Comfort For Those Who Grieve

Like many of you, I spent much of yesterday reading, listening and watching as details of the evil done at Sandy Hook Elementary were reported on the news. Having lost a child, I mentally compared their loss to my own. Isn't that what we all do? What would I do in that situation? How would I feel? 

I have to say that the one thing that kept coming to mind is how tortuous it would be to know that my child's body was in there, and I couldn't be with them to hold them, touch them, and comfort myself by comforting their body one last time. Even in death, you want to be close to your little one. They may be gone, but their hands, their little toes--you want to etch them in your memory so you never forget. It grieves me that these families were denied this, and that what memories are seared into their minds are so painful. I pray for healing of their hearts and minds.

I mourn for those mothers, fathers, brothers and sisters. They are 24+ hours into a dark tunnel that won't have light in it for a long time. They have suffered an amputation in their families. Their child's absence will be felt in innumerable ways, for as long as they live.

The empty chair at the table.
The missing smile in family photos.
The car rides where their child's laughter is only a silent echo.
The name on the insurance card of one who no longer requires checkups.
The bed that remains perfectly made, with favorite toys waiting motionless on the pillow for a child who will never play with them again.
The gifts that will sit unopened under the tree.

Grief will lay heavy on these families for a long time, like an unwelcome, suffocating blanket.

What can help? What can restore hope to these families whose loved ones have been violently torn away from them?

First, I think it's good to acknowledge that although there are many similarities to how people grieve, no one's grief is the same as anyone else's, and frankly, no one's is better or worse. Your grief is yours. It's your loss, and you feel it in every wretched detail. So although it's not good to compare grief, there are similarities that can serve as guides along the way for someone new to grief.

Here are a few things that helped me:

1. Resolve the Why question. Some people struggle with why? and some don't. For those who do, I'd recommend the book I've talked about here before, "If God is Good: Faith in the Midst of Suffering and Evil," by Randy Alcorn. A book especially helpful, I think, to address the evil perpetrated upon these kids and teachers at Sandy Hook. The bottom line is, some things transcend why, because there is no good reason someone would do what that person did yesterday. So really, why isn't a good question. What answer would begin to adequately explain why? It would be an offense to the memory of those killed to say that this happened for such and such a reason. There is no reason--it was evil, plain and simple.

2. Where was God? Often the question why did this happen? is followed by where God was when it happened? It comforts me to know that God saw it and He hates it. In fact, that's the reason Jesus came to earth--to conquer the evil that has a strangle-hold on us and our world. Jesus was tortured, murdered, died on the cross, and rose from the dead, conquering Satan, sin and death. He is coming again to judge the living and the dead, and those who believe He died for their sins will be forgiven and saved from God's wrath against evildoers. So to answer the question "Where was God?" God was there, and He is coming again. And the shooter at Sandy Hook is at this moment receiving just punishment for the evil he has done.

3. Where is God now? This is the most important question, I think, and the one that will give them the most comfort in the days ahead. For us, God demonstrated His comfort through the people He sent us in those early days after Annie died. People who brought food to us, who sent us cards and flowers, people who came by to give a strong hug. Friends who called to invite me to coffee or lunch, or who came to dig weeds in our yard. Friends who e-mailed. God was near to us in our grief through His people.

And for us, when the calls from friends faded away, God continued to comfort in unexpected ways:

~~The kindness of a clerk tenderly wrapping a bouquet to be placed on her grave: "How's this? Pretty pink for a pretty princess."

~~A breathtaking rainbow over the cemetery to remind us that God keeps His promises, and we will see Annie again.

~~And dreams--like the one I had last night. I don't remember if I've ever dreamed of Annie since she died. But after yesterday's news, all the memories of Annie's death came right up from where I'd buried them the last time. And God gave me a dream about her. I dreamed that Annie talked to me again.

I was helping her clean up her toys, and was singing the clean-up song, to which she chimed in, "Everybody do your share!" And how amazed I was that she could talk again, and I thought to myself: it's probably because we've taken her off a lot of her seizure medicine recently...

After I woke up, I thought how comforting it is to know that Annie does talk again now, and she doesn't take medicine anymore!

I pray that thoughts like these would comfort the moms and dads of Newtown now and through their days, months and years of grief.

