The second year after my child died felt like a rude awakening. When you see that second year approaching, something happens. You wake up out of the fog that you didn’t know you were walking in and you are face with reality. Your child is dead.
My son, Josh, died five days before his 21st birthday. We had his funeral five days later (on his birthday) as his last birthday party, fitted with 21 balloons. Though I was in great pain, I was proud of myself for the way I was handling things. On his second birthday after his passing, a mere one year and five days after his death, my family and I went across the city spreading kindeness. What a delight it was.
However, the next day, I woke up with a weight as heavy as a ton of bricks sitting on my chest. The load was unbearable. Anxiety was heavy, and I felt like I was losing my mind. “Josh is dead!” I cried. It’s as if I’d just awoke from a horrible dream.
I called a friend how suggested counseling. That began my honest walk with grief. It was the undeniable punch in the gut; the point at which I could no longer deny the truth.
Almost every morning that year, after just a few hours of broken sleep, I’d open my eyes and remind myself that this is real. It really happened.
Here’s a glimpse into the second year after my child died.
Year 2 {The Punch} – The Second Year After My Child Died
This is part of a series of posts called A Grieving Mother’s Diary. Each post (representing a particular year) includes five excerpts I wrote during that year. May you find solace in knowing you’re not alone, Friend. Blessings to you. – Rachel
Day 370- Because of Josh {Sharing Kindness}
#because_of_josh, a sweet friend of a friend, who is fighting cancer, received a home cooked meal and lots of encouragement.
Because of Josh, a beautiful friend received flowers. She is fearfully and wonderfully made. God loves her and so do I.
Because of Josh, someone will leave the emergency room today and find an envelope filled with smiles and a little bit of cash. — Multiply that by 3. 🙂
Because of Josh, a little someone may find a glittery, light-up, bouncy ball at the park today. I hope they enjoy it.
Spreading kindness today, with joy in our hearts. ♥️
#because_of_josh my co-workers enjoyed some yummy donuts. I’m so blessed to have these people in my life. They entered my life right on time and are considered family.
Because of Josh, Greenhouse Ministries’ food pantry is a little fuller.
Because of Josh, a cashier thought he was selling a coke, but was actually blessed with a wonderful tip. (He refused and gave me the coke for free.)
Because of Josh, several thirsty people will get their next beverage of choice from the soda machine absolutely free.
Because of Josh, four friendly neighbors enjoyed fresh baked cookies. We missed most of them and later remembered it was a Wednesday night. That made me smile.
#because_of_josh four dear friends will receive tools to help them discover their purpose in Christ. They each have rededicated and/or been baptized since Josh passed.
Because of Josh, three individuals will discover a special surprise (on pg 22) while reading a book from the library.
Because of Josh a few people will get an encouraging reminder when they visit a bathroom at Taco Bell.
Because of Josh, we shared 22 acts of kindness and are pleasantly exhausted. 😊
Spreading kindness with joy in our heart. We love you Josh.
Happy Birthday.
Day 408 – The Woman’s Conference {Remember Who You Are}
“We must fight the battle on the inside, before we fight the battle on the outside” – Alex Seeley
(What you should know: I shared my story at a woman’s conference this day. It was a walk of faith. God is good.)
This morning, I cried. I cried before my feet touched the floor. I wept as tears flowed down my pillow. I cried in the shower as the warm water engulfed my weak frame. I cried.
After getting ready and shaking myself together for the day, I reached for my phone and was reminded that I was not alone as I encouraged other moms who’d recently just discovered the death of their child. “It wasn’t just me. They didn’t know either. They’re in shock too. – They’re in shock too.”
“Lord, I need you. You know where I am this morning. Remind me. I need you to remind me.”
As I stood in church this morning, listening to worship, I didn’t sing. Instead, my mantra continued, “Lord, remind me. Remind me.” Tears began to flow as I felt God’s presence remind me.
A gentle sweetness reminded me, “Rachel, I know you. I know everything about you and I LOVE you. I know every joy and every heartache; every failure and every triumph. I know you missed things. I know you weren’t perfect. That’s called being human. You make mistakes. I know all about them and I still love you. Josh isn’t mad at you and neither am I. Remember? I’ve got him and I’ve got you. Rachel, remember who you are. You don’t have to be perfect for me to use you. You’re a woman after my heart and that’s all I need.” I wiped my face, lifted my hands, and continued to listen to the praises being risen to my King. “Lord, thank you for reminding me. – I love you.”
Throughout the morning, I was blessed to hear beautiful stories of transparency and truth; stories of women learning to lean on God and learning to lean on each other. However, when I heard the words, “We must fight the battle on the inside, before we fight the battle on the outside,” I was taken back. These inside battles will eat us alive, spit us out, and come back for more the next day. But, there’s an inside work that needs to occur.
