Getting Back to Confessions of a Grieving Parent

Confession #7: It’s my fault.

It’s not. We know that. But underneath it all…at the core of our being…we blame ourselves. At least I do. Frankly, it doesn’t matter how irrational it may seem. The “what if’s” plague the grieving parent.

You can take any circumstance of child loss…the parents blame themselves in some way. This is the sheer definition of adding insult to injury…kicking somebody when they’re down…the proverbial knife in the back. And we do it to ourselves. But can I sincerely ask that you not scoff at how ridiculous that is? Not helpful.

Take Zoe. She had an extreme heart condition that left her out of oxygen, out of endurance, and, largely, out of hope. We knew it was a dire picture that couldn't look more bleak than her blue-lipped, 48 SAT little self could be. It was a miracle she had lived this long. Truly a miracle. Every doctor said so...and we truly believed she was a walking miracle. God had sustained her life for 3 of the longest years any child had ever lived. All the odds were stacked against any medical intervention changing the coarse of her life. But we fully believed the Almighty One would swoop in and show his amazing power in such a miraculous way that everyone that saw it would be in awe of the Healer.

Then she died. After every attempt humanly possible to save her life...with some of the best physicians in the country...amid the fervent praying of people all over the world. She died. 

And I blamed...myself. Zoe went into the hospital at her peak health and never came out. I quickly began to obsess about my role in her death. 

The doctors said she couldn't have lived much longer in that condition. A month...maybe 2. But God had kept her alive for years when she should've died a long time ago. Who's to say He wouldn't have continued to do the same?

Another issue was that, while she was in a terrible state when we first adopted her, she had turned a significant corner once we'd done the balloon procedure. Maybe we should've left it alone at that point...given her more time to grow stronger. 

At the bare minimum, we could've just had more time with her if we'd have waited on the surgery. Although we would've never been prepared for her death, we felt robbed. 

And the Enemy used all these grief-filled thoughts to lead me to say, "Look what I did. Zoe's dead because of me."

Now I usually don't share the resolution to these confessions, but I didn't want to leave you hanging this time.  This arrow of the adversary is too deadly not to give a shield of defense.

I've since shared this with several parents that have lost children, and, I'll admit, it brings me comfort every time I think it or say it. I pray it's been some measure of comfort to others as well.

Here it is.

God is not manipulated by my decisions. His plans for Zoe's life were not blown up in smoke when we took her into surgery that day. The Sovereign One did not throw His hands up in the air when the surgeon made that first cut and say, "Well, great. I had her whole life planned out, but they screwed it all up!"  Nor did He shout out, "WHAT?!? NO WAY!"

Just. Not. Possible. 

I do not have that level of clearance. None of us do. 

*sigh* 

Thank you, Lord.

October 11th-December 7th...it's been awhile

I’m coming out of hiding. I actually had intentions to continue along with the blog…sharing our daily triumphs and struggles…but when the days were more difficult to process than I could bear, I gave you the silent treatment. Sorry about that.  I’m not even big into that method of conflict resolution! Plus, you didn’t do anything to me! I was having a fight with life…you just got slammed for it. Yep. Like I said, sorry about that, you innocent bystander.

So…have I come back to life because everything’s coming up roses now? Uh, no…more like, my head (and heart) might very well explode if I don’t get some things off my chest.

Another reason for the kick in the pants is harder to swallow.  Today is the 6 month anniversary of Zoe’s death. 6 months sounds so short…and so very long. It's been an arduous summer/fall. Given the holiday season, I’ve thought about doing a Christmas letter to send out, but I’m confident it would not be the cheery update our friends and family would love to receive. I’m sure you’ve caught on by now…I’m not really the “put lipstick on a pig” kinda gal. Honesty’s the way to go. My vision is much better with the mask off. But not sure how would that letter would read...

            2013

We adopted Zane and Zoe from China.

It was awesome!

Then Zoe died.

It was awful!

Merry Christmas.

Obviously there were many amazing things God did in our family as a whole and with each of us, individually. But in keeping with that whole transparency vibe, this is the overshadowing reality and reaction when I think about 2013.

There is so much that has happened since I last chatted with you all…confessions I intended to share…health updates for the little man…and life at the Carr Castle. I’ll spend moments catching you up, as I’m able.