Dear Lord, be with those who mourn tonight. Heal their broken hearts and bind up their wounds. May the sweet memories of their loved ones replace the painful memories of the last two days. And be with them through the loving acts of friends who will weep with them as they weep. Amen.

Jean

Behold, the virgin shall conceive and bear a son, and they shall call his name Immanuel, which means God with us." Matthew 1:23

Poppie

Annie's grandfather, George William Sullivan, affectionately known as "Poppie," passed away on August 23rd. He was 89 years old. Married Grandmommie right before he went off to war in 1943. Our Miss Annie was his youngest grandchild, although he had been collecting quite a few great grandchildren in these last few years.

Poppie was born in Missouri, so that's where he was buried last Saturday--beside his infant daughter who died at birth in 1947. My husband, Bill, and assorted siblings and relatives stood half under the awning, half in the rain and watched the military honor guard present the flag to his mother. A handful of elderly Navy vets came to pay their respects too.

Poppie liked See's Candy, Sharp's non-alcoholic beer and Jeopardy. And although he'd never admit it, he also liked the hugs and kisses he got from his kids and grandkids in his later years.

He said in the ER that the most important thing was to die be at home with Almeda, his wife of 69 years.

We will miss his crotchety old self.

Jean

A Perfectly Pink Party

Thanks, everyone, who joined in to celebrate Annie's first birthday in heaven. Between facebook friends, AIU friends, family and friends, school friends and friends from MH Kids--we were overwhelmed with PINKNESS!

Here's a (growing) list of the things people did in memory/honor of Miss Annie:

We wore Pink: Many friends at Northlake, Forest View Elementary, Mars Hill Kids Ministry, (thanks David!) Erica, Ty'nLorraine, Grace'nAileen, Andy'nNaomi, Princess Madeline, Nicole'nCraig, and many friends from AIU.

We planted something Pink: Cindy, Andrea, Uncle Dan, Rebecca & Linda, Caitlyn--and Pam, who wore pink gloves while planting pink ranunculus!

We sent a Pink balloon to Annie: Ben, Peter, Andy, Naomi, David, Jack, Jessica, Olivia, Mommy & Daddy


We gave books: Jackson gave "Heaven, God's Promise to Me," to the kid's ministry at NL; Paulette gave Brown Bear, Brown Bear to three elementary schools in Eatonville

We made/bought Pink cupcakes: Grace'nAileen, Whitney, Gretchen, Jackie, Jennifer M, Jennifer K, Kimberly...and gave them to our local fire station for AI Awareness: Amy & company, Becky & company, Laura & friends

Thank you all for joining in this fun celebration to remember Annie. And thanks to you who blessed us with prayers and flowers and cards--I am giving you all a big hug right now!

Jean

PS. If I forgot your name on any of these lists, e-mail me & I'll edit!

Remembering Annie on March 25th

I got a card in the mail a couple of days ago from my niece, Lorraine, reminding me that she remembers what's coming up next Sunday: Annie's first birthday in heaven. Hmm, first birthday in heaven sounds so much nicer than the first anniversary of her death. I'll stick with that one.

As I've been thinking about what our family should do that day, I came up with 8 ways to honor Annie's memory. Then I had another idea: if you knew Annie and felt inclined, you can do one of these things, too!

1. Wear something pink.
2. Plant something pink.
3. Buy a pink balloon, write a message to Annie and let it go up to heaven where she can read it.
4. Make pink cupcakes.
5. Buy Heaven, God's Promise for Me, and donate it to the kid's ministry of your church.
6. Donate any Dr. Seuss book, or Brown Bear, Brown Bear to your local elementary school.
7. For you big spenders, donate an IPad to your local school's special ed program. Nonverbal kids like Annie need easy ways to communicate, and IPads make this happen.
8. Hug your kids and thank God every day you get to enjoy them this side of heaven.

And for those of you who have lost loved ones, post a comment about how you honor their memory on anniversary days. Then maybe we'll snag your idea, too.

Jean

What to Do for a Mother who Mourns

Lana asked me to share what my friends came up with at our mom's gathering regarding what to do for a mother--or for that matter, anyone--who grieves. Here are some of our thoughts:


Be there and listen.  
Listen to the story of what happened, without interrupting. Depending on your relationship, just going over to the house and sitting there may be the best thing. If they have 103 people who have already descended on their house, maybe just showing up for a quick hug would be appropriate. But being there and listening was a big one for our group.