We ALL have junk. We ALL have hidden garbage. But, we have to choose to believe what God says about us. Thank you, Alex Seeley, for reminding us to remember the right things; to remember what God says about us. Sometimes, we see people doing things for God and we think they have no battles; no messes. The difference is that they cling to God’s Word, believe what God says about them, and continue to press forward as they do what God has planned for them that day.
Sometimes, this means renewing your mind daily, hourly, moment by moment. Sometimes, it means standing in a room full of hundreds of worshiping ladies as you cry out to God, “Lord, remind me.” Sometimes, it’s refusing to stop until you’ve heard his voice gently remind you. It’s refusing to believe the lies that somehow God isn’t there. It’s refusing to believe that you’re an utter disgrace; a failure. God said you are the head and not the tail. If you’ve forgotten, ask Him to remind you. He said that you are a royal priesthood. Ask Him to remind you. You are fearfully and wonderfully made. Just ask Him. He LOVES you.
Ladies, God has great things planned for you. They don’t just happen. You have to proactively ditch the lies, believe what He says about you, and move forward. David was a man after God’s own heart not because he was perfect, but because he got the inside right first. He believed God. He trusted His Word with his whole heart and obeyed. When He fell, like most of us do, he repented. It really is that simple. It’s not always easy. But, it really is simple. Allow God to remind you who you are this week. ♥️
Day 465 – I Can’t Fix This {Admitting My Humanity}
No matter how many answers I gather, no matter how many places I look, I can’t fix this.
Last year, I dropped to my knees, at the sound of this song. I lifted my hands in surrender and worship, and I offered my broken heart to the Lord. There on the stage, in front of all my son’s visitors, his mother cried. I prayed, tried my best to understand, and gave the only thing I had to give to the Lord… my broken heart.
Yet, a year after Josh’s funeral, here I am. Standing here with my tattered heart bleeding in the comfort of my own hands. My knees wobble beneath the weight. My unlaced shoes are worn and straggly from running to and fro attempting to fix this blob in my hands. The blood seeps through my fingers as I search frantically for needle and thread. Just one answer, please? A band-aid, anyone? Please tell me what happened. What did you do?! How did we get here? Please! My heart can’t take much more. Please. Please fix this.
Laying in the silent darkness, my humanity encroaches in. The numbness on my face says it all… I can’t. I can’t fix this. No matter how many answers I gather, no matter how many places I look, I can’t fix this. I can’t erase that day. I can’t restart his beating heart. — But this thing. This thing I’m scattering around with isn’t his at all. For his has been renewed. Renewed by my savior. This bleeding heart is mine. It’s mine. — How did I get here?
So… Josh, here I am… your mother, humbly acknowledging that I can’t. I can’t fix this. I can’t change this and I’m so, so sorry. — But, one thing I can do? I can try, each day, to offer my broken heart to the only one who can. So, take me to the King. I don’t have much to bring. My heart is torn to pieces. It’s my offering.
Lord, today, on Christmas Eve, I remember your loss. I remember your sacrifice. I remember your holiness and I remember your victory. Lord, today, I look at my hands… scarred, bruised, blood-stained, and I remember that you already paid the price. So, here I am. No longer on stage. It’s just me and you. I’m lifting my hands in surrender and worship and I’m offering my broken heart back to you.
In the morning… on sweet Christmas Day… when I wake up and am ominously aware that my son did not, I will give my broken heart to you.
In the shower, for which always seems like a million tomorrow’s alone within the small confines of a memory filled vault, I will give my broken heart to you.
As I pass by the Christmas tree, feeling the emptiness of all the missing gifts, I remember the gift I promised to offer.
I’ll remind myself that I’m only human and so was he. I’ll remember how you mend the hearts of the broken. You capture each tear and redeem their hurts, allowing them to share redemption’s story like no others can. Yes, you’re the only one who can mend this broken heart.
I wished it happened overnight. I wish it happened instantly. But, I know the truth. It’s a step and a reminder. A step of courage, followed by a reminder of your Word. You just keep walking… one step in front of the other.
This Christmas, as I offer my heart back to you, I allow my wobbly knees to falter beneath me. I fall and I remove my unlaced, worn shoes. And, I worship. Take me to the King.
**I played this song at Josh’s funeral last year.**
Day 530 – My Grief Moment {The Little Things That Remind You That You’re Not the Same}
Grief moment – These quick moments remind you that something’s different. You’re different.
Almost 500 shares. Over 700 responses and not a sad one. I have to remind myself that there was a time I used to think this was funny.
Day 544 – I See Beautiful People {What Pain Has Given Back}
My season of grief has slowed me down enough to look beyond myself; look beyond disappointment and reach for solidarity in a world that’s different than the day I woke up that warm September day.