One of the notable updates would be my attempt to try and clean up my act, health-wise…which included taking a hiatus from my faithful friends, Diet Dr. Pepper and peanut butter! I know…I know…moment of silence. No, I don’t feel any better after being off of it…yes, I fully intend to have them whenever the urge hits! No convert here. The reason this is relevant is that I lost my super woman ability to stay up late…like past 8 pm. For real. And since I usually blogged at midnight…well, you see the problem.  So what do you do when you’re no longer a night owl? God puts your oldest child back in swimming, and you find yourself at the dreaded swim meet...you know the 5 hour event where your child actively participates for 5 minutes?!? Yea.

It’ll be nice catching up with you.

While I Was Sleeping

Tonight's title is somewhat ironic because I feel like I'm never getting enough sleep these days...always tired...can't ever catch up.  Yet somehow I'm finding myself faced with a situation this weekend that blindsided me so significantly that I'm MUST have been sleeping to let it get by me. We're talking full-on bamboozled! Floored! Slap-your-momma shocked.  Too far, I know...but roll with it.

If you live in the land of Facebook, you may have seen my post from this morning that read:

remember my "called to be a widow" mentor? Well, I'm about to "spend the weekend" with her, figuratively speaking, of course. If you're inclined to pray, please do so. God did this...without asking me! Guess He's thinking my stubborn heart needs a good swift kick! Thankful for your prayers.

Yea. No joke. So in the spirit of full disclosure, I went up and introduced myself to her this morning, confessed my stalker history, and boldly threw myself under the bus before any of you yahoos could do the honors.  Of course, there's more to the story...there always is...but we will just touch on the highlights.

I work with a team of gals (I'm sooo not qualified to use that terms, by age or culture, but I'm throwing it in, all the same.) to put on women's events at our church.  I'm usually just the comic relief or the megaphone mouth when needed.  Every now and then, they let me hum a little tune with the music team.  

SO quite a few months ago...while I was sleeping...I got an email saying we were having a women's event in October, "Called," and we needed to start hammering out the details.  No prob...call me when you need some slapstick. 

In my slumber, we began to chat and throw some ideas around, but it wasn't until my John Hancock was already on the dotted line, that I realized just exactly what I'd committed myself too.  

I was at a planning meeting when it hit me...just exactly who our guest speaker was. No stinkin' way.  I kid you not...you can ask the other leaders...I threw my hands up in the middle of the meeting and shouted, "WAIT A MINUTE! Is this Karen lady my 'Called to be a Widow' lady?!?!" 

Uh...yea.

Are you kidding me right now?!? Listen...they had to bring out the smelling salts and chocolate. Ok...just the chocolate. But there was no undoing what'd been done. I either had to put my big girl pants on or quit the church (not really, but it makes for a better story) so I just shook my head and made a note to take this up with God in a private meeting.

I even told Karen all about that this morning so don't get any ideas...esp. since I know her name now. UGH. (But don't worry...I'm pretty sure I didn't tell her mine...shhhh)  Of course, I also told her that I just about threw up this morning just thinking about listening to her again. I know...I have such a way with people. It's a gift, really.

SO...now you know. Told you I was sleeping...pretty heavily, I guess.  In all seriousness, I truly believe God appointed me to this time and this place for His purpose and plan. It was not, in any way, what I'd knowingly or willingly get myself into right now...which is why He did it...for me.  I'm not such a fool to deliberately remove myself from God's plan.  Instead, I thought I'd share with you the Scripture the Holy Spirit led me to open with tomorrow morning at the conference. Knowing what I know Karen's going to share...knowing what we've all endured in this year of sorrow...it couldn't hit closer to home.  Maybe God will speak to you through it as well.  I pray it does.

Psalm 77:1-13

I cry aloud to God,

aloud to God, and he will hear me.

2In the day of my trouble I seek the Lord;

in the night my hand is stretched out without wearying;

my soul refuses to be comforted.

3 When I remember God, I moan;

when I meditate, my spirit faints. Selah

4 You hold my eyelids open;

I am so troubled that I cannot speak.

5 I consider the days of old,

the years long ago.

6 I said, “Let me remember my song in the night;

let me meditate in my heart.”

Then my spirit made a diligent search:

7 “Will the Lord spurn forever,

and never again be favorable?

8 Has his steadfast love forever ceased?

Are his promises at an end for all time?

9Has God forgotten to be gracious?

Has he in anger shut up his compassion?”Selah

10 Then I said, “I will appeal to this,

to the years of the right hand of the Most High.”