Do something.
Don't ask "What can I do?" or, "Call me if you need anything." Instead, say, "I'd like to do ______ on this____ day. Would that help?" Think about how your gifts intersect with their needs. Can you cook? Do yard work? Babysit the other kids or take them out for ice cream? Clean their house? Give money? If you are an organizer, can you call people and organize meals or a yard cleanup or a house cleaning? Be bold and do it!

Remember them. 
After all the friends and family go away and the person is left with an empty house, remember them with cards or e-mails. Go out to coffee with them. Pray for them. Drop flowers off on their doorstep, like one of my sweet anonymous friends did just recently--what a comfort it is to know that people remember and care!

Talk about their loved one. 
Say the child's name. Remember stories about them and don't be afraid to tell them. Get over the fear of tears. Harriet Schiff, author of The Bereaved Parent says, "The reality is that we don't forget, move on, have closure, but rather we honor, we remember, and incorporate our deceased children into our lives in a new way. In fact, keeping memories of your loved one alive in your mind and heart is an important part of your healing journey."

What not to say:

God must have needed an angel. All things work together for good. Time heals all wounds. Count it all joy. They were too good for this earth. Now you have an angel watching over you. At least you have other kids. Have you thought of adopting? Do you have a pet?

If you have just lost a child, clichés and spiritualizing don't help. You just want your kid back. The fact that you may have other kids doesn't make it all better, it just means you have their grief to deal with too. And the pet remark? It took awhile for us to get up off the floor when we heard that one. 

Instead, say:

I'm so sorry. I don't know what to say.

You really don't need to say anything. We can be so afraid of silence, but the reality is you don't need to fill up space with words. Sometimes words just don't do justice to the gravity of the loss. So just give them a hug and tell them you're sorry. Then be there for however long they need you.

A few parting thoughts...

Don't assume that the person will be crying 24/7 for X number of months. There will be times of tears, and times of laughter now and throughout their lives, and often it will be a combination of both! So let them show you what's appropriate--follow their lead. The verse Romans 12:15, "Rejoice with those who rejoice and weep with those who weep," is so appropriate in knowing how to help a person who is grieving.

Lastly, don't avoid people who are grieving, because you are uncomfortable or don't know what to say. You've read this whole post, so now you know what to say and what not to. You know what to do and what not to. Your presence will be a gift they will never forget. And if you do these things, guess who will be right there when you lose someone close to you?

Jean

When we honestly ask ourselves which person in our lives mean the most to us, we often find that it is those who, instead of giving advice, solutions, or cures, have chosen rather to share our pain and touch our wounds with a warm and tender hand. The friend who can be silent with us in a moment of despair or confusion, who can stay with us in an hour of grief and bereavement, who can tolerate not knowing, not curing, not healing and face with us the reality of our powerlessness, that is a friend who cares.   -Henri Nouwen 

What happens when 7 moms who've lost children come together for a weekend of sharing

Thank you for your prayers for my friends and me this past weekend--it was cathartic to recount stories, cry and pray with other mothers who have suffered the death of a child. Like I said in my previous post, we all knew each other from a church Bill and I attended years ago, and have reacquainted through Facebook. I was sitting there one night in December looking on FB, counting up all the women from the church who had lost children, and just felt God saying, "You guys need to get together, and we can make this happen."

The Lord brought together the details of gathering us all--two of the moms from out-of-state--and provided a warm, hospitable place at Ocean Shores to meet (thank you, Pam!). We talked through a series of questions designed to help us reflect on the details of what happened, how it affected our marriages, families, and relationship with Jesus. We also discussed what we would say to a newly bereaved mother--and what we wouldn't!

We also spent a fair amount of time eating too much, laughing, singing worship songs led by one of the moms, and dodging the waves on the beach. It was a good, fun, and healing weekend on multiple levels.

Thanks again for praying--God was there with us.

Jean

You now have a child among the angels--to whom we will soon go. So short is life that our wounds are healed almost as soon as they begin to bleed. We part, and so soon meet again. ...To you it must be a sharp cut--but our Lord has an almighty salve.  Charles Spurgeon

Missing my little pink Valentine

February 2011

I took this picture on February 18th--the day before we took Annie to the hospital last year. Remembering the events that happened through February and March of last year are hard. It is a constant discipline to stay focused on the future--heaven--and not keep ruminating on the "what ifs" of the past.

