Jim Carrey once said “grief is not just an emotion, it’s an unraveling”.
Everyone’s life is a tapestry that is woven together through every moment and experience. My story hasn’t always been easy, but I thought I knew what my finished tapestry would look like. Then 12/12/22 happened, followed by 1/25/23 and the unraveling began. The person I was came apart thread by thread.
My life, my tapestry, is being rewoven. New patterns are being formed by weaving…
threads of sorrow and suffering with threads of sweetness and simplicity…
threads of pain and peril with threads of peace and promise…
threads of chaos and confusion with threads of comfort and care…
threads of grief and groaning with threads of grace and gratitude…
Some days the beauty is hard to see. At times the loom seems to hold a jumbled mess of yarn, not an amazing work of art and that can be hard and scary to look at. I want to know what the finished picture will look like. I want to know that the unraveling was worth it.
The unraveling has been painful. It is not what I wanted and I long to go back to the person I was 12/11/22. But, I am not the Weaver and I don’t hold the loom. I can hold on and have hope only because the Creator of the universe is gently putting me back together, thread by thread, and I know the tapestry He is creating will be more beautiful than I could ever imagine.
Growing up in Sunday school, we would often play Bible trivia. One of the questions was “what is the shortest verse in the Bible?”. It was easy to memorize the answer which is John 11:35…Jesus wept.
Those two words hold a lot of weight. I’m so thankful for this verse and for what it says about Jesus. But the words that aren’t said hold just as much weight if not more.
When Jesus encounters Mary in her grief and pain after her brother died (John 11:32-35), what He does is identify with her and meet her where she is.
He does not…
tell her God is in control
tell her everything will be okay
tell her He’s going to work it for her good.
tell her to trust God
chastise or scold her for the emotions that He gave her
tell Mary her pain and grief is wrong
tell her the end of the story…
He simply sees her. He joins Mary in her suffering. I believe if He were on Earth today, He would weep often…
for the brokenness of this world
for the marriage that is falling apart
for the prodigal child who is walking away
for the one who is suffering alone
for the sickness and disease we face
for me as I held my sweet Paxton’s hand until it grew cold and as I walked out of the hospital without my son…
God is good, but life is still hard and horrific at times. Through his tears, Jesus shows us it’s okay to acknowledge our hurt. He shows us it’s okay to express our emotions… emotions that He gave us. If you are hurting, grieving, doubting or wrestling, He sees you. He doesn’t expect you to be okay with sickness, heartbreak or death. He will meet you where you are and gently wrap you in His embrace. And if you need someone to weep with you on Earth, please reach out to me…I’ve gotten pretty good at it.
That’s how many days have passed since the loss of my precious Paxton. It feels weird to say that because he isn’t lost…I know exactly where he is. It also feels surreal to say that it has been that long…it seems like yesterday and decades ago at the same time.
January 25, 2023 was the date we lost him. What’s so painful about child loss is that it started with that date, but it didn’t stop with it. I have experienced that loss over and over again.
I lose him every holiday and birthday.
I lose him every time a new memory is made that he would have been a part of.
I lose him at the start of every school year. I will lose him again tomorrow as his classmates begin 8th grade and he is forever in 4th grade.
I lose him every morning when I wake up and remember he’s not here.
I lose him every night when I’m not having to sneak out of his room after he’s fallen asleep.
I was cleaning out a closet recently. I expected to find “Paxton things” but I wasn’t prepared for what I did find. I found a baggie with curls from his first haircut and a baggie with the first two baby teeth he lost. It was like I had been hit by a train. Pieces of him that were kept to be shared with his future are now pieces that painfully remind me he has no future here.
Since Paxton left, I feel like my life is marked with an asterisk. My grief doesn’t take away my joy, but it touches every part of it. For every moment, movement and memory, there’s now a footnote that says *without Paxton*. That is the hard and heavy I will carry with me the rest of my life.
Jan 25, 2023 may have bee the day I first lost Paxton…but I lose him again every day.