11 I will remember the deeds of the Lord;

yes, I will remember your wonders of old.

12 I will ponder all your work,

and meditate on your mighty deeds.

13 Your way, O God, is holy.

What god is great like our God?

Confession #6...oh crud...my feeler's broke

Pretty sure most of you are now just opening the post just to try and make sense of my off-the-wall titles! HA! Love it.  Ok...you got me...I'm not getting out much these days.

I started this post the day after my last post, 9/17!  Let's just say, Elvis has left the building. But he definitely did NOT take me with him. I've been here. At home. Listening to weeping, wailing, and gnashing of teeth...through a monitor. Yea. Zane's not a fan of NOT being in charge, but that's for a later blog post.  For now, that's my story, and I'm sticking to it. Just cut me some slack. 

How 'bout we jump right in, shall we?  

Confession #6:  I have realized that it's difficult for me to get very emotional about anything other than Zoe's death and the hole she left in our family.  This may sound similar to the 1st confession where I shared it was hard for me to feel compassion for those struggling with non-life/death issues.  However, it is different from many angles.  I'll just share the most notable.  Primarily, I'm referring to things that actually hit very close to home, yet fail to draw from my overly taxed core of emotions.

I'm sure you'd all understand the phrase, "I just can't cry anymore!" or "I'm all cried out." Typically when someone uses these words, it's to indicate a worn out and weary soul...too exhausted or mentally and emotionally taxed, to exhibit one more shred of emotion.  That's basically what I'm referring too.  The only difference is...I'm still crying every day...but just about Zoe.  I can honestly tell you that it's not a conscious refusal to get emotional about anyone or anything else.  It's more like...I can't. Almost like my body's coping mechanism.  For those of us non-emotional types, the fact that we're suddenly thrust into a constant state of frailty in regard to our emotions, is completely exhausting.  We're not sure how the rest of you "sappy Susie's" (shout out to my in'law's...hee hee) make it through the day!! :)  My new reality that any sound, word, show, toy, person, trip, dress, or (fill in the blank) could shove me over the emotional cliff with no fair warning, makes me so weary that I can only presume my body is storing up for the next onslaught. 

I WANT to show emotion sometimes, (I know, right?!?) if for no other reason than to communicate my sincere concern and heartache for situations that truly are heartbreaking.  But it just won't come.

Let's circle the wagons.

Almost 2 months after Zoe died, we received word that Chris' grandfather, "Grand Pap," passed away.  Chris had been hunting with his own dad and all his family since he was 10 years old.  It's not been that long since Mamaw, his wife, passed away as well.  Even though we had only been to West Virginia a handful of times with our kids, we all have such sweet and pleasant memories of both of them.  I was so heartbroken for all of Chris' family, and our own, but I'm sure I did not communicate that well at all.  Nothing would come.

The following Monday, I had to have surgery for an issue that was a couple years in the making.  Very few people even knew anything about it. (No, I'm not going into detail...not the point.) It's no surprise that I had already postponed the surgery 5 times this year due to the adoption and all the complications with Zoe's health care...so there was no procrastination left.  The week following was one of the most difficult I've experienced myself.  But still...nada.

That Friday, 5 days later, our dog was hit and killed by a car on a busy road a couple miles from our house while we were at some friend's house for dinner. The circumstances and story were sketchy as described to me the next day, but the reality was the same.  No more Tucker.  Believe it or not, this was our 2nd dog to be struck by a car and killed.  The 1st one was Cooper, a bishon yorkie, that was killed on Ty's birthday 2 years before.  We'd gotten our golden retriever, Tucker, on Ty's birthday last year to ease that pain a bit.  Yet, now we have a repeat performance...and still, as much as I ached for my family, I found it difficult to engage my heart.

Roughly 1.5 months later, some routine labs for myself led my doc to call me in for a follow-up visit to discuss some concerns.  Two days later, I had a nice little nap inside a MRI machine...for real, I totally fell asleep...as I was being checked for a brain tumor and the like.  We're still working through all the particulars, and the smart people are figuring all that out, but let me say in my best Arnold voice, "It's not a tumor!"  (HAHA! Name that movie...GO! I should give a prize...but I won't...so forget the contest I was about to throw out there.) You should all know that there's never anything normal about Eva...no use starting now!  Anyway, the night before the MRI, Chris asked me if I was scared.  My only response was, "About what? It is what it is."  I just...got nothing left.  What's the point of getting all worked up about it? As if.

