How are we?

Terri asked, so I'll tell you.

How am I doing?
I always picture myself on a road. I tend to look forward, not back. And with Annie, I tend to look forward to seeing her again. That's my focus. But, as with everyone, there are triggers to grief that catch one unawares, and when that happens, I can go from fine to mush in nothing flat.


Usual conversation with any new acquaintance:
"How many children do you have?"
"Seven."
"Oh, and what are their ages?"
"29, 26, 23, 20, 18, 16."
Eyes begin to tear...
"...And our youngest, Annie, who died in March. She was almost 8."


Or when I go to the store to buy flowers for her grave:
"Is this for a special occasion?"
"Uh, not exactly. I'm putting them on my daughter's grave."
"Oh, I'm so sorry. What happened? How old was she?"
"Well, she had a brain injury when she was three...and adrenal insufficiency...and then she got the flu, and died from complications of that...she was almost eight."
"Oh, I'm so sorry."
Clerk's eyes mist over as mine do, too.


In many ways, we have been grieving for five years.
We grieved the loss of the Annie we had before her brain injury, and we grieved the post-brain-injured Annie when she died. So grief is almost a familiar friend who goes away for a few days and then comes back in and sits down for awhile. Many people describe it as waves of grief. And that has certainly been our experience. For five years.

What surprised me when she died was how much of our grief was of Annie before as well as Annie after. With severe brain injury, it's almost taboo to say how much you miss who they used to be, because after all---aren't they still alive? Aren't they right in front of you? Well, yes, their body may be. But their mind--who they were in expression and conversation--the essence of who they were--that's gone. And in Annie's case--she went from a precocious 3 1/2 year old to a 6 month old overnight. It was incredible loss. So when she died in March, it was like we lost her again.

How's Bill?

Well, right before Christmas, a client came into Bill's office and saw the picture of me holding Annie in our backyard.

"Is that your wife and little girl?"

"Oh, yes."

"Bet she's excited for Christmas to come."

"Ah, no...actually, she died in March."

Client's face falls off. Bill struggles to compose himself and move on to the business at hand.

We go to church. The pastor describes taking his blond eight year old daughter to see Cinderella. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Bill wiping his face.

Fortunately, these types of situations aren't the whole story. They are just waves that come and go.

How are the kids?
I won't identify them by name, but one still has dreams about Annie a lot:
"In my dream, I was holding her so tight and she was fighting against me 'cause she'd never let us hold her tight you know, and when I woke up, I just wanted to go back to sleep, so I could hold her again."

Another one continues to visit her grave each week.

Another one always bought Annie a stuffed toy at the Disney store every Christmas. But this Christmas, he wandered in there, looked around at all the toys he wasn't buying, and then hurried out when the tears started creeping down his face. He mentioned that again when Christmas came, how sad he was that he wasn't able to give her a Disney toy as in years past.


When talking to a friend who's experienced loss, what helps and what doesn't?

What I have found in my own family is the full range of personalities: introverts, extroverts and some in between. Some want to talk about Annie with everyone, (that would be me), and some are more private, (everyone else). So this is a common exchange with my kids:

"Mom--you didn't have to tell that clerk that Annie died."

"Yes, but she lost a child, too, and we had a heartfelt (read: teary) conversation about it."

Or from their perspective:

"So did you tell the people at Little Bit that your sister used to ride here?"

"No."

"Why don't you tell them? It'll help them know you better and why you're volunteering."

"I don't want to tell them."

Here's the deal: People grieve differently. Some want to talk about it, some don't. Just so you know, I do. I love talking about Annie, and anytime she comes up in conversation, I try to model to my kids that it is absolutely fine and appropriate to talk about her, even if there are tears involved. Because, honestly, I think some of their reluctance to talk about her is this fear of tears, and of this western phobia of showing sad emotion. But we are people who feel--Jesus wept, for crying out loud, so why can't we?

Anyway--that is the very long version of the answer to the question. We are working through it, and we appreciate your prayers to help us continue to work through it. And my hope is that this blog helps others who are working through grief and loss, too. But ultimately, my hope is in seeing Annie again. Because Jesus died for my sin, rose from the dead, ascended to heaven, and is coming again, I have the assurance that I will see her again. So I'm on that road--looking forward.

Jean

Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who according to His abundant mercy has begotten us again to a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead, to an inheritance incorruptible and undefiled and that does not fade away, reserved in heaven for you. 1 Peter 1:3-4