Let Me Tell You About My New Friends . . . My Grief Friends

Aren't they beautiful?

When you lose a child, it's virtually impossible to explain how it feels, how lost and broken you are, how upside down your life and your future have become. It is utterly despairing. The only way you can get close to anyone "understanding" is talking to someone who has experienced it.  And so, over time, you form a new group of friends, they are your Grief Friends.  Today I'm going to introduce you to a few of mine.  This blog post started as a piece on the extra complications of grief, and it is turning out to be so much more.  It's my favorite, and I'm so sorry I have to write it.

Losing a child is absolutely heartbreaking and indescribable, no matter the cause. One loss is not more devasting than the next - it's all horrible. I do, however, think some of the circumstances behind a loss can add an additional layer or layers of incomprehensible devastation that complicates that loss.  I'd like to try and give some behind the scenes explanation of what I'm talking about, and why.

The loss of a child is not the same as losing a parent, spouse or friend.  It's complicated because of the nature of the loss - the unnatural order, the fact that it was a child born of your body, or adopted into your family, that you were responsible for protecting.  You devoted your life to bringing that little person up, sleepless nights and long days, but filled with indescribable love and tremendous joy.  It was your job. You do not expect to lose your child.  It is every parent's worst nightmare.  Your heart doesn't understand it when they leave this life before you do.

This topic and the urge to write about it came from a story I heard this week from my new grief friend, Michelle.  Grief friends are the ones you meet because of loss, that you wish you didn't know, and can't live without.  They are lifelines in a world of blind despair.  I'd like to introduce you to some of mine, with their permission, of course.

Michelle and I became acquainted on a Facebook child loss group, Michelle lost her handsome son, Josh, to suicide. He was full of life,  a strong man just shy of 31, who loved Taco Bell and had an endless appetite. He loved the Denver Broncos and the Cleveland Cavaliers.  And LeBron James!  He had a dog named Roscoe, which seems to be a common thread in this group! He was a hard worker, and he loved heading over to his mama's house for a game and for some food!

Michelle's son Josh

It was something they never expected could happen and never saw coming. It came out of nowhere and, it left a path of heartbreak no mother ever wants to endure.  Often times, when you are struggling with a devasting loss, there can be things that I'm going to call convoluted circumstances, that make it even harder to come to terms with.  In Michelle's case, she has the added stigma of suicide to contend with.  It, like a drug overdose, can come with a lot of judgment, shame, and misunderstanding. Not only does Michelle cry herself to sleep, but she questions constantly if she might have missed something.  

Josh was found hanging from a tree in his front yard, by his bedsheet, in a bright red T-Shirt, just a few doors down from his mom's house.  She was out of state, he didn't show up at work and he hung there in that red shirt all night and most of the next day.  Unnoticed and alone, until his scheduled work shift was over and someone came looking. Try living with that. Michelle is incredibly brave.  She went back to work, too soon perhaps, but she is a nurse and her 56 patients needed her. A few months after the loss, she told me she worked her usual double shift on a Saturday, drove home in the dark, exhausted from a long day of interacting with people (hard for all grievers), only to turn down her street to be greeted with this:  The neighbors on the corner had gone all out decorating for Halloween. You can imagine it - spooky and scary, maybe some cobwebs, lights and creepy things - but what Michelle saw that night was a "dead body" hanging from the neighbor's tree. Their idea of a decoration.  Her nightmare.

People, that kind of insensitivity breaks my heart.  And it terrorized Michelle.  She drove into their fence. (I told her I would have backed up and driven into again). Halloween can be a very traumatic time for lots of people and for a myriad of different reasons, so use your heads.  Kindness.  Always kindness.

Another circumstance of a suicide-related death is the assumption that the person could not enter Heaven because they took their life. Again, people, your entrance into Heaven is based on your belief in Jesus Christ, not your sins, or none of us would go.  Only God can see the heart.  It is his desire that none would perish but have eternal life.  The thief on the cross uttered eight words and believed in his heart. And what was the response of Jesus?  "Today you will be with me in paradise." Never make assumptions regarding someone else's salvation. That is for God alone to judge.  God doesn't rate sin and neither should we.  Don't judge - love.