That's when I realized...oh crud...my feeler's broke.  Help...I've fallen, and I can't get up! :)  

So just remember...when you encounter someone who's still weathering the devastating storm of losing a child or whatever...their feeler might be broken and in need of repair.  They truly do care. Just try to be patient.  It's a pretty remote area, and sometimes it takes quite a long time to get someone out there to fix it.  Think of the cable guy...on steroids.

Confession #5...Hold my hair, then tell me that verse

I seriously think I have some sort of strange addiction to coming up with odd and creepy titles for each blog post.  Like I could be on that weird show where people lick cats or eat paper...that would be awesome.  "Stay tuned! Up next...late-night mom who sits for hours naming and renaming her blog posts." Oddly enough, I am once again struck by my need for therapy. Ok...guess that's not an "oddly enough" moment.  

Today's confession has been a long time coming, but I've been thinking a great deal whether to share this one or not...primarily because of the high potential for  misunderstandings and hurt feelings.  Yet in talking with other people who've suffered through great trials, I've heard this countless times.  Therefore, since the crux of the matter in sharing these confessions is so that we may all minister in a much more effective way to those who are deeply grieving, I wanted to include this for your reading "pleasure."  Just to be clear, I think growing up in a pastor's home with the church nursery as my NICU, softened the blow in this area for me...others may struggle to an even greater degree having a different family background...but this was still pretty difficult for this PK-PW Christ-follower.

Confession #5:  Quoting Scripture or serving up glossy platitudes about the sovereignty, faithfulness, and goodness of God to the grieving heart is usually not the best FIRST step. It makes us feel guilty for not being able to suck it up...like God is not pleased with those who grieve under the umbrella of His sovereignty...as if a good kick in the pants or slap on the back is all we need to kick back into gear. 

Please understand that I hold these truths and promises as foundational to my every waking breath.  Losing Zoe would have no redemptive value or hope if I didn't...nor would anything I've based my life upon...what would be the point of living a life dedicated to following and serving Christ when I cannot, in fact, live that life when something goes wrong? So...on this issue, I think we're cool.

However, when someone comes up to me and says, "God's got a good reason for Zoe's death" or "This really is happening for your good, ya know!"...well, then we have a crossroads.  Solid ground has turned to quick sand.  

"It's so awesome to see what God's doing with your tragedy!"  You wanna know what would've been awesome?!?  Zoe not dying.  There I said it.  It's what every grieving parent (or insert your sorrow-filled blank here) is thinking but is too ashamed to say.  I'm sure their intention was not to add guilt to my grief, but that's what just happened.

Like I said, I know these things to be true...and truthfully, I'm banking on the faithfulness of the Father to put the nail in that "His glory/my good" coffin one day...but, right now, it stings so deeply that you wonder if the offending party could possibly even feel the physical backlash.  

Then there's my favorite [insert dripping sarcasm]..."God doesn't give you more than you can handle so He must have a lot a faith in you to give you this trial!"  Scripture totally taken out of context and even twisted to fit some sort of warped Hallmark moment.  While the temptation for bitterness and anger might fit into that slot, the circumstance itself was never implied.  As a matter of fact, I think we are given FAR more than we can handle to drive us to our knees faster.  And where, oh where, are we told that God has faith in US?!?  Different version, maybe? Nah. (Phil Robertson's best line besides "Happy happy happy!")

Now I want to quickly add that I'm confident that the people that come strolling over to encourage you in your time of grief are truly trying to do just that...genuinely encourage.  But what I'm submitting to you tonight is that, once again, this is an ugly process that might not be able to get wrapped up in a pretty "There's a reason for everything" bow just yet.  

It's like putting lipstick on a pig.  (Shout out to the pops for that little nugget!) But why do we grin at that? Because it's still a PIG...a smelly, wallow-in-the-mud, eating-every-piece-of-garbage-in-sight pig.  (Of course now I've offended every person still chin-deep in the grieving process but hopefully they'll appreciate that I'm trying to throw them a bone here...or a scrap...whatever.)  

When did the church become the place where grief doesn't hurt, and pain doesn't take time to heal? Jesus wept over the loss of His friend even knowing he would soon revive him.  Death is an ugly creature...it has no ultimate sting for the believer but, trust me, it stings here on earth. 

We need to be people who hug it out with the hurting more than toughen 'em up.  When I feel more compassion in my grief from a doctor that couldn't fix my daughter's illness than from a group of people who know the Ultimate Physician, something's off.