Also, if you think of it this weekend, please pray for me and five friends of mine who have lost children--we're getting together to share our stories, relax, pray and enjoy a couple of days with other moms who miss their kids. Some background: we all went to the same church years ago--and have recently reconnected through Facebook. Some of us haven't seen each other in over ten years, so we're looking forward to this reunion--and also the heavenly one to come.

Thanks for your prayers,

Jean

Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen. Hebrews 11:1

Five Years Ago Today...

Life as we knew it changed forever. We woke up in the morning to a little girl who was in the middle of an adrenal crisis: blue, postured, lifeless eyes staring straight ahead--it's a memory that I would like to forget, but never will.

What do you do when the future you envisioned suddenly changes?

For us, we desperately wanted to return to how things used to be. We prayed for Annie to be completely healed. We worked hard to help her recover her lost functions of eating, walking, talking, thinking. And over the next four years, she did make progress, but never walked independently again, never held our hand again, never sang a song again and never said Mommy again.

Sometimes the future you envisioned disappears, and a new reality takes its place. It often isn't something you embrace--you want to run away from it. You want what used to be. But it's gone and will never come back.

What do you do?

There's a story in the Bible of the wise man and foolish man. The wise man built his house upon the rock. The foolish man built his house on the sand. The wind beat down on both of them. The wise man's house stood. The foolish man's house collapsed.

Winds blow. Times of testing, illness, job loss, death--bad things happen to us all. Annie's brain injury was absolutely the worst thing we'd ever faced. But because Jesus is our Rock, He was underneath us, holding us together when our world fell apart.

Over many long months, we ever so slowly began to appreciate things Annie could do, rather than continue mourning the things she couldn't do. We began enjoying quiet times snuggling with Annie while reading Brown Bear--for the tenth time that day. Walks around the neighborhood while she looked at the trees and dogs and cars driving by. We looked for ways she could enjoy this new life, the one with very restricted boundaries.

We made new friends. New doctors, new therapists, new teachers, new nurses. New little friends who couldn't walk so well or who didn't talk or had seizures--just like Annie. We became members of a new community of parents who spoke our language of AFO's, IEPs, g-tubes, seizure meds, and XL pull-ups. It wasn't a community any of us would have volunteered to join, but since we had all been drafted, we were a team. A family. We had each other's backs.

Then the life we had adjusted to and came to appreciate abruptly ended.

When Annie died, there were no more "yo-ees," no more snuggle times with Daddy while watching the Packers, no more walks around the neighborhood with Jack, reading times with Olivia, morning-getting-ready-for-school times with David. No more Sunday School. No more bedtime prayers.

Now, each time we think about all that we've lost, we also remember all that Annie has gained. It is the only thing that comforts us. We know she is well and able again to walk, talk, eat, and sing, and we try to focus on the day when we again hear her say "Mommy! Daddy!" So we don't grieve as those who have no hope--but we do grieve.

In looking back on this day, five years ago, the future we envisioned was obliterated, and in it's place God brought something else. Sometimes what we're assuming our future to be changes drastically and suddenly. What do we do when that happens? What do you do?

Jean

Though you have made me see troubles, many and bitter,
you will restore my life again; from the depths of the earth
you will again bring me up. Psalm 71:20

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

Annie's Favorite Christmas Carol

I'm sure I've already told you this story, but it's Christmas, so I'll tell you again. When Annie was little--before her brain injury--her favorite Christmas Carol was Hark the Herald Angels Sing. She listened to it on the Charlie Brown Christmas CD we had, and loved to sing along, especially at the end where she would strain to reach the high notes of "Glory to the newborn King!"

After her brain injury, we would play the Charlie Brown music on the Ipod, and she would turn her head to the music and just light up like a Christmas tree when she heard this song. Now she gets to sing along with the angels. And I imagine she no longer has trouble hitting the high notes.

Hark the Herald Angels Sing

Hark, the herald-angels sing
glory to the new-born King,
peace on earth, and mercy mild,
God and sinners reconciled.
Joyful, all ye nations, rise,
join the triumph of the skies;
with the angelic host proclaim,
'Christ is born in Bethlehem.'
Hark, the herald-angels sing
glory to the new-born King.