I lost you again today
and my heart broke anew
I found your precious curls
and baby teeth
but I don’t want them
I want you
just when I thought
the tears were done
I cried myself to sleep
the ache of missing you
has never felt so deep
the pain of losing you is heavier than before
I don’t want to do this anymore
I’m at war with grief
I’m wounded
I don’t know how to win
I feel like I make progress
then I lose you all over again
I’m weary
I don’t have the strength
I can’t see the victories in front of me
and when I think
there’s no possible way
to face another Paxton-less day
I wake up to a world that’s still without you
and beg God for help and the mercy to make it through
I can probably guess what word popped into your head when you read the title. (Chad said I used it as click bait😊) I’m sure most people think of the four letter “f” word, but I’m taking about a different word.
The word I’m writing about is not a “bad” word and it’s only three letters. However, it can cause just as much shock and harm as a curse word when it’s spoken (or implied) to grievers, especially those who have lost a child. Have you guessed it yet? It’s FIX. Grief is not a problem to be solved and pain does not have an equation that will be fully balanced until we’re in Heaven.
I understand that, as a culture, we want to fix others’ pain. I don’t like to see anyone in pain, especially people I love. We want to share the right verse, bring the right meal, send the right book, and put a time frame on healing. While those things can be encouraging (in the right moment) please don’t ever try to fix a broken heart. Because even though God is good, life is still hard.
My grief will never fully be resolved and my pain will never fully be gone on Earth. It can’t be fixed, but it can be carried. For grievers (and those walking alongside them), here are the “f” words I want to share that have helped me…face, feel, flow. I have to face my loss, I have to feel my pain and I have to learn to flow with my grief.
It sounds so simple and it’s so easy to write! But don’t let me fool you (how many “f” words can I fit in one post?)…it is anything but.
I don’t want to face the loss of my precious boy. I don’t want to feel the pain of his absence. I don’t want to learn to flow with it because I don’t want this to be my story!
Yet no matter how hard I try to ignore it, grief is always there. Thankfully, it’s no longer overwhelming on a daily basis. There are still days I want to look away, push down the feelings and pretend it’s all just a nightmare. But grief is a jealous mistress and she can only be silenced for so long.
There are days grief is more patient…
there are days grief is more persistent…
there are days grief is more painful…
but grief is always, ALWAYS present.
I’ve learned that flowing with grief means facing it and feeling it whenever it may come. Feeling grief can take on different forms. It can mean crying, screaming or laughing. It can mean backing out on a commitment or leaving an event early. It can mean taking a nap or taking a walk. It can mean looking at pictures and watching videos or shutting off screens and social media. Sometimes it can mean multiple things at once.
I was cleaning some things out of our room a few weeks ago. I found Paxton’s trach care guide as well as two folders full of his handprints and footprints that the hospital provided us. Whether I chose to face it and feel it or that day or whether I was forced to, I hugged those folders tightly to my chest, laid on the floor and cried for about an hour.
That’s how I’ve learned to manage my grief. The only way I can flow with it is to face it and feel it when it comes. There’s no fix for this. There is only faith in the Father who knows my pain, captures my tears and will one day fix it forever.
Once a month I get together with a group of precious bereaved mamas. It’s a safe space for our grief, a sacred place for our stories, and a sweet space to share our children. Recently, we were sharing pictures of us with our kids. My friend handed me a picture of her and her son and said that is the face of a mom who has not yet known sorrow.
That struck me and has stuck with me these past few weeks. I started thinking about all of the pictures I have…the ones before Paxton died and the ones after Paxton died, and I realized that there is a difference in my face. It might only be noticed by those closest to me and other grieving moms, but I definitely see it.
Don’t get me wrong, this face had known many emotions before. It had known pain and peace…heartache and happiness…sweetness and sadness…but it had not known sorrow. I didn’t even realize there was a difference until I had to bury my son.
Sadness is defined as a basic human emotion characterized by feelings of unhappiness and low mood. It is a natural, temporary response to loss, disappointment, or painful life events.
