons are nasty, especially at the beginning of the grieving process.
So, what can you do? The day that Ava died, people started pouring in. All of these people needed to be fed and it was the last thing on my mind. One of my best friends quietly showed up, ordered pizza, lasagna, and salad and had it out for those who felt they could eat. I got a huge box full of toilet paper, paper towels, paper plates, cups, utensils and more Kleenex than we thought was necessary (only to find out it was). We used up every last one of those Kleenex. Someone brought treats for the kids, juice boxed, frozen kids meals, kids movies and easy toys for the kids to stay occupied with. Most of the time you want your living children around you but you are not really concious of what they need all the time. These things helped a ton the first weeks.
So, what did people say or do that helped and didn't hurt? It seemed like the less they said the better. Not because of what they said may offend me but because the hurt is so great, words often seem inadequate. Hugs, hugs, hugs. I just needed to feel the comfort of those around me. If you're a praying person, tell them you'll pray for them, but only if you really will. :-) Start calling them. We screened more phone calls than you can imagine but seeing your name pop up on my caller i.d. made me aware that you were reaching out. A few weeks out, some people stopped calling, the uncomfortable feelings of what they were going to say became too strong (the only reason I know this is because of conversations with friends over the past three years). Call anyway. I spent numerous days wondering why they didn't call and so I didn't call. Didn't we have a closer relationship than I had thought? Err on calling too much. They won't call you back if they really don't want to talk. Thank goodness for the 21st Century blessing of caller i.d.
I hope this hasn't come off as harsh or as though the ones that helped us after Ava died did it all wrong. That could not be further from the truth. We had an incredible support system that continues to this day. I know so many of you pray for us as we continue down this journey along with the new journey of Josh in a wheelchair.
Yes, life is complicated. But it is so short in the grand scheme of things. I know I will soon again be with my little girl and all of this grief and trusting will be truly worthwhile.
The overwhelming void that filled my entire being was all I could think about. I didn't dare shut my eyes because of the images that filled them when they were closed were too horrifying to recall. The loneliness while surrounded by all our loved ones did little to ease the pain. Eating was out of the question. I decided to drink black coffee because I liked it with cream. I wanted to do things differently, observe my pain in some inadequate way. I have read of another person doing this after grief. Guess I'm not so odd after all. Life took on a before and after era. Before Ava's accident and after. I remember watching Josh sleep the first night after she died and being amazed he could sleep. I was thankful that he could have a few minutes of escape. I recall sitting upstairs around 4 a.m., at my parent's house, with my mom, Holly and Josh's mom and just sitting there not knowing what to do. At times this desperate feeling that I needed to just DO something was overwhelming. I would pace and just yank at my hair, trying to make things right in my head. I wish could words could do justice to an emotion that I pray none of you will ever have to face.
Right now, I know what a family is experiencing, to a certain extent. Every story is different. Every person is different. But every Christian needs to make a willful decision to trust God. No matter how angry I go, no matter how little I understood, I knew deep down that my getting through this was not going to be successful if I didn't just lean on him. Those first few days, it was very hard to pray. It became more like guttural cries to a heavenly father who knew I was hurting. It meant acknowledging that God knew this was the plan for Ava from the start, but being really ticked. Ticked just doesn't do it any justice. Pissed, I was pissed. Why would God do this and what kind of a God was he to allow this to happen. I knew he could take my anger and my questions. But could I? Was I willing to really hear the truth if it wasn't what I wanted to hear. I can say that nearly three years later that I still don't like the plan, nor do I like how it has affected my life, but I trust in an Almighty Father whose desire is to bring other's close to him.
There are various times when I realize that the memories are growing hazier, easier to deal with. Losing Ava is not the very first thing I think of when my feet hit the floor. I would say rarely does 10 minutes go by when I don't think of her after waking. Just recently, I got out one too many bowls for the dinner table (I got out 5 and only needed 4. Ephram is not eating out of a bowl just yet). It's been three years, and we didn't have her with us too long, but it shows how much a part of us she still is.
It is my desire for Ephram to realize that he is not a replacement. God knew from the beginning that he would be part of our family. I want him to grow up feeling like he has an extra special place in our family- that he was God's gift to us, out of pain and suffering came joy and restoration. Who could ask for a better gift?