Christ, by highest heaven adored,
Christ, the everlasting Lord,
late in time behold him come,
offspring of a Virgin's womb.
Veiled in flesh the Godhead see:
hail, the incarnate Deity,
pleased as man with man to dwell,
Jesus, our Emmanuel.
Hark, the herald-angels sing
glory to the new-born King.

Hail, the heaven-born Prince of Peace:
hail, the Sun of Righteousness.
Light and life to all he brings,
risen with healing in his wings.
Mild he lays his glory by,
born that man no more may die,
born to raise the sons of earth,
born to give them second birth.
Hark, the herald-angels sing
glory to the new-born King.


Charles Wesley   (1707-1788)

Gift from Annie

This was the first thing Bill pulled out of the box of Christmas decorations this year. It's the gift she made (with lots of help!) at school last year:

If you're a teacher and ever wonder if helping your students make gifts for their parents is worth it, you need wonder no more.

Christmas in Heaven

I see the countless Christmas trees
around the world below
With tiny lights, like Heaven's stars,
reflecting on the snow

The sight is so spectacular,
please wipe away that tear
For I am spending Christmas with
Jesus Christ this year.

I hear the many Christmas songs
that people hold so dear
But the sounds of music can't compare
with the Christmas choir up here.

I have no words to tell you,
the joy their voices bring,
For it is beyond description,
to hear the angels sing.

I know how much you miss me,
I see the pain inside your heart.
But I am not so far away,
We really aren't apart.

Please love and keep each other,
as my Father said to do.
For I can't count the blessings
He has for each of you.

So have a Merry Christmas and
wipe away that tear
Remember, I am spending Christmas 
with Jesus Christ this year.


Wanda Bencke

Thankful for a Child's Perspective

Got this e-mail this morning from my niece, Lorraine. Her 10-year-old twin girls, Grace and Aileen, are pictured with Annie in the October 25th post.

I was thinking of all the reasons why I'm thankful and last Sunday we had a service where anyone could come up to say why we are thankful as well. One elderly man was thankful that the Lord gave him a new wife (after his first wife passed on) by having a new woman visit our church and a year later they were married. It's adorable and they are well suited.

Then after a few more families giving thanks, Grace and Aileen cajoled their friends to come up with them to give thanks. Aileen stammered and then spoke up, she was thankful that Annie was in heaven and could eat. I just couldn't look up after that. Kleenex in hand, I was a mess.

Needless to say, she said what was in my heart. I miss her, I miss all of you and I'm glad she's well again.

I was also a mess after I read this. It comforts me that Grace and Aileen carry Annie so close to their hearts. They prayed fervently through the years of her illness, begging God to heal their little cousin. And now, without minimizing their loss of Annie, their faith is big enough to thank God that today she is well--and can eat.

Another e-mail came a few days ago from my friend, Rebecca, whose daughter, Caitlyn, was in Annie's class at school last year. Caitlyn is still in the same Lifeskills class, with the same teacher, Miss Cindy. Rebecca said, "Miss Cindy has a series of videos on her iphone of the kids, and one of them is of Annie. She said Caitlyn loves to choose that one to watch, and kisses the screen while she watches it. We never know with her just what she is taking in and what things have impacted her. It's obvious, though, that she remembers her friend."

I love to hear these stories, and I'm thankful for these tender, little hearts who love and remember Annie.

Jean

7 Things I'm Thankful For

Let me be blunt--being thankful isn't going to be the easiest thing I do this Thanksgiving. It may be easier to dwell on the one thing I don't have, Annie, than all the things I do have. But as my friend, Cindy--who lost her husband four months ago to a sudden heart attack--reminds me, I need to make a daily decision to "Choose Joy." So with some borrowed joy from Cindy, here are 

7 things I'm thankful for this Thanksgiving season:

1. You. Whether you know me or are just peeking in, I appreciate your stopping by. One of my goals in keeping this blog is to share an eternal perspective in tough situations--in our case, with the disability and subsequent death of our daughter. And because everyone at some point experiences hard things, I hope that our story gives you hope for yours.
2. Bill--the best best friend I could ever have, to walk with through life...and death.
3. My courageous children--who keep forging ahead with their jobs, schooling, and responsibilities all while carrying their own burden of grief.
4. People who pray for us, send cards, and ask us how we're doing. It means a lot.
5. Parents or caregivers who ask for our advice. When we are able to help others with what we've learned, it redeems our loss.
6. People who talk about Annie--share memories of her, dreams they've had...anything. When you talk about Annie, it comforts us because it means you think about her, too.
7. Jesus--who died to pay for my sin and gave me eternal life. In heaven. With Annie.

