A Hard 6 Months - Part 1

Trigger warning: potentially sensitive subject matter and photos.

Cancer sucks.

I believe we can all collectively agree that it sucks. It is an awful disease plaguing us and our loved ones as a result of sin. I hate cancer and what it did to my son. I hate sin, the results of sin, and the devil. I long for Jesus’ return and for eternal glory where there is no more pain and sorrow; When the Lord will “make all things new”. (Revelation 21: 4-5)

6 months ago, our dear precious Owen took his last breath and passed from this life into eternal glory at the young tender age of 7. We miss him so much. To be very honest, I was uncertain if I would write again about our journey. But after recent consideration, here we are. Rick and I spent this half year mark of life without our oldest son by the ocean. I have always loved the ocean, and used to see it with this naive awe and joy and peace. When Owen was 1 year old, we took him on a trip to the ocean and he loved it. If he could visit the ocean now, oh how much fun he would’ve had exploring and watching the waves. I will always wish I could’ve shared my love for the ocean with him.

Coming to the ocean is different for me now. I still love it so much and it was so good to be there, but I see it with such a different perspective, and it brings out new feelings and emotions that pull me this way and that way. I see God’s power so clearly in the ocean, but I also feel weak and helpless by the ocean, knowing I cannot do anything of my own strength; that no matter what I did, I could not save my own son’s life. Yet, it’s comforting to physically see God’s power and know that all things are in His control.

I see grief in the ocean. The powerful waves of grief that unpredictably surge, crashing down on me and tossing me over and over again. It’s so easy to be dragged away by the strong currents of grief and pain from where I can finally touch the bottom. But then I also think of how I have survived those painful, overwhelming currents and crashing waves of grief so far…because of the only sure lifeline, Jesus; the only trustworthy rescue from the overwhelming forces threatening to drown me. Grief is powerful and unpredictable, just like the ocean. But with God’s constant upholding hand underneath me, and with Jesus as my only sure lifeline, I have not drowned.

Rick felt Psalm 46: 10 when he was looking out over the calm peaceful cove by our cabin on vacation. “Be still, and know that I am God” brought him comfort, and I appreciated that perspective after what I felt from the roaring open ocean. The ocean holds so many truths of Who our God is and that He wants us to be still, to rest in Him, and to surrender to His power and control; to stop fighting Him which will cause us to drown, and let Him be our lifeline in the ocean of grief, pain, depression, and discouragement.

On our vacation to the ocean, we were able to so wonderfully step out of our reality and into a rest and relaxation we have never experienced before. However, on the trip back home, I experienced something very unexpected: an intense dread of going home. The pain of our life came crashing down on me and I could hardly bear the thought of coming home, back to our town, back to our home, back to reality, back to our life. I felt like a prisoner being dragged back to prison against my will. My mind and heart were screaming not to be taken back to where all the hurt and pain is. I could feel what Paul and Timothy felt in 2 Corinthians 1:8: “we were burdened beyond measure, above strength, so that we despaired even of life.” The devil was attacking and trying to pull me away from relying solely on the Lord and His comfort. I am still struggling with being home and feeling stuck here.

Its been over 6 months without Owen here with us; 6 months of missing him and mourning him, aching to have him back. To me, it feels like just yesterday that I was caring for our precious boy and our journey with him vividly goes through my mind often. Those images of watching him die are stuck with me. My mind constantly replays our last days with him, finding him after he passed away, and our last moments with him before his body was taken from our home. I wish I would’ve held and kissed him more since I’ll never ever get to do that again here in this life. I wish I could’ve hung on to him a little longer before they took him away from me. They are such awful memories that carry so much sorrow and love, and I have to face this often which is intensely painful. Oh how we miss him. We so badly yearn to have him back - to hear him, see him, hold him, and smell him again.

Being 6 months past Owen’s death is not easier by any means. Some things actually seem harder now. I am lonely without Owen. I miss who he was and having him around and part of our family. We miss him running around with the other kids while we work outside or having rides on the tractor or lawn mower. We miss him biking around the driveway. We even miss how he ordered his siblings around and told them what to do. I am struggling to accept his death and move forward. I am struggling to take care of myself, especially my mental health. There is guilt that comes with being happy and feeling okay after losing your child, and I struggle even wanting to be happy. There have been many mental, emotional, and spiritual battles to face in these 6 months since Owen’s death.