Sorrow is defined as an intense emotion of deep sadness, grief, or regret typically caused by loss, disappointment, or a sense of remorse. Unlike passing sadness, it is often a longer-term, persistent state of mental pain.
I love the Hebrew definition of sorrow. It’s the word yagah. It communicates an inward grief that drains vitality and dampens hope. It is deeper than momentary sadness, describing a sustained weight of heart that can lead to physical depletion.
In other words, sadness is an emotional state…sorrow is an ever present shadow. Sadness is experiencing a last “first”…sorrow is never having another first. Sadness is life draining…sorrow is life changing. Sadness fades…sorrow stays.
There is a company called Bridge to Book that will take your Caring Bridge site and turn it into a keepsake. It has taken me a year, but I finally had one made and I got it in the mail last Saturday. I’m so thankful I have it…I was terrified something would happen and I would lose everything, but I haven’t been able to open it yet. It’s not just a book…it’s where my story of sorrow begins.
I wish my face did not know sorrow. I wish the shadow of loss was not present in every picture. I am thankful that in the midst of sorrow, there are still moments of joy…in fact, I think giving my sorrow a voice allows me to experience joy more deeply. I’m thankful that death is not the end. I’m thankful that Jesus has my boy and one day, my sorrow will be gone forever.
Like other holidays, and really any day for that matter, I have a new perspective on Mother’s Day. For years, Mother’s Day has been complex for a lot of different reasons. I have an amazing mom and 3 beautiful kids, but there are things that are and have been hard. Since Paxton died, the complexity of this day has deepened.
It’s another day of both/and…joy and sorrow…happy and hard. This is a snippet of the Caring Bridge post I wrote the first Mother’s Day after Paxton left.
I love that there is a day to celebrate moms. I also realize that for a lot of women, Mother’s Day isn’t happy. For some it’s heartbreaking…hopeful…hollow…helpless…heavenly…hopeless…heavy…heroic…to all of you, I see you. Whether your Mother’s Day is happy or horrible, I see you.
To all my fellow moms, you are amazing. You are needed. You are loved. I pray this day is happy for you, but it’s okay if it’s not. You are still a rock star and worth celebrating.🧡
I’m guessing today is challenging for a lot of mamas. Some of you have already lost your mom. Some of you don’t have a great relationship with your mom. Some of you are struggling as a mom. Some of you are longing to be a mom. For some of you it’s multiple things or all of the above.
Whatever today holds for you, I hope you feel honored. I hope you feel seen. You are worth celebrating.
to the one who wishes her mama was near
to the one whose mama is no longer here
to the one whose mama causes harm and tears
I see you
to the one who is only a mama in her heart
to the bonus mama who plays a big part
to the struggling mama wherever you are
I see you
to the mama whose precious babe was born sleeping
to the mama who’s laughing and the mama who’s weeping
to the mama whose children have wounded her deeply
I see you
to the mama who finds it hard to let go
to the mama whose children are walking a prodigal’s road
to the mama who refuses to lose hope
I see you
to the mama who chose to relinquish her child
to the mama who puts on a brave smile
to the mama who hasn’t seen her kids in a while
I see you
to the mama who has children not hers by birth
to the mama who has babies no longer on earth
to the mama who is carrying overwhelming joy and devastating hurt
I see you
to all of you mamas I just want to say
Whether today is happy or hard, dreaded or embraced
Today is Paxton’s 14th birthday. Or should I say today would be Paxton’s 14th birthday? Child loss makes the simplest things extremely complicated. It’s the 14th year since his birth, but he’s forever frozen at the age of 10.
As a believer, I know that Paxton is in eternity. Each day that passes brings me one day closer to seeing him again, but I’m also one day further away from the boy I knew. I celebrate his birthday because I’m so glad he was born. But I hate having to celebrate with…
balloons and banners but no birthday boy
cake and candles but no cheeky smile
sweet and silly memories but no one to sing to
past pictures but no present photos
This is the fourth birthday we face without him. He would be so different and I can only imagine how he would have changed. This is what I wrote April 29, 2023…
I’ve been trying to compose this journal entry all week. However, I find myself struggling to even get out of bed. It’s like a fog has settled over me the past few days…dark and thick…silent but heavy and oppressive.