In an interview for Christianity Today, Al Hsu, the author of the book: Grieving a Suicide: A Loved One’s Search for Comfort, Answers, and Hope, he writes: 

"Christians often assume that suicide is an unforgivable sin and that those who die by suicide automatically go to hell. That’s a misconception that believes in a transactional view of sin and forgiveness, where if we don’t confess the sin of suicide after it takes place, it can’t be forgiven. But that idea comes more from Augustine and medieval theology than the Bible. Scripture doesn’t actually say that suicide separates us from God for eternity. The unforgivable sin is never equated with suicide in Scripture. Somebody like Samson died at his own hand, but he’s still included in Hebrews 11 among the Hall of the Faithful. And there’s the promise in Romans 8 that “neither life nor death,” not even death by suicide, could “separate us from the love of God in Christ.” 

I hate to say that our faith community can at times be hurtful to bereaved parents - when in fact it should be a lifeline. Death is not the time to discuss lifestyle choices, your opinions about theology, or to bring anymore added grief into the equation. It is the time to offer hope, speak of Heaven, and come alongside in any way you can.  Be Jesus to the bereaved.

Another new friend, Leigh, has suffered this same kind of loss, to suicide. Her gorgeous daughter Mason was just 16 years old, and 48 hours away from Homecoming when they found her out in the yard. Her homecoming dress was laid out on her bed, she was excited and looking forward to it. She loved dogs too, and Leigh was afraid she might kidnap each and everyone she came across! She was adventurous, the planner for her friend group, and she was adored by so many. She loved chocolate, the ocean, and paddleboarding. She played guitar and she could sing.  How Leigh misses hearing that beautiful voice, wafting down the stairs. Mason loved Uganda. She loved Jesus. She was an athlete, she swam and ran track. She loved sunsets, and her phone was filled with pictures of them. Leigh carried Mason's phone with her for a year after she died. 

Leigh's daughter Mason

Leigh replays that day over and over in her head, she hears the screams, she has flashbacks, PTSD - who wouldn't? When we talked about Mason, she said finding her things strewn around the house for months after her death was like stepping on a landmine each and every time. Leigh told me they were able to revive Mason, and she lived for four more days on life support. Trauma. Finding her, getting some hope, only to lose her all over again. My friend laid her head on her daughter's chest and listened to that heartbeat until it was no more. . . and she sang You Are My Sunshine and Jesus Loves Me. That just breaks my heart.

Because Mason's death was a suicide, Leigh feels that stigma as well. A popular misconception that she pointed out is that people assume the person must have been severely depressed or leaving signs. And that is so not true. It can be an instant decision with no premeditation. And there is no one that knows a child better than their parent - moms make better detectives than Sherlock Holmes. Questioning their ability to decipher whether or not their kids are in trouble isn't helpful - they question themselves enough.

She says with a suicide, the death is not looked at like a disease or an accident would be - it's surrounded by shame and guilt. All us moms feel guilty already, any kind of death of a child is loaded with feelings of failure. Like we should have known. Saved them. She says sometimes she just wants to scream, "I was a decent parent, she was a great kid!" (I'll interject here and say Leigh is an amazing parent!) We struggle with wanting to remain a part of that group of kids, keep up with them, be included...and overnight, we are not. Yes, it can be hard to hear sometimes how their friends and classmates are moving forward while your child stays 16, or 24 forever...but you know what?  It's worse to not be remembered or included. Be kind. 

In our case, we lost our son John to opioid addiction.  He became addicted after sustaining an injury while serving in the US Army.  John died of a fentanyl overdose.  It's also a disorder that comes with a terrible stigma attached. The worldview of an addict is outdated.  As is the term.  No one is safe.  Countless times, Substance Abuse Disorder was started by an injury, a surgery, or chronic pain. However, thanks to the greedy pharmaceutical companies, bad information on addictiveness and long-term effects, it has turned into a war.  We are losing 200 people a day.

In a drug overdose type of loss, the extra layers of complication are judgment, misunderstanding, helplessness, and often times years of struggle trying to help a child with an addiction you know nothing about, to understand it and them, and find solutions. Or being completely blindsided by their addiction.

