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
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.
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.
I wrote the title to this post on October 1. As I’ve been thinking through it the past few days, I started questioning myself, wondering if “I died too” was too blunt…too harsh. I’ve never been one to sugarcoat things though and the reality is walking the road of child loss can be unpleasantly rough or jarring to the senses which are the definitions of harsh. It can also be brutal, heavy, tough, painful and excruciating which are all synonyms of harsh, so I chose to leave it as is.
It has been three years since my baby left this earth…THREE YEARS. It’s been 1,095 days since I held my sweet boy as he met Jesus. Three years of quiet, heartache, wrestling and learning to hold joy in one hand and sorrow in the other. Three years of figuring out how to face the next day…how to take the next breath.
Paxton wasn’t the only one that died January 25, 2023…the person I was died too. Learning to live life as a bereaved mom has changed me.
~I didn’t have much of a filter before, but it’s completely gone now. Life is too short and too important to not say what I mean, even if it’s hard to say or hard to hear.
~I find it hard to smile in pictures now…especially ones with the kids. I am so proud of Owen and Jenna. They have brought me so much joy but it’s a constant battle between wanting nothing more than to authentically smile in pictures with them and knowing there will be no more pictures with Paxton.
~I see things through a different lens…I know things I wish no one ever had to know or experience. I know what a real “last” is.
~My relationship with Jesus has changed. I have known Him as my savior and friend. I now know Him as the Son of Suffering…the One who meets me in the trenches, who embraces me as I wrestle and who gently and graciously makes room for my grief.
~My focus is more eternal. I have never longed for heaven more. I was supposed to live the rest of my life with Paxton. It’s a small comfort that he lived the rest of his life with me. What brings me hope, and keeps me going, is knowing I will have eternity with him. I wonder if Jesus will be the first to embrace me and will then reunite me with my son or if Paxton will be the first to embrace me and excitedly introduce me to the Son. Either way, I long for that moment more every day.
There has been beauty raised from the ashes in this journey. There has been good that we have seen, peace that we have felt and joy we have experienced. But the ashes aren’t gone, this is still hard, and I will never be the same. The new me is still being formed. What hasn’t changed is holding on to the promise of Revelation 21:3-4 (NLT)
3 I heard a loud shout from the throne, saying, “Look, God’s home is now among his people! He will live with them, and they will be his people. God himself will be with them. 4 He will wipe every tear from their eyes, and there will be no more death or sorrow or crying or pain. All these things are gone forever.”
This was our third Christmas without Paxton. When I woke up Thursday morning, I felt a heaviness, which is not abnormal…but this year my mind went immediately to Mary.
I was thinking about the song “Mary, Did You Know?”. If you’re not familiar with it, the song is asking Mary if she knew all of the things Jesus would do and miracles He would perform. When the angel, Gabriel, appeared to Mary to tell her she would bear a son, he said:
“…Do not be afraid, Mary, for you have found favor with God. And behold, you will conceive in your womb and bear a son, and you shall call his name Jesus. He will be great and will be called the Son of the Most High. And the Lord God will give to him the throne of his father David, and he will reign over the house of Jacob forever, and of his kingdom there will be no end.” (Luke 1:30-33 ESV)
Just the appearance of the angel and his announcement that she would bear a son told Mary her baby boy would be special. While she may not have known Jesus would walk on water or heal the blind, she did know that the baby she carried was the fulfillment of God’s promises to save His people. What I’ve been “pondering in my heart” the past few days is this…did she know he would die?
I don’t think she did…especially as she held him in her arms after he was first born. She may have known he would suffer, but I don’t think his death ever crossed her mind. A dear friend explains things this way. We all expect to bury our parents. We also say “until death do us part” when we get married, knowing one of us will have to bury the other. What we never do is gaze into our children’s eyes and picture them dying before us. I know I never did. That is the crushing weight of child loss. In fact, I remember talking about child loss years ago and stating I don’t think I could survive it. That same dear friend, who has been missing her sweet Connor for almost 17 years now, also says “you don’t know what you don’t know”.
Oh how I wish I didn’t know the things I do. I would give anything to be able to kiss Paxton’s face one more time…to have him climb in bed with me in the middle of the night, grab my head and press his cheek to mine. Never once did I think I’d be walking this journey. Just like Mary, I didn’t know.
What I do know is because Mary held Jesus, I will get to hold Paxton again. Because Mary said “I am the Lord’s servant…may your word to me be fulfilled” (Luke 1:38 NIV), I will get to worship with Paxton in heaven. And because Mary watched her son die, my son gets to live and I’ll spend eternity with him.
When I was 19 weeks pregnant with our oldest son, Chad and I went on a cruise. After we boarded, we were told we’d be leaving later than scheduled due to weather. We toured the ship, completed our muster drill and had dinner. When we went to bed, we were still in the Gulf of Mexico enjoying smooth waters.
