For a dozen years
death came to my life every couple of years. It started in April 2002 when our
family lost our mother. It was sudden. It was gut wrenching. It was difficult
to feel in my heart that this was the end of her on earth with us. It was heartbreaking
to watch her slip away from us. I recall slowly watching her heart rate drop
from Friday evening until Monday evening, praying with her and two of my
sisters for her salvation, and knowing when she took her last breath she went
home to be with Jesus. A joyous day in Heaven, a heartrending day for her
family. By 2012, I realized someone from one branch or another of my family had
died. As we get older, we start to expect it.
What I didn’t expect
was to all of a sudden lose someone every year. That is too much! That started
in 2014, when we lost Dillon's dad, Rich. In 2015 Uncle Jack, 2016 BJ, and 2017
my oldest brother Ronnie…TOO MUCH!
After Rich died,
there was concern for his then ten year old son. How will he handle that kind
of a loss? Does he need to be in counseling? After some research he joined a
group of middle schoolers at the Dougy Center. What a phenomenal place! He
could share as much or as little as he wanted or nothing at all. There was
never any pressure. Bonus, while he met with his like-situation peers mom met
with her like-situation peers. We met for ninety minutes twice a month.
Two years after
losing his dad, he was getting emotional as the loss was now settling into his
heart and his mind. Dad is not coming home. He was struggling adjusting to
school, adjusting to the finality of dad in Heaven, adjusting to his new life.
The morning of October 20, 2016 he woke up an emotional mess, he broke down for
one of the first times in a long time and told me how much he was missing his
daddy. My heart ached for his heart. We sat on my bed and both sobbed. It was a
difficult morning but it was also a morning of progress on this long road known
as grief. Little did we know, we would
lose his brother that very night. Little did I know that the following day I
would have to sit him down and tell him his brother was gone, he was in an
accident, and in the blink of an eye we won't see him until we are gone. Just
when he thought he was adjusting to life without dad, when he thought he was
ready to leave the Dougy Center, his brother was gone. Now he was thankful for
the Dougy Center. Thankful to be among peers that had stories of their own,
peers that understand. As helpful as the Dougy Center has been for Dillon that
is equally true for me. I have made connections, I have heard stories, I have
shared stories, we have shared our grief. The Dougy Center is a safe place to
share whatever you are feeling in the moment or share nothing and just listen
to others. Once again, Dillon has
decided he is ready to leave the Dougy Center and because the Dougy Center is
for children and because I have allowed Dillon to steer his own journey of
grief, I also must allow him the decision to stop going when he feels he is
ready. This past Monday night was our last night at the Dougy Center. The Dougy
Center has an informal time of goodbye when someone leaves and Dillon enjoyed
his last time with this group; although we are able to return at any time. I,
on the other hand, am not in the same place in my journey and the good byes
were difficult. They have a little ritual when someone leaves. In our adult
group, I picked four rocks from their bucket of rocks. Usually they suggest
three smooth ones to represent how far you have come in this process and one
rough one showing there is still room for more grief and growth. They provide a
small bag for the rocks and then we pass the bag of rocks around the room and
each person can share their experience of my participation in the group or if
they don't know me they can just wish me well in the future. It was hard to say
goodbye, it was hard to share why I was there, who I had lost and how they
died. I still could not get through that without tears.
Picking out my rocks
was a weird experience. How does one pick out rocks? As I looked in the bucket
and rummaged my hand around, I saw a green one and I felt a little glimmer in
my heart. It was like BJ was saying, "pick me, mom, pick me". It was
a smooth rock, a slightly shiny rock, but to me it represented my smooth and
steady love for my son, now in Heaven. So, you could say I was "pulling a
BJ" and breaking the rock rules! I picked my four rocks a little
differently. One would catch my eye and it would represent something about that
person and not where I am at in this endless cycle of grief. I don't think
there are any rocks quite as jagged as I feel most of the time.
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| This rock, "an angel's wing" represents Rich, Dillon's angel in Heaven. |
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| This rock is my version of Salt Lake, where my brother Ronnie lived for many years. |
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I have two beautiful green rocks, neither one jagged, one shinier than the other.
Both for my precious boy in Heaven. BJ's favorite color was green.
|
BJ would say, "they are just rocks, mom". They are just rocks, rocks
that remind me I had a group of people that welcomed me, let me cry, let me
talk, and let me cry some more. People that felt my pain as I shared for the
first time that I had just lost my oldest son, people that cried with me,
people that did not judge how I was handling it or how I am doing. People that
just let me be me.
As I continue in life, I will never be ready for the next one that dies. I won't be any more prepared than any of the other times, but I do know there will be a next time.
For more information on the Dougy Center, the National Center for Grieving Children & Families: www.dougy.org
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