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.
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.
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.”
Thursday was our 26th anniversary. A lot of life has happened the last 26 years…
2 cities
2 apartments
6 houses
numerous jobs
5 pregnancies
1 birth
1 international adoption
9 foster placements
1 domestic adoption
more mistakes than I can count
more blessings than I deserve
The past three years of our marriage are in a category of their own. We never expected our marriage to be perfect or easy…and we’ve had our share of flawed and hard. We’ve also had our share of sweet and beautiful. We’ve seen each other at our best and worst. We’ve been selfless and selfish. We have seen victories and failures. We’ve lived with peace and chaos. We have agreed and disagreed. We have grieved our son in some of the same ways, but we have also grieved in very different ways.
A lot of people will say (or have been told) that the divorce rate after child loss is 80%. That’s actually not based on any study. The reality is, if a marriage was struggling before losing a child, it will most likely not survive long term.
Since Paxton died, it has been the best of times and it has been the worst of times. January 25, 2023 was the beginning of the worst three years of my life. It was also the beginning of the best three years of our marriage and it has been the best three years of Paxton’s life. I am so grateful for the best God has given us and, at the same time, I still want my boy back.
Despite everything, we have never once given up on each other. I am so thankful for the husband God blessed me with. I’m thankful for his steadfastness and strength. I’m thankful for his love and leadership. I’m thankful for his gentleness and grace. I’m thankful he’s an amazing father and so, so thankful he’s my forever.
Tonight, a lot of moms I know will be spending time with their kids as they trick or treat or attend Halloween parties. I’ll be alone.
Tonight, a lot of moms I know will be handing out candy, delighted by cute kids and crazy costumes. My front porch light will be off.
For a lot of people, tonight will be one of enjoyment, sugar overload and memory making. For me, tonight will be another night of grief, sadness overload and memories missed.
Chad is out of town and has been worried that tonight will be hard for me. He was right. This is a hard night for me. But sometimes, having a hard night can be a good thing.
Sometimes, I need to sit in the sorrow.
Sometimes, I need to hurt in the hard.
Sometimes, I need to pause in the pain.
Sometimes, I need to taste the tears.
And sometimes, I need to give in to the gravity of the loss of my precious boy.
My grief is no longer overwhelming on a daily basis. I find myself able to catch my breath and find joy between the waves. But I am not better…I am different. I am not over it…I am learning how to carry it.
I wish the biggest hurdle I faced tonight was keeping Paxton from eating too much candy. Instead, I’m facing another Holloween without him. It’s hollow because when Paxton was here, he brought the hype and hilarity to every Halloween. Now it’s just another slow, silent day.
I wrote “I only miss you” the first Halloween without Paxton. It seemed perfect to share again because I am missing him like crazy. Enjoy your kids tonight…no matter how big they are. And maybe let them have an extra piece of candy in honor of Pax.
One of the things that has surprised me about grief, especially child loss, is even simple things have become complicated.
Happy Mother’s Day!
Is it? Is it really that simple? Is it really as easy as the cards, flowers and celebration our society inundates us with?
What about the mom who no longer has a mother? What about the mom who has a strained relationship or difficult history with her mother or child? What about the mom that has suffered a miscarriage…the hopeful mom that is walking through infertility? What about the mom that relinquished her child? What about the mom who has buried a child or children?
It’s complicated.
Simple questions are now confusing mazes littered with landmines.
~How many kids do you have? How old are they?
How do I answer that? Do I say three? Do I say Paxton is 10 or 13? Do I say two on Earth and one in heaven? Do I open myself up to the follow up question of what happened? Is the person asking safe? Should I invite them into my grief garden? Will they see me and honor that sacred space or will they trample on my heart and pain? Am I dishonoring my son if I don’t share his story?
It’s complicated.
~How are you?
Do you really want to know? Are you prepared to hear the truth? Would it shock you if I said there are days I’m disappointed that I didn’t wake up in Heaven? Are you asking to be polite or are you open to embracing the answer, even if it’s not pretty?
It’s complicated.
~Are you sad your youngest is going off to college?
Isn’t the goal of parenting launching your child? Do you know what a true “last” really is? Do you know that you will experience the last of a certain stage but I am living the life of no new stages ever again?
It’s complicated.
~Should I turn on the radio or listen to music, knowing I might hear one of Paxton’s favorite songs or a song from his memorial service?
~Should I watch tv, knowing I might be blindsided by a scene that shows the sickness, injury or death of a child? Or even worse, a commercial like Life360 that has a mother glibly singing about the ways her child could die?
~Should I never go to Walmart again, knowing that an aisle, toy or snack could cause a wave of sorrow to flood my heart?
~Should I look at pictures and watch videos, knowing they could either bring me joy or heighten the loss of what will never be?
It’s complicated. I wish there were easy questions with easy answers. I wish I didn’t have to view life through the glasses of grief. I wish I didn’t have to think about purchasing spots at the cemetery to make sure we’re by our son. I wish I could yell Happy Mother’s Day to every mom I see and not worry if they really are happy.