How do you celebrate the birthday of someone so young, who left too soon? How do you find joy on a day that should be filled with Dairy Queen, friends, gifts and laughter, but instead will be filled with only memories? How do you say Happy 11th Birthday to someone who is forever 10? Today, instead of making new memories, we are desperately clinging to the old, trying to honor the boy he was while grieving the man he will never become.
But, if there is anyone worth celebrating, it is my sweet Pax. He taught me so much in his 10 short years. He taught me to love life…he could find joy in the simplest of things. He taught me to love others…Paxton thrived when he was spending time with people. He taught me to love adventure…when I say Paxton was afraid of nothing, I mean that literally! He taught me to love laughter…he was always ready with a joke or silly face to make you laugh. He taught me to be strong…there was never a challenge he didn’t face head on.
So, today I will try to picture Paxton having his best birthday ever, while I mourn the empty seat next to me. I will try to find some of the joy he is immersed in while I grieve the absence of his smile. I will commit to laugh a little louder, love a little deeper and live a little brighter.
Happy Birthday baby boy. Counting the days until we can celebrate together again.
The distance between 10 year old Paxton and 14 year old Paxton is a chasm that feels vast and endless. I would give anything to cross it, even for a moment, just to see him and hear his voice one more time. A chasm is a profound, unbridgeable division and it feels like it gets bigger every day. Death is a chasm that can’t be crossed…a division that can’t be spanned in our humanness.
So, I’m thankful that there is a Cross tie…that spans the chasm of grief and joy. One that closes the chasm of death and life. I’m thankful that the Cross is a chasm conqueror. Because of the sacrifice Jesus made for me, for Paxton, and for you, one day the chasm will be closed and every day will be a glorious celebration that will last for eternity.
Since Paxton died, I have looked at and felt Easter in a different way. I now understand the pain that Mary went through as she watched her son die and I now understand that I am living in the silence of Saturday. I’ve linked my two previous Easter posts below.
This year I have another new perspective of Easter and it revolves around the word never. Throughout the Good Friday and Easter services, I could barely sing. They are services that Paxton would have attended with us, and it’s another thing that he’ll never do again. As tears of sorrow poured from my eyes, I had an image of Paxton in heaven. The tears of sorrow didn’t stop flowing, but they became mixed with tears of joy because…
Paxton NEVER again has to feel the horror and heaviness of Good Friday…
he NEVER again has to sit in the suffering and silence of Saturday…
and he will NEVER again anticipate and await Easter Sunday because ever day is Easter for Paxton!
I cannot describe how comforting that is to me. When I think back on Paxton’s life, accident, hospital stay and death, there are a few questions that can absolutely bring me to my knees.
Did Paxton know how much I loved him?
Was he scared?
Did he wonder where I was?
Was he in pain?
Did I fail him?
My mind knows the answers to those questions, but my heart aches at the thought of him feeling alone, unloved, or scared, and knowing he was in pain kills me. Then God gently comforts me and reminds me that Paxton now lives in Neverland. His home in heaven is free of all of those things. He will never again be sick, afraid, hurt or lonely. He will never again face a hard day or a dark night. Neverland is real friends…and it’s name is Heaven.
Chad and I spent last weekend at The Refuge in Hot Springs. It’s the main location for While We’re Waiting, a ministry that offers support groups and free retreats for grieving parents (www.whilewerewaiting.org). The Refuge is a sacred place where our childrens’ stories are honored, their names are spoken and our grief is gently shared. But, while the Refuge in Hot Springs is a beautiful, safe place for parents with hurting hearts, it’s heartbreaking that we need a place like that at all.
Sunrise over the Refugememorial walk at the RefugePaxton’s memorial paver
A refuge is only needed when there is danger or distress. We have to choose to seek refuge. But taking refuge in a storm does not take the storm away. Sometimes, we still get wet. Sometimes we still suffer damage. And sometimes, while our lives are spared, the landscape never looks the same.