I struggle to fold laundry as it’s so hard not having a pile for Owen anymore. I try to visit his grave most weeks, and it is still so surreal that my son’s body is buried there. Will going there ever become normal? Going to his school is excruciatingly hard for me to do because of the reminders that Owen is gone, never to set foot in there again and never to learn something new. Going to church is still so hard for me because going as an incomplete family to a place that Owen loved - going anywhere he loved - feels wrong without him, and I miss having him with us. I have called Logan “Owen” when asking the kids to do something. I miss calling Owen’s name. Logan so sweetly told me “it’s okay mommy, you can call me Owen. I look like him a little bit too.” (Don’t worry, I call Logan by his own name on a normal basis.)

I have gone through most of Owen’s things now. I gave some to Logan, only to take them back and keep with the rest of Owen’s things as it’s too hard to see Logan wearing them. I have some big bins in our bedroom with Owen’s things so they’re close to me whenever I need to go through them and remember him that way. Someone blessed us by turning a few pairs of Owen’s pyjamas, that he wore at the end of his life, into 3 precious teddy bears that now sit on our bed. (Those pyjamas were cut up from caring for him - giving medication through his arms and legs when he couldn’t swallow anymore, and cutting his shirts open when I couldn’t move his head anymore.) It’s been hard to look at them, but I love them so much and I don’t regret having them made.

We may be functioning better than those first weeks after his death; we may be doing the next thing and look like we are establishing a new normal. But it is purely God by His grace helping us and giving us what we need. We do not have the strength to keep going on our own. And when we think we can face this painful life and carry it by our own strength, God brings something along to remind us how much we need Him. (Why can’t we be better students and learn the first time that we cannot do anything without Him?) It’s because of God’s grace toward us that we are living and doing the things we can.

A friend recently shared the song "Make It Well" by Mercy Me (only part of the lyrics are here). God knows what we need when we need it, and He knew I needed this song.

1)Make it well with my soul

Don't let me face this loneliness alone

Make it well with my soul

I need a peace that only heaven knows

Jesus could you please

Just sit and cry with me

'Till I can sing

'Till I can sing

(Chorus)It is well with my soul

It is well with my soul

Whatever my lot

You are still my God

It is well

It is well with my soul

2)Make it well with my soul

When the storm is raging please don't let me go

Oh voice that calms the sea

Keep whispering to me

So I can sing

So I can sing

(Chorus)It is well with my soul

It is well with my soul

Whatever my lot

You are still my God

It is well

It is well with my soul

3)Make it well with my soul

Keep this heart from hardening like stone

Show me through the pain

There's reason still to praise

So I can sing

So I can sing

It is well with my soul

It is well with my soul

Whatever my lot

You are still my God, oh

It is well with my soul

We attended an event at the BC Children’s hospital to remember children under their care who passed away from terminal illness over the last two years. It was an extremely hard event to go to, and it did not bring us any comfort. In fact it stirred up an intense anger in me and I wanted to smash things and scream. But I knew I would regret not going, so I am glad we went in spite of the hard. We took all our other children with us because we believe in being open and honest with them about our journey with Owen (age appropriately of course). We walked through the hospital and remembered our times there with Owen. We talked with Owen’s oncologist, who believes in God, and who we appreciate so much. It’s a heartbreaking world to be part of. Seeing the other families there who have also lost a child or sibling made me hurt all the more. I had the opportunity to hug and cry with another mother who I met at the cancer clinic back in January 2025 as we waited for our children’s radiation treatments. Her daughter passed away this past year as well. Cancer sucks. It’s an awful road to walk with your child.

Mother’s Day is coming up. How does a mother survive the death of her child? How does a father carry on from that? How do parents find joy after their child dies? Just as I tucked away for my birthday a few months ago, so I will be tucking away this Mother’s Day. We will do what helps us get through it this year. And for me, that’s away from other people where I don’t have to hear any “Happy Mother’s Day” greetings and where I can just be.

Getting creative when taking a picture of ALL my kids.

The place in our house, between the living room and dining room, where Owen spent his last few days and where he peacefully passed away. In the background you can see his play fort.

The last picture of my 3 boys together.

Owen in April last year.

Visiting the ocean at 1 year old.