August 11, 2002

Phone calls in the middle of the night are rarely a good thing. The odds of it being a good thing go down exponentially when you have a loved one in the Cardiac ICU. I remember waking up to my mom's cell phone going off. We missed it. The number was local. So he's fine, right?

Then the house phone rang. All of our stomachs dropped. I remember hearing my mom say, "should we come?"  It was about 2 am. My mom said my dad had gone into cardiac arrest and we had to go to the hospital (an hour's drive away). I packed a bag, knowing we would be there a while. I'd heard that if you're loved ones died, you could feel it. I felt nothing. 

My mom called my grandma to tell her we were on our way. Realizing it might be a hard drive, my mom called a family friend. Funny enough, he used to be a FedEx driver. We arrived at the hospital and were met at a side door and taken up to his floor. They took us into a small room. I think they call it a family consultation room. Nothing good happens there. They calmly explained that my dad's heart went into tachycardia (beating too fast, so fast that it can't actually pump anything) and they couldn't get him back. 

Shock. No. This wasn't happening. I never felt him leave. I hadn't seem him the last several days. Then, seconds later, calm. I heard a peaceful voice say, "'I know the plans I have for you,' declares The Lord, 'plans to prosper you and not to harm you, to give you a hope and a future.'" Well, that's weird. 

For this post, I'll spare you the details of the next couple of hours, though I remember them vividly. We left the hospital and I emailed some people. I needed them to know. I slept for a few hours. Then, I went where I always knew I'd go if a tragedy occurred on a Sunday or Wednesday: I went to church. I needed to get out of my house that was so filled with sadness. I needed to be with friends. I needed comfort. So I went where I knew all of these things would be. 

Let me divert for a second. I've heard the quote, "Religion is the opiate of the masses." In that moment, I didn't want religion. I leaned heavily on my relationship with Jesus and assurance I'd one day see my dad again. Those truths were a balm to my soul and a comfort- just like when I was a kid and had a bad dream I wanted my mom or how I call a friend when I've had a crappy day. I was still completely aware of the reality that my life was forever different; I was also acutely aware that this pain was temporary and I'd see my dad again. 

I remember people's faces as I walked in the church. I remember my teacher hugging me as closest friends watched me dissolve into tears. I remember how those friends stood around me so I didn't have to endure all the well-meaning "I'm so sorry" statements (FYI, my family called one family in town. By the time I made it to church, almost everyone had heard). I'll never forget how incredibly loved I felt that day. I'll never forget the feeling of "where else could I possibly go"?

So, today, I'll do the same. In fact, I'll be at two services. I'll go to lunch with friends and celebrate. But today, I choose joy. I choose peace, the peace that surpasses all understanding. I choose to honor my day's life instead of giving into grief. 

11 Things no one tells you about grief

Well, if you are friends with me on Facebook, you probably saw that Sunday is the 11th anniversary of my dad's death.  August 11th is my singularly least favorite day of the year (yes, even including Father's Day).  So, you may be able to expect some posts this week- probably about grief.  Then again, I promised in my profile that I may not be the most consistent blogger ever.

Today I was thinking about all of the things no one tells you when you experience a loss or are grieving for any reason.  There are LOTS of things that LOTS of people will tell you.  (You can read more of my thoughts about that here.  That being said, there are lots of things no one ever told me and I wish maybe someone had.  So, without further ado, 11 things no one tells you about grief/loss:

1.  Whatever you're feeling (unless it involves serious thought about ending anyone's life) is okay and it's normal.  Insanely mad for zero obvious reasons?  Okay.  Abnormally worried someone else might die?  Okay.  The trick is to acknowledge the emotion and work through it so that it doesn't rule your life.

2.  There will likely come a day in several weeks, months, or years, when you realize you didn't think about your loved one for an entire day.  It's okay that you didn't- you haven't forgotten him/her.  It's okay that you feel guilty about it.  Most of our loved ones would want us to move forward and not be consumed by grief.  I think the best way we honor those who have gone before us is to live life to the fullest and carry on their legacies.

3.  At some point, some well-meaning person will say something insanely idiotic.  Even better, it might be someone of your same faith who distorts your shared theology.  As you inwardly visualize yourself turning into a lion and mauling them to death (okay, maybe that's only me), have grace for them- they really are trying to be comforting.

4.  Most people expect to miss the person and things about them.  What may hit you like a semi is the lost future you have with that person.  I've mourned much more over the friends my dad will never meet this side of Heaven and the events he'll never make it to.  It took me years before I could watch the father/bride dance at a wedding and not inwardly weep or have to get away.

5.  Nothing will ever be the same, but that doesn't mean everything will suck forever.  Sometimes I am keenly aware that a holiday or event is missing someone important.  Other times, I enjoy the new traditions I've made since my dad passed away.

6.  Everyone handles grief differently.  Not only is that okay, it's a beautiful thing.  Make room for the differences and celebrate them.  Communicate what you need.

7.  At some point, the immediate outpouring of friends and obvious support will start to wane.  Give grace to others.  They're still there and they want to help, it's just less obvious how to help after the initial shock.  Communicate your needs and let people in.  Also, give yourself some grace if you get mad that others have moved on with their lives while you simply can't.  It's okay you haven't and it's okay they seemingly have.

8.  At some point, someone will come to you for your expertise on grief.  Yes, you are now an expert.  Remind them that everyone is different, but give them some pointers.

9.  Have grace.  Have grace for yourself on days when getting out of bed is a victory.  Have grace for the days where you just need to pretend you're fine.  Have grace for others when they let you down.  Have grace for those who don't understand.  Have grace for the well-meaning people who drive you insane.  Have grace for the person who interrupts your dinner, when you finally went an hour without being consumed by grief, and tells you they're so sorry.  Have grace for the person who makes your grief about them, who needs you to console them for the loss of YOUR loved one.

10.  Do what you need to do.  If you need to cry, cry.  If you need to be angry, be angry.  If you need to become a vegetarian, become a vegetarian (yes, I know someone who did it).  If you need to yell at God, yell (I promise, He can handle it).  If you need to pretend, pretend.  Don't worry about fulfilling the expectations others have on you.  At the same time, don't stay where you are forever.  Lean on your family, community, and Jesus and start to try and move forward- not just attempt to put back together what will be forever missing a piece.

11.  Grief doesn't play by the rules.  It comes at you in the sneakiest of times.  For years, I cried sometimes when I saw a yellow pickup truck (my dad's dream car when he died).  I wept watching the movie What a Girl Wants because I so deeply identified with the girl.  At the same time, joy comes in the weirdest places.  I smile when people talk about Panchos, remembering how much my dad loved it. I smile when I realize I've done something (like completing my first semester of grad school) that would make him proud.

I hope this helps.  It's some of the things I would have liked to have known.  Maybe it's better I didn't.  Feel free to comment with your other lessons.