Gratefully,

Jean

"We ought to give thanks for all fortune: if it is good, because it is good, if bad, because it works in us patience, humility and the contempt of this world and the hope of our eternal country." C.S. Lewis

Missing Annie #1 and Annie #2

Journal entry from November 1, 2006: "Today is a cold, crisp sunny fall day--a great day to rake the leaves of the massive maple tree in our front yard. Annie helped me by pushing them around with her rake--which was twice as big as she. We filled the yard waste bin and they'll come and pick it up tomorrow--just in time for the rain and wind that's predicted for this weekend."

Before Annie's brain injury, she was my little shadow, helping me with whatever I was doing in or outside the house. I was thinking about her while raking leaves of our maple tree yesterday afternoon, and reminiscing about that fall day in November five years ago.

I was also remembering the time last October when I tried to get a picture of her sitting on a blanket with me in the leaves. With her post-brain injury sensory issues, she didn't like the wind in her face, she didn't like to have her hands touched--and she most certainly didn't like the leaves of the maple tree anymore.

 

We had better luck sitting beside the pumpkins in the safety of her own jogger with cousins Grace and Aileen:

Each season brings its own reminders of her. In the fall, Annie #1 was my little leaf raker, and Annie #2 was my pumpkin inspector. Today marks seven months since she left us. I miss both Annies so much.

Jean

"But I miss you most of all, my darling...when autumn leaves start to fall." Johnny Mercer
Listen here.

9/11--A Time to Weep

Like many of you, I've spent the last several days catching bits and pieces of news reports and stories from this date ten years ago. We all remember where we were and what we were doing that morning--the shock of watching the planes hit the towers, the smoke, the fear, the crumbling debris. The death and loss and grief.

Two thoughts--the universal experience of grief, and the importance of memorial--have kept coming to my mind.

Grief. Deep sorrow, esp. that caused by someone's death. 
All of us experience loss and the accompanying grief in our lives: loss of employment, loss of relationships from divorce, loss of health, loss through death. And through all the losses I've experienced, I've learned that grief isn't something you "get over" or even "get through." Instead, this loss becomes part of who you are--you assimilate it into your life as part of you.  Over time, the loss is not as debilitatingly painful as at first, but quietly waits in the shadows as a permanent companion, tiptoeing out through an unexpected conversation, or appearing through the grief experienced by someone else. The stories I've heard about these last few days have reminded me that there are many who carry a unseen burden of grief.

Memorial. Something, esp. a structure, that reminds people of a person or event.
Having a place to remember Annie at her grave has been helpful to us. It's a place to step away to a quiet place, be alone and remember her. And now, with the memorials in New York, Shanksville, and the Pentagon, the families of the victims of 9/11 have a place to remember. They've carried their invisible backpacks of grief for ten years, and now have a place to put them down and rest--especially important, I think, because many of them never were able to bury the remains of their loved ones.

Memorials are important because until Jesus comes and conquers the last enemy, death, there will be grief. And as long as there is grief, those that mourn will be comforted by memorials that remind the world what they know in their heart--their loved ones will never be forgotten.

Jean

"We miss and love you so much. I have your smile, your eyes, and your laugh, but I just don't have you." --Francesa Picerno, whose father, Matthew Picerno, died at the world trade center.

Annie's Headstone

Annie's headstone was installed today. We went over to look at it this evening. It's nice, as headstones go, but I wish we never had to design one for her.

If you live in the area and want to visit, her grave is in the Camellia Garden at Purdy-Walters/Floral Hills Cemetery. Her grave is southeast of the red flowering plum tree, which is southeast of the fountain. We always have pink flowers there.

Jean

The last enemy that will be destroyed is death. 1 Corinthians 15:26

What Annie Taught Me

After a bath--August 2010

It's been almost five months since Annie died. Five months to reflect on her brief life, five months to miss her, and five months to think about the good things that sifted out through the bad. I learned much from that little girl.