As time has passed many of my friends said how they were so unsure what to say and what to do. I thought I may be able to give some words that may be helpful if they are anything like me. Number one, I knew Ava was in a better place. I didn't need people telling me that- I wanted her here with me. That comment came as a slap in the face many times. That whole "she's in a better place" could well be saved for a few months down the road. Number two, "you can always have more children." At this point, I didn't want more children, I wanted Ava. Number three- "I lost my grandma (aunt, uncle, cousin 68 year old mother) last month, I know what you're going through." I hated that one. Until you have lost a child, you don't know. Just like I don't know what it's like to lose a mother or father at a young age, or be a child who has lost a sibling. Don't claim to understand unless you really do. I clung to those who had lost a child and the knowledge and advice they could give me. Lastly, I know Ava was young. Those who had had early miscarriages cannot possibly know the grief of losing a living child, or of a having a birth where the baby was too young to survive. We held our babies. We saw their faces, Saw the potential for life. Don't get me wrong, I know miscarriage is heartbreaking, but please don't compare it. Comparisons are nasty, especially at the beginning of the grieving process.
So, what can you do? The day that Ava died, people started pouring in. All of these people needed to be fed and it was the last thing on my mind. One of my best friends quietly showed up, ordered pizza, lasagna, and salad and had it out for those who felt they could eat. I got a huge box full of toilet paper, paper towels, paper plates, cups, utensils and more Kleenex than we thought was necessary (only to find out it was). We used up every last one of those Kleenex. Someone brought treats for the kids, juice boxed, frozen kids meals, kids movies and easy toys for the kids to stay occupied with. Most of the time you want your living children around you but you are not really concious of what they need all the time. These things helped a ton the first weeks.
So, what did people say or do that helped and didn't hurt? It seemed like the less they said the better. Not because of what they said may offend me but because the hurt is so great, words often seem inadequate. Hugs, hugs, hugs. I just needed to feel the comfort of those around me. If you're a praying person, tell them you'll pray for them, but only if you really will. :-) Start calling them. We screened more phone calls than you can imagine but seeing your name pop up on my caller i.d. made me aware that you were reaching out. A few weeks out, some people stopped calling, the uncomfortable feelings of what they were going to say became too strong (the only reason I know this is because of conversations with friends over the past three years). Call anyway. I spent numerous days wondering why they didn't call and so I didn't call. Didn't we have a closer relationship than I had thought? Err on calling too much. They won't call you back if they really don't want to talk. Thank goodness for the 21st Century blessing of caller i.d.
I hope this hasn't come off as harsh or as though the ones that helped us after Ava died did it all wrong. That could not be further from the truth. We had an incredible support system that continues to this day. I know so many of you pray for us as we continue down this journey along with the new journey of Josh in a wheelchair.
Yes, life is complicated. But it is so short in the grand scheme of things. I know I will soon again be with my little girl and all of this grief and trusting will be truly worthwhile.
back home from the hospital
It's nice to be home. I came home yesterday in the late afternoon. Because Ephram is still not feeling great, the two of us stayed home from church and sent the rest of the troops on. Noah and Zoe came home talking about Paul and Silas and how their chains fell off!!! They were so excited about it and telling me the story. Noah was still talking about it this morning. I love hearing them getting so excited about the Bible. We spent the day doing lots of laying around. We did some slow work and my Aunt Jill came over to lend a helping hand. I'm not supposed to lift Ephram yet (6 weeks according to the nurse that called today) but that goes over like a lead balloon in this momma's mind. We relaxed together on the couch and took a nap together. Now Sheena is here from Kalamazoo to hang out for a few days. It's been a nice day.
I realized how proud I am of Josh today. We were talking to a friend who told us about an acquaintance of hers who is dealing with paralysis. This guy is having a really hard time (obviously so) but it made me realize how much Josh has just pushed on. Even when he feels like giving up and I get disheartened, he continues to get up every morning, not lay in bed all day, and at least attempt to live this new life. I hear how many others who are in the same boat as him just give up, don't really "live." I am the proud wife of a roller, who has decided to keep on going, even when it's tough.