Lord, thank you for allowing me to see the pain of others. The pain I failed to see, failed to feel, failed to comfort is now evident when I glance across my sphere of influence. When I take the time to truly listen, see, and hear… almost inevitably I sense pain that you want to heal. I sense beautiful people wanting to be heard, acknowledged, and comforted.
My season of grief has slowed me down enough to look beyond myself; look beyond disappointment and reach for solidarity in a world that’s different than the day I woke up that warm September day. That solidarity; the thing that appears to never change is the need for a friend. The need to be heard. The need for comfort. It crosses all barriers. And, in a world of fancy social media facades, it’s needed more than ever.
Lord, thank you for taking this shy, timid girl and showing her how to be transparent and in doing so opening the door for people to be transparent with her. Thank you for tearing down the stumbling block my false perfection was and instead revealing what it looks like to press in, to walk forward… stumbling along the way when my wobbly legs are telling me to stop. I’m so glad I didn’t stop! I’m so glad that peace is flowing over me this morning. But, more than anything, I’m thankful for the people I’ve met on this journey.
I’m thankful for hugging the necks of strangers and developing care and concern for them. I’m thankful for the ability to comfort people miles away who were longing to find someone who understood. I’m thankful for praying with people in local gas stations. I’m thankful for care packages sent. I’m thankful I’m different. Thank you, Lord.
Day 664 – Ruminations {The Other Side of the Smile}
“You feel you’ve failed everyone, including your child.”
(To understand this posts, you must know that Mike is my husband, Josh’s stepdad. Doug was Josh’s father. Doug died a year and three months before Josh died.)
About a month ago, Mike got rid of Doug’s mattress. No one needed it. It was just there. There like so many other things in my home that no longer have a purpose. I found a pair of Josh’s underwear in the wash last week. Don’t ask me why. It just happens sometimes. It’s like the sock that goes missing for a year and somehow reappears. His mail is discarded when we get it and sometimes people still ask how he’s doing.
But, one day last month, it was Doug’s mattress day. Mike took it away. I thought to myself, if Doug knew. If Doug were here when Josh died, he would kill me. He would wrap his hands around my neck and kill me. Slowly strangle me to death… until he remembered there were others involved. And, he would kill them too. He would kill us all.
But, then I remember that cool morning in July. After a sleepless night, I crawled out of my makeshift bed in my home state. Somehow, at a groggy four in the morning, I found myself at Doug’s parents house. I slowly climbed atop their picnic table and allowed the rough, splintered surface to brush against my cheek as I laid down. Tears streamed down my face. Then, it all comes full circle.
Doug won’t kill me. Doug’s dead. I look at the infamous red couch; Josh’s couch that was really Doug’s couch, and I remember Doug’s dead.
Doug, I can’t put into words how sorry I am. I don’t know how this happened; how I lost the rest of you… your legacy. I’m so very sorry.
**Explanation**
When you lose a child, few understand the amount of immense guilt that is felt. You can’t look at yourself without feeling the guilt of not protecting your child. You feel you’ve failed everyone, including your child. In reality, Doug wouldn’t have killed me. He would have been just as broken as me. But, that’s not what your mind tells you. It’s playing the blame game. The guilt trip.
These feelings are always there. I’m just much better at combating them. When you lose a child, for a while it’s like living in two dimensions. You’re functioning in the real world, having conversations, laughing, cooking, watching tv. But, there’s a constant dialogue running in your head, “I should have done this. What if I’d done that. Doug would kill me. I can’t believe this. What was he doing the day before? Why didn’t I notice that earlier? I can’t believe this. Doug would kill me.”
It’s there all the time. It’s amazing that bereaved parents can even hold a conversation. But, you have to learn to speak truth to these thoughts. That doesn’t mean your reality changes. It really stinks. Josh is gone and so is his father. His uncle is gone that spent so much time with him.
That’s the reality. I can’t change it, but I can change how I handle my reality. I choose to believe God’s word. This is not all for naught. I know it’s working patience, faith, and character in me. God promises that this is a light affliction. It’s small compared to heaven, grace, and eternity.
We’ve just gotta keep on moving forward. It doesn’t have to be okay or perfect. Life seldom is. But, we can have joy and peace, even in the darkest of times. Renewing your mind is not instantaneous. It takes hard work and practice. Whatever it is. God’s grace is sufficient. His love covers a multitude of sins. You see… God reminded me that he knows absolutely everything about me. He knew what mistakes I would make before I made them and He still loves me. The same holds true for you.♥️
So much more happened the second year after my child died. (This post was just a tiny glimpse.) I racked my mind with questions. I apologized to Josh. I got help. I learned to lean. The following year, I began to walk.
© Rachel Blado www.OnTheWayToWhereYoureGoing.com All rights reserved.