Usually, my grief is like an ocean wave. Sometimes it softly laps at my feet, touching me with gentle sadness. Other times, it’s like an angry surf, knocking me off my feet, taking my breath away and pulling me back into the undertow of sorrow. Often, I never see the wave coming or know the intensity it holds until it hits me.
As I look toward the next few weeks, the ocean has disappeared and a grief gauntlet has taken its place. This time, I see it coming. There’s a pit in my stomach and I’m wearing a heaviness that I can’t shake. I don’t want to face the gauntlet, but I have no choice…it’s there, challenging me head on.
Tuesday, April 29 is Paxton’s 13th birthday…his 3rd birthday in heaven. Wednesday is academic signing day for our daughter Jenna, who is graduating high school next month. Friday is a tradition at our school…a day where all of the seniors are celebrated. A day when they participate in our “Warrior Walk”. The seniors line up and walk around campus, through the mass of all the other students cheering them on. I am so exited for Jenna and cannot wait to celebrate her, but I hate that her little brother will not be there to yell for (or at😜) her.
Sunday, May 4 is Senior Sunday at our church. It’s also Bereaved Mother’s Day. Two extremes in one day…the joy of honoring Jenna as she graduates and launches, and the agony she is my last senior and wasn’t supposed to be.
I have to face Mother’s Day as the last challenge in the gauntlet. I am still a mom…I’m still Owen’s and Jenna’s mom. I’m still Paxton’s mom. But, I’m not the same mom I was three years ago. I am bruised and bloodied from battle. I am weary and scarred. My faith is deeper, I hope I am more gracious, and I am learning how to carry both joy and sorrow.
There are days when I can tuck sorrow away and embrace the joy God sets before me. There are days sorrow pushes joy aside and makes me sit in and with it. There are days they have learned to coexist, but they are both my companions now…always there even when they’re not seen.
It’s the last day of spring break. I have a love/hate relationship with spring break. Prior to 2023, I loved that we didn’t have to get up and be anywhere, but I dreaded the inevitable sibling arguments, complaints of “I’m bored”, and incessant requests to go and do. An ideal spring break would consist of quiet, rest and relaxation, but anyone who has young children knows that those moments are few and far between. Since Paxton left, my love/hate relationship with spring break has changed. I still love not having to get up and be anywhere but I hate the silence.
I have never liked silence. Don’t get me wrong, I love quiet and stillness, but I need white noise, music or some other noise in the background. Silence may be the absence of physical noise, but when it’s completely silent, my mental noise volume becomes deafening. It’s in the silence that the doubts, guilt, questions and his loss become unbearable.
I tried to embrace the silence Friday, but the sound was overwhelming. All I could hear was…why didn’t I do more? what did I miss? was he scared? The loudest thought that occupied my mind, and one that has been on my mind a lot lately, is that Paxton is missing out on so many things.
I’ve been so sad thinking about all of the firsts Paxton will never experience. He’ll never have a first kiss…not that we know of anyway. I would not be surprised at all to discover he not only had a first kiss, but multiple. 😂 He never got to drive, will never go to high school, will never fall in love or have kids..he was robbed of so many things! But, the reality is, those things are nothing compared to the joy of heaven. He can’t miss out because he’s in the most perfect, beautiful, peaceful place and he is living the fullest life possible.
So I realized that my sadness is not really about what he’s missing out on…I’m sad because the world is missing out on him. As difficult as he was at times, Paxton was an amazing kid and taught me to look at and embrace life differently. He lived more life in ten years than some people will live their entire lifetime. I wish everyone could know the boy I knew…
From the beginning of this unwanted journey, there were specific things that happened, words that were said and sweet reassurances given that showed us we were loved and not alone. The picture that came to mind is of a father holding his hurt child in his lap and placing a gentle kiss on their forehead. The kiss may not take the hurt away, but it reminds the child that they are precious and held steady in their father’s arms. Any time these sweet gifts were given to us, I felt my Heavenly Father holding me tightly and comforting me with a kiss. I realized that these gifts aren’t just given in the midst of tragedy, they can be seen throughout my life if I look for them. I call these moments God kisses.
I wrote this poem in honor of my sweet boy, and I read it at his memorial service.
the God kiss (written Jan 2023)
a precious little boy, who was not ours from the start, although the first time I saw him I wanted him to be, sitting in my car in the DHS parking lot, wondering why God was asking this of me
as he grew every day, his personality started to shine, and I fell more in love with each smile, I marveled (and still do) at God’s perfect design of that silly, beautiful child
he kept us on our toes over the years, with his love for adventure and fearless heart, but he taught us so much through laughter and tears I don’t even know where to start
from dirt bikes to roller coasters, and climbing the highest tree his energy never ran out and at night when he slowed down and cuddled with me his sweetness made my heart want to shout
the mischievous twinkle in his eye was oh so cute but could make me a little bit scared, seeing his vibrant, joyful attitude he embraced life like no one else dared
his laughter was contagious, so beautiful and free, and one smile from him could brighten my day I cherish the 10 years he was here on earth with me but I’m thankful he’s with Jesus to stay
our hearts are broken, we may never understand, and our tears will continue to fall, but as I look back on this journey and the son God placed in our hands, I realize Paxton was the biggest God kiss of all