Our loss is also complicated by the underworld of drugs.  In our case, there was a charge brought against the drug dealer, making us victims of murder as well.  In so many cases, there is no case, no explanations, no charges brought.  We spend a year in and out of court, finally agreeing to a plea of 2nd Degree Manslaughter.

For my new friend Trista, there was no case.  No one to charge with selling her beautiful girl the drugs that took her life.  Miranda was found in her car, outside the laundromat, waiting for her laundry to finish. She was going home for Thanksgiving. She would have been graduating soon with her Doctorate of Pharmacy.  Miranda was the President of a Christian Pharmacy Club and outspoken about her faith.  She loved music and played the piano, flute, and guitar.  She was in an All-State Choir - sharing her beautiful voice with everyone.  She loved sign language, getting her makeup just right, and dressing up.  

Trista's daughter Miranda

She was living several hours away from her parents by Milwaukee, and she had kept her addiction secret from them.  Miranda was supposed to leave that morning to make the car trip home for Thanksgiving, instead, the police were knocking on their door at 1:30 am, and they quickly realized there would be no more holidays with their precious girl. Instead, they had to make arrangements to have her body flown back home during a busy holiday weekend. This beautiful girl, alone in her car.  Imagine how Trista must have felt - how she was already missing her firstborn, off in another state, working hard and completing her Doctorate.  They talked all the time.  Miranda was also prescribed pain medications, on several occasions, for surgeries and other health issues . . . once for a bladder infection?  Trista and I both think that was unnecessary.   

When I first talked to Trista, she said I was the only person she had contact with that had lost a child to overdose. That, unfortunately, has changed.  She has a friend in her hometown that recently lost a son. He fatally overdosed as well. Will the life expectancy in America soon drop another year or two with this ongoing opioid war? It is now the leading cause of death in people under 50.  

For my friend Renee, things are equally awful, but in a different way. She lost her daughter, Autumn, in a terrible car accident. Autumn was so very beautiful, inside and out.  Autumn loved her friends, her boyfriend Austin, and her dog Max. The accident took the life of Austin as well as the driver of their vehicle.  More complications.  She loved Twisted Tea and was famous for her chicken tacos - she loved to laugh, she was funny.  She also loved to dance. She could memorize song and movie lyrics like nobodies business!  Autumn loved helping people, and her legacy lives on through her parents and her sister.  Autumn and John knew each other, and we were so surprised, and eternally grateful when her parents came to John's reviewal to introduce themselves and come alongside us, only a month after their own loss.

Renee's daughter Autumn

Renee and her husband had no idea when they heard that knock on the door, that their lives were about to stop.  She has shared with me the details of that day and it is incomprehensible.  Along with the scramble of trying to find out where Autumn was, calling the hospital, finding out she had been transferred and then driving an hour to get to St. Cloud.  It's a hard story to hear, and even harder for Renee's heart to stop replaying.  To see your baby girl, broken and lying in a hospital bed.  To only have minutes to understand that she isn't going to make it and to make decisions when you can't even comprehend what is happening.  To take your daughter's hand in her own, feeling the breaks in her arm, trying to explain to your heart that this child, your precious child, is broken beyond repair.  There are just no words to explain this kind of heartbreak.

When I asked Renee about what complicates her grief, she said that the sound of a helicopter sends chills down her spine, and automatically makes her sick to her stomach.  To her, it is the sound of death.  Being in a hospital is incredibly difficult for her. She has also become incredibly sensitive to anything to do with siblings. She just didn't expect that Autumn's sister would end up without her best friend. Even television shows that depict siblings are impossible to watch.  God forbid it's a show about losing a sibling!  She's also found that she can't tolerate shows with car accidents.  That makes sense, right?  

Part of being sensitive to a bereaved mom is taking into consideration what has happened to them, the trauma it has caused, and being sensitive to what may trigger that emotional response.  I think we all know that our friends and family would never want to accidentally invite us to a movie, or bring us to a place that might cause us to shrink back, lose our breath, or have us completely come apart in front of your eyes.  In most cases, you won't be able to prevent that, but you can be sensitive to it.  Every one of us will tell you we are pretty much an open book when it comes to our children.  We love to answer questions about them, and tell you their story, and hear your stories about them - but we probably don't want to discuss the day they died with you in Target or at the grocery store. We all agree that being asked "how many children do you have", will always be a difficult question for us to answer.