When we woke up the next morning, we were in the Atlantic and our smooth sailing was over. We were going “around” Hurricane Rita, but even 250 miles away she was causing some crazy waves. We made our way to the dining area, but I was so sick I could barely make it to the closest bathroom. My only thought was to head back to our room, get in bed and sleep until the cruise was over, but I had no idea how that would happen. Then someone told me to focus on the horizon…they said even when the waves are rough and the ship is rolling, the horizon never moves. Surprisingly, it worked. Focusing on the horizon did not calm the ocean or make the ship stop rocking, but it brought me peace and settled me in the middle of the hard.
I’ve often used waves and the ocean as a way to describe my grief. I think the memory of that cruise is a perfect way to describe the journey we’ve been on the past three years.
When Paxton died, it was like we had just boarded the ship. The seas seemed calm (manageable) as we completed the initial “tour and drills” of child loss…meeting with the funeral director, choosing a casket and planning Paxton’s visitation and memorial service.
However, the day after all of that was over, I woke up to the roughest seas I’ve ever faced. We weren’t close to a hurricane, we were right in the middle of it. I was being tossed about. I was sick (both physically and emotionally) and all I could think about was getting back in bed and sleeping until it was over, but I had no idea how that would happen.
Unfortunately, this journey will never be over. But, like the cruise, if I focus on Jesus, I can find peace, joy and comfort during the pain. There are still rough waters…some days are more turbulent than others. Focusing on the horizon doesn’t take the grief or pain away. It does remind me that the one who created the horizon also created the waves and promised to hold me through them.
When Paxton was in the hospital, I would stay with him during the day and Chad would stay with him at night. Every morning on my way there, I would listen to worship music. One morning, the song that resonated with me was “Oceans” by Hillsong. Especially the part that says:
And I will call upon Your Name And keep my eyes above the waves When oceans rise My soul will rest in Your embrace For I am Yours and You are mine
Hours later, a tech came in to perform an EKG. Paxton was asleep and lights were low so we didn’t talk much. Before he started putting the leads on Paxton, he turned some music on his phone. As he laid his phone down “Oceans” started playing. What a God kiss to know that it was no coincidence that a tech I had never seen before would feel led to not only play worship music, but would also choose that song.
I love being by the ocean. I marvel at its vastness and the sound of the waves brings peace. But, I can see the storm coming. It’s been almost three years since we began this fight. It’s been 1,041 days since I last kissed my sweet boy’s face. The hurricane is just as strong as it was that first day. I miss Paxton more every day and the pain has not gone away.
Just as I learned to focus on the horizon to keep myself steady on that cruise, I’m begging for help from the horizon maker to help me focus on Him and keep me from going under whenever the waves come. I’m pleading for Him to hold my head above water because I can’t do it in my own strength. The waves are still there. The ship still rocks. And sometimes I take my eyes off the only one who can get me through. But the most beautiful and comforting thing of all is He never moves, no matter where I look or what I do.
I took two years of Spanish in high school. I also took one semester of Spanish in college. I can speak and understand some Spanish, but only un poco. I have never been bilingual…until now.
Since Paxton left, I have become fluent in a new language. Unfortunately, it’s not one of the Romance languages. It’s also not a language I chose to learn and one I never wanted to speak. It’s the language of lament.
The dictionary defines lament as a verb meaning to mourn aloud: wail.
Mark Vroegop, author of Dark Clouds Deep Mercy, defines lament as “a prayer in pain that leads to trust”.
My definition of lament is:
a LAnguage MEaNT for suffering.
There is no other language that describes the angst that comes from having your child’s birth certificate and death certificate in the same place.
There is no other language that describes the ache of not only missing what was, but missing what should be.
There is no other language that describes the anguish of never being able to hug your child or hear their voice the rest of your life.
There is no other language that describes the agony of holding your child in your arms as his heart stops beating.
Often, the language of lament is not expressed through words. This picture of Paxton is a perfect example. You can see and feel the lament on his face. He broke his teeth doing a back flip at the pool. He wasn’t in pain…he was lamenting the fact his teeth were broken, but he was really lamenting because I told him he couldn’t get gold teeth. 😁
Wailing, screaming, wrestling, raging and sobbing are some ways that lament is spoken without words. Lament is needed. Lament is necessary. Lament is Biblical.
Biblical lament is trusting that God is good while acknowledging some things are not. Biblical lament is taking your complaints, your sorrows, your anger…whatever emotion you are experiencing…to Jesus without making it look or sound pretty. Biblical lament is wrestling with God in your suffering knowing some things will never be made right this side of heaven.
One of the best ways to support someone that is grieving, is to learn the language of and lean into lament. After my fourth miscarriage, a good friend said “if it’s any comfort, I’m mad at God for you too”. There is nothing more freeing than understanding lament is not sin. There is nothing more comforting than knowing Jesus identifies with us in our suffering. There is nothing more hopeful than knowing the Holy Spirit intercedes for us when all we can mutter are groanings too deep for words (Romans 8:26).
I wish I didn’t know this language. I wish I didn’t have to lean into lament. It’s a language I was forced to learn, and I’ll speak it the rest of my life.