So friends, let's circle the wagons, shall we?  Back to my strange compulsion for titles...betcha thought I forgot...no such luck.

As I began to organize my thoughts about how to best illustrate this point, I decided to comb my brain for the times in my life when I felt the most cared for...when someone served my needs with no benefit to themselves...because after all, that's really what the grieving person truly needs.  And guess what I came up with?!? 

Puke.

Sorry Mom...but it's true.  Puke.

I remember when I was little and would be throwing up in the bathroom...with my head leaned over as I clutched the sides of the toilet, my mom or dad would come in and hold my hair so it wouldn't get messy.  It was so horrifying for me to be puking...hated it worse than anything...and then I'd be crying as I tried to keep my long locks free from projectile vomit. There was something so comforting about them pulling my hair back and holding it for me until I was done.  I'll never forget the first time my sweet hubby did the same.  

They couldn't take my pain away. There was nothing they could do to make it go quicker or lessen the impact.  There were no words that made me feel less sick.  But the comfort of their presence and the touch of their compassionate hand...even if they got dirty in the process...meant the world to me.  Still does.  That's what I remember...that's what made a lasting impact.  

Hopefully, it's obvious where I'm going with this.  There are, without a doubt, times when people need to hear the truth of God's Word to uplift and encourage them to continue to fight the good fight and continue to run the race.  

But there are other times when we just need to go hold their hair while they puke their guts out.  This is being Jesus to the broken...where they will feel uplifted and not condemned, loved and not rebuked.

I stink at this whole puke thing, but I really do wish you'd hold my hair...so that I can hold yours someday.  Underneath it all, I'm confident that God is using all this for His glory and our ultimate good. Let's do this thing. 

Jesus, Firm Foundation

I've been sharing at length lately about some of the things grieving parents struggle with but don't usually feel comfortable revealing.  I hope you realize that I'm not making excuse for these confessions but am sharing them, rather, to help us all wade through these muddy waters of grief...emerging together on the other side, stronger and more determined than ever to support and encourage those experiencing life's darkest storms.  

Today's post, however, doesn't contain a confession.  We're going for a reprieve that we all need...ok...maybe that's just me...but since we're on the same team, we take time-out's together!  Go ahead...grab your peanut butter and DP...I sure did.

Sometimes in the midst of the mundane, God sends a sweet care package your way! You remember those glorious times you checked your mailbox at college and saw the surprise box of cookies from your momma?!? (C'mon...you know it's the momma!) Let's be honest, if it was a pack of gum, you'd have been stoked.  It's a wonderful thing when you find yourself blessed just by knowing someone is thinking of you from afar.  Yea...so God sent me a care package today.

I had the privilege of being part of the worship team this morning at church.  This is only my second time leading since we went to get the kids from China in March.  I've missed being involved so I always appreciate the opportunities when they come.  Today was one of those God-Eva moments...the rest of the church peeps were just along for the ride.  See, children, I can share too!!! Get with the program. :)

We opened with a song I never heard before but can't get out of my head...so I thought I'd share it with you.  The words will likely be familiar to some, but I'm including the lyrics and the video just to cover all the bases.

How firm a foundation, you saints of the Lord
Is laid for your faith in His excellent word
What more can He say than to you He has said
To you who for refuge to Jesus have fled

Fear not, He is with us, oh be not dismayed
For He is our God, our Sustainer and Strength
He'll be our Defender and cause us to stand
Upheld by His merciful, almighty hand
How firm, our foundation
How sure, our salvation
And we will not be shaken
Jesus, firm foundation

The soul that is trusting in Jesus as Lord
Will press on enduring the darkest of storm
And though even hell should endeavor to shake
He'll never, no never, no never forsake
He'll never, no never, no never forsake

How firm, our foundation
How sure, our salvation
And we will not be shaken
Jesus, firm foundation

Age to age He stands
Faithful to the end
All may fade away
But He will remain
He will remain!

How firm, our foundation
How sure, our salvation
And we will not be shaken

Jesus, firm foundation.

Jesus Firm Foundation



Every. Word. Every single word.  Yea...my care package.  But I'm happy to share my cookies and gum.  

I'm grateful for your impressive endurance in traveling with me on this journey. I'm trusting that we'll arrive at our destination, safe and sound. Some of us might be hanging from the side mirrors or locked in the trunk, but we'll get there.  I'm just glad none of us are driving!