The only true shelter in a storm isn’t a what…it’s a who. God is THE Refuge. He doesn’t take the storms away but He promises to hold us, walk with us and comfort us in their midst. In order to take refuge I have to choose to seek Him.
I can feel a storm approaching and the waters are starting to stir. One month from today is Paxton’s 14th birthday. It will be the 4th time there will be no presents to open, no one to sing to and a birthday cake that will never have more than 10 candles. May 3 is Bereaved Mother’s Day and May 10th is Mother’s Day…two more days that celebrate the beauty and the agony of being a mama to children on Earth and children in heaven.
The reality is, there is always a storm on my horizon. I have to choose to take refuge in THE Refuge every day…sometimes every hour…sometimes every breath. And while there are still storms, THE Refuge promises to hold me, walk with me and comfort me. He promises me that one day I will be in the safest place of all. One day, the damage will be restored and I will see Paxton again. One day, the Refuge will no longer be needed because THE Refuge will make all things new.
If you’ve been around church at some point in your life, you have most likely heard the song “It is Well with My Soul”. I don’t remember a time when I didn’t know the words to this song. It’s a great song to sing in four part harmony, (I love hearing my dad sing bass) and it’s a song full of truth. But, since Paxton left, I have had to ask myself is it really well with my soul?
The story behind the song is heartbreaking. Horatio Spafford was a successful attorney and real estate investor. In 1871, he lost his fortune in the great Chicago fire and his four year old son died of scarlet fever. In 1873, he sent his wife and four daughters on a trip to England thinking it would do them good to get away. He planned to join them after he wrapped up some business. Tragically, the ship his family was on sank after colliding with another vessel, and all four of his daughters were killed.
The story I’ve always heard is as he traveled to England to be with his wife, the captain showed him the spot where his daughters’ ship went down and he immediately wrote the lyrics to the song. As I researched further, I learned he reportedly said “it is well, the will of God be done” at that time, but didn’t write the actual song until three years later. That makes so much more sense to me. I was wondering how he was able to write those words in the immediate aftermath of such a staggering loss.
I believe the words of this song are true, but it doesn’t always feel that way. When I view this song through the lens of eternity, it is well with my soul. When I take my eyes off Jesus and view this song through the lens of my humanity, it is not well with my soul.
~Paxton is with Jesus – it is well with my soul
~I spent the weekend packing up Paxton’s room trying to decide what to keep and what to let go of – it is not well with my soul
~Owen and Jenna are amazing kids and bring me joy every day – it is well with my soul
~No 18 or 16 year old should ever have to see their little brother in a casket – it is not well with my soul.
~One day death will be no more – it is well with my soul
~Until then, there is pain and suffering – it is not well with my soul
~Paxton is fully healed – it is well with my soul
~My heart will ache the rest of my life for just one more of his hugs – it is not well with my soul
I’m sure Horatio Spafford knew and believed the words he would write three years after the loss of his daughters. I understand the weight it carries when people hear that he wrote it so soon after their deaths. I think it’s so much more profound that it took him three years to be able to write and sing the truth. He didn’t lose his faith in God, but his grief shaped him and took him on a journey…one of loss, pain, wrestling and trust. Because of Jesus’s sacrifice and the hope of eternity, he knew that it was well with his soul, even when things were hard.
I sat down to write this today fully prepared to talk about this song from a different angle. When I read that he actually wrote it three years after losing his daughters, it took my breath away and brought tears to my eyes, an unexpected God Kiss. I am three years into my journey…one of loss, pain, wrestling and trust. It is still hard to sing sometimes. I am still wrestling, but I have a new understanding of the song and Horatio Spafford. This life is hard. Living without Paxton is unbearable at times. Sometimes I lose sight of eternity and wonder how it could ever be well with my soul. I may not always feel the words are true, but because of Jesus’s sacrifice and the hope of eternity, I can say it is well with my soul, even when things are hard.