There are stories in our stories.  Traumas in our trauma. Triggers in our days, complications to our grief and sorrow.  I tell you these stories and share with you these extra complications to continue to educate and bring understanding. We invite you into our reality in the hopes that it will help you see our hearts, to remember our children, and to promote sensitivity and awareness to all those who are living this nightmare.  And, hopefully, to reduce judgment and stigma, and to promote kindness. 

We all feel the need to isolate at times, to be alone. Work can be a very difficult thing for my friends. I frankly don't know how they do it. To wear that mask every day, and all day long.  Pray for them will you?  For their broken hearts and the minds that replay the events over and over.

These ladies mean the world to me.  They have gotten me through some pretty dark days with their understanding and their love.  We all say we are a part of a pretty crappy club, but the fact is, when it comes to child loss, you've got to have a support group. I remember asking everyone I knew who had lost a child, "When will I feel better?"  They all graciously skirted the question until I had some time to realize for myself that it doesn't get better.  You just learn to live with it. 

The night before our son died was normal.  He was back at home, working on the farm with his dad, and had cooked supper with me.  He washed out his thermos, made his lunch, laid out his work clothes.  Saturday morning, his alarm was going off and he wasn't getting up.  We found him snuggled into his bed, as if he had gotten comfortable, pulled his blankets up under his chin, and died.  I won't ever be able to describe the feelings that rose up inside me upon finding him.  I don't wish that upon anyone.

John loved big, gave great hugs, ate hot sauce on everything and made his famous cheese dip nearly every day. Only he could eat it - it was that hot!  He too loved dogs, and they loved him.  They listened to him, and he calmed them.  He would come to your aid if you called, listen to your problems for hours, and he wouldn't judge you for it.  He said if he had his choice, he would wear a new pair of socks every day.  He absolutely adored his sister and was excited to have a brother in law.  He loved Christmas and presents.  He couldn't wait to meet the little girl his sister was carrying, but he did not. He died a month and a half before she was born. 

My life quickly became filled with calls and conversations with law enforcement, meetings at the District Attorneys office, court hearings, and quite frankly, information overload about a subject I knew relatively nothing about, and a judicial system I had little knowledge of.  I was quickly introduced to a litany of "cast members" in an ongoing tragedy involving the death of my son.  So many sad stories.  It wasn't easy to show up but I owed it to John. I became his voice.  

It's not easy to walk down the hall in our house, as I am confronted with John's room, the room he died in.  If I'm being honest, it's not easy to live in the house.  And yet, I can't imagine leaving this house, where we last saw him alive.  I still can't believe he's gone.  Every time I walk past his room, I picture him that morning.  Complicated. Circumstances.  

He was kind, he was affectionate, and I am a better person because of him.  He taught me a lot - but I wanted more.  It just wasn't enough time, not for any of us. Almost every time I get in the car, one of his songs comes up on my speakers - I am still unsure how his songs keep playing instead of my own...but I know he would think it was hilarious.  

The last song was If I Die Young by Band Perry.  Which I listened to.  Every word.  And cried. Here are a few lines:  Lord make me a rainbow, I'll shine down on my mother.  She'll know I'm safe with you when she stands under my colors, oh and life ain't always what you think it oughta be, no ain't even grey, but she buries her baby.  The sharp knife of a short life, well, I've had just enough time. . And I'll be wearing white when I come into your Kingdom . . .

Kristin's son John Ryan

I hope you'll take these stories into your heart, pray for my new friends and honor their kids.  Do something nice for someone, and when asked, say you did it for John or Josh, for Autumn, or for Miranda or for Mason.  And if you know my friends, give them a hug, squeeze their hand, ask them about their kids.  Say their names. Send them a card or a text and let them know you haven't forgotten.

I haven't had the opportunity to meet Leigh or Michelle, yet - but I hope one day soon I can. I love them and I love their kids.  They are brave women, filled with grace, and their kids are probably some of the most beautiful I've had the privilege of getting to know.  I look forward to meeting them too one day.