She taught me that every person has value, no matter what their physical or intellectual limitations.
Annie could do very little for herself. She couldn't eat, walk, or talk. Her contribution to society--as if a person needs to "do" something in order to have permission to live--seemed to consist of one thing, and that was the daily testing of my character. Well, I guess her other contribution was that she was pretty darn cute.

She taught me to trust God even when the answers to my prayers were "No."
I love to get "yes" answers to my prayers--who doesn't? But often when praying for Annie, the answer was no. Or worse yet, sometimes it seemed like there just was no answer. But most times, even when the answer seemed to be out there floating somewhere, I felt His presence in spite of the incredible challenges of caring for Annie. And many times, I felt God's comfort and strength through the prayers you offered.

She taught my other kids compassion for people with disabilities.
They learned to not be afraid of people with disabilities; that people who have disabilities need love and respect--just like anyone else.

She taught us to treasure each moment with our friends and loved ones.
Because this life is brief, and our little reality can change in an unexpected instant.

She taught us that heaven is closer than you think.
Annie was a little girl who lived such a short time here on earth. However, her life in heaven has just begun, and with each thought of her comes the excitement of seeing her again very soon.

Jean

You do not know what will happen tomorrow. For what is your life? It is even a vapor that appears for a little time and then vanishes away. James 4:14

Was It Her?

The other day when Jack was driving down the road, he said he saw a little girl in a jogger stroller "with skinny legs just like Annie's--she even looked like Annie!" His knee-jerk thought was: "Stomp on the brakes--Annie? You're not supposed to be here!?" But then he realized that it couldn't be Annie--after nearly crashing his car while craning his neck around just to make sure.

After he came home and was telling me about it, I asked him if it could have been Annie's friend, Molly.

He thought for a moment. "Oh, yeah...it must have been Molly!"

Annie and Molly were in similar life-skills classes together last year, and the all the kids at their school would often get them mixed up--they look that much like each other. Her mom and I would laugh and tell them that they were sisters--we even thought of getting them matching T-shirts: "I'm Annie's Sister," or, "I'm Molly's Sister." When I told her that Jack had seen them out for a walk and thought for a split second that Molly was Annie, she said maybe it was just Annie's way of reaching down and saying, "Hi Jack!"

I like that idea.

Jean

Life means all that it ever meant. It is the same that it ever was.
There is absolutely unbroken continuity.
Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight?
I am waiting for you, for an interval,
somewhere very near, just around the corner.
All is well.                                                                                   Henry Scott Holland

Last Day of School

Yesterday, Annie's teacher, Miss Cindy, invited us to the dedication of a little flower garden they planted in front of the school in her memory. In the middle of the garden is a weeping cherry tree--very  appropriate, because I think I watered it enough for this week just with my tears. They also made a memory book of pictures and a CD of video and still pictures from this past year. Many of her classmates were there with their parents: Maya, Josh, Elise, Aiden, Caitlyn, Kai...and her friend, Molly, who bears a striking resemblance to Annie, and who, we used to say was Annie's older sister. Sweet, sweet children.

Her teachers and therapists: Cindy, from this year, Amanda from the last two years, Cynthia, Brenda, Karen, Meg, Barb, and Annie's nurse, Miss Patty were all there, as well as principal Brenda, counselor Merriah, teacher Chandler, paraeducators Roxanne, Alicia, Dina...friends Amber and Rebecca...many wonderful, kind people. My kids, David, Jack and Olivia came too, with friends Jessica and Chioma.

Bill and I knew it was going to be difficult returning for the first time to Annie's school...I think the last time I was there with her was for the Valentine's Day party, pictured in the memory book. School, and the people there were such a big part of our lives. Annie loved being at school with all her friends, although she didn't like everything they made her do--like taste pudding and finger paint. But she loved walking through the halls on her Kidwalk, visiting with the ladies in the office, and sitting next to little Elise at circle time, who would pull a "Hi" out of Annie every day. We miss seeing everyone there so much...just like we miss Annie.

The garden, memorial plaque, book and CD were all such kind gestures...we are grateful for the friends we made through her school, and the caring people who worked with her over the years. God blessed us and Annie through them all.

Jean

"Enjoy the little things, for one day you may look back and realize they were the big things." Robert Brault