I saw you today. I wasn’t expecting to, but I did. The image of you has haunted me since and I felt like I needed to write to you. It has been nine months since you held your sweet son as he made his journey from your arms to the Lord’s. Terrified of returning to the hospital where he left this life, I have made all of the children’s medical appointments at the Primary Children’s outreach clinics. Unfortunately, today’s appointment for Michael could only take place at Primary Children’s Hospital. I have been dreading this day for weeks. I carefully planned where I would park and how I would make my way through the hospital in order to avoid the areas that I knew would flood me with memories of unspeakable pain. However, my plans did not take hospital construction into account and before I knew what was happening, I was in “the hall.”
The hall was busy today, not at all like it was at 3:00 am on December 15th. But as I stood there waiting for the elevator, trying to block out everything around me, including my feelings, I looked to my left and I saw you. You were walking away from the CT room where your Jacob had just been rushed in for what would be his final CT. You had just stared in complete shock at what the neurosurgeon described as “one of the worst scans he had ever seen.” The stroke doctor had just placed her hands on your shoulders and said, “there is no easy way to tell you this….” And your world came crashing down around you. After trying to process what information the doctors were giving you, you walked down the empty quiet hallway with the stroke doctor's arm around you, lifting you up. That is when I saw you. All of your disbelief and horror was now mine again and I can’t stop thinking about you. There is so much to tell you.
You will walk up to your son’s room where you will be surprised to see your husband. How in the world did he make it to the hospital in 30 minutes? He looks terrified, completely panicked and is standing at the side of the bed holding Jacob’s hand and crying. Your eyes and face will tell him everything that he needs to know even before the doctors explain everything to him. You will call dear friends to bring your children up to the hospital to tell their little brother one more time how much they love him and you will watch as they kiss his warm little face for the last time. Your heart will feel like it is being completely crushed inside your body. And then late that night, you will lie next to your small son in his large hospital bed and you will hold him and hand him back to the Lord.
You will be carried that week, by angels on earth and angels in heaven. Mostly, you will be carried by your Savior. You will have to make decisions and do things that no mother should ever have to do. You don’t know how but somehow you make it through the week and you will bury your treasure during a winter's snow, just days before Christmas.
During the next nine months you will experience a grief that is all consuming. You will cry, everyday, much more than you will ever admit to anyone. Please be gentle with yourself. In grief support, you will learn that a mother’s tear is worth more than a thousand words. You have a lot to say, most of which will only be spoken through those tears. If you didn’t love your Jacob so much, his loss would not hurt so much.
It will take many weeks before you are not terrified of leaving your home to do simple errands. You will drive to the grocery store, park, and then turn the car around without ever going into the store. You will be asked by strangers how many children you have and you will stare blankly at them not knowing how to answer. The answer is seven. You have seven children. Six at home and one in heaven.
You will worry intensely because so many resources will tell you that the divorce rate of couples who have had a child pass is staggeringly high. Please do not worry about this. Your marriage is strong. This tragic loss only makes it stronger. You recognize that your husband is the only person that truly understands… completely. You both admire each other’s strength and commitment to your family. You are so blessed to have him and his love.
Nine months will pass and you will still have yet to go through Jacob’s room. Everytime that you try, you pick up one of his toys or take a shirt off of the hanger, you stand there with tears rolling down your face and finally decide “not today.”
You discover a strange thing…you bury much of yourself with your son. Not just your love, heart and immense devotion, but your abilities, strengths and interests. Where you once found great comfort in music…you will not enter your music room for almost six months. When you finally do, you have lost much of your abilities on the piano and are unable to play the harp without weeping. Start slowly. I believe that it will come back.
You will loose your ability to keep track of time and even remember what month it is. Trying to keep up with children’s activities and school assignments becomes very difficult and you wonder if you are loosing your mind. What used to be simple for you, will take great concentration. Again, try and be patient with yourself.
Perhaps the most difficult part of the coming year is walking with each of your children through their own journey of grief. They have lost their childlike innocence. They are now all too aware that they and their loved ones are vulnerable and mortal. I have no advice for you on this. You can not take their journey for them. They have to make their own personal journey through their grief. But you will be with them, holding their hand and crying with them.
Your priorities will change. You no longer care if your house is a mess. You will cut back on your children’s extra-curricular activities. You will no longer feel the need to attend every school, community and church function. Some may see these changes as laziness or poor decisions. You will see them as reprioritizing. You have seen what really matters in life. You have a firm conviction that nothing in this life is more important than your family and your relationship with your Savior.
I wish that I could have put my arms around you today. While I desperately wanted to turn and run from the hospital, I also wanted to reach out to you. I wanted to help hold you up and take some of the pain from you. But I couldn’t. You are in shock now and that shock will get you through the next couple of weeks. The reality of life without your Jacob will settle in soon and as much as I want to tell you that the pain will lessen, I can’t. You will learn to function in your “new normal” life without Jacob, but the pain doesn’t lessen. That will happen when the resurrection comes and your arms are once again filled with your sweet Cub. Until that time, be patient with yourself. I will think of you often.
Love, Me
This is so beautiful. I'm sorry for your loss and your pain. May God wrap His arms around you and your family and comfort you in your grief.
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