Death is uncomfortable

9 hours ago

6 min read

Here we are. One year since Owen's death.

I have been battling guilt; Guilt from being so unsure of Owen's body after he died.

The whole experience of finding Owen deceased was eerie. It was very early morning - 3:45am - so it was dark in the house besides the one lamp I had turned on as I came into the living room to check on him. I was scared of his body when I found him, and I didn't know what to do anymore. He was no longer alive for me to care for. My job physically caring for him as his mother was done - just like that. And shock took over. But I battle guilt that I felt that way.

Death is uncomfortable.

And boy we sure felt that last year on October 11 as our precious oldest boy's body lay there on his bed in the heart of our home. Yes, Owen looked peaceful and even healthier than he did those last days of his life. But he was now lifeless. And it was uncomfortable.

Deep down we all know why there is death. It's because of sin. And it's uncomfortable to be confronted with that firsthand. Death is the punishment for sin (Romans 6:23a). It is uncomfortable to see a lifeless person. We were created for life, not death. We know that because of Jesus' death on the cross, there is hope after death for those who love and believe in Him (Romans 6:23b). But it doesn't take away the reality of earthly death, what it stirs up within us, and the pain it brings into our lives.

It is really hard to be the person who makes people uncomfortable because my child died. I have had to work hard at learning that even when I feel completely alone, that God will never leave me or forsake me (Deuteronomy 31:8, Joshua 1:5,9, Isaiah 41:10, Hebrews 13:5-6) - that He is always there no matter how lonely I am or how uncomfortable I make other people; He is not uncomfortable with me. Many people don't know what to do with parents who have lost children. They don't know what to say. They don't know how to act. And I understand. Because if I hadn't lost Owen, I also wouldn't be able to understand and know how to be around bereaved parents.

The death of a child is unnatural.

Rick and I both felt lost when Owen died - and we still do. There is a gaping hole in our family. It's disorienting. All the care I poured into Owen was no longer necessary the moment he took his last breath. That next dose of medication was no longer needed. What now? There is a correct order to life and death in our minds, and a parent is not supposed to outlive their child. When that happens, everything we thought and believed is shaken right up.

Those of us who have lost a child are walking reminders to everyone else that children do die. We are not in control of our lives. And that can be scary. Some people prefer to just avoid us completely because they cannot handle that reality. And I don't necessarily blame them - even though complete avoidance of us does hurt. I carry the reality of child loss with me every day in everything I do. One of my biggest fears is that one of my other children could also die if that was the Lord's will.

Yet, as unnatural as the death of a child is to us, as scary as it is to be reminded that any of our children could die at any time, God is in control and nothing takes Him by surprise. We may be utterly shaken and completely undone, but nothing shakes God. He holds all things in His hands. God brought Owen into this life, and He took Owen from this life. He was fully in control of everything that happened to Owen. And He is fully in control of each of our lives and our children's lives.

In my grief, I came across this quote that was both painful and comforting to me all at the same time: "A short life is not an incomplete life." (Author unknown). I have sure struggled to accept that Owen's life was complete. He was a young 7 year old boy, a big brother, full of curiosity, a good friend, loved by everyone. It is an extremely hard thing for a parent to really accept that their child's life was indeed complete at such a young age. In fact, I have screamed and cried and questioned God until I'm blue in the face about it all. As time wears on though, I have been slowly finding some comfort in knowing Owen's life was ordained by God, that God has used Owen's short life for His honor and glory somehow (even though I don't understand and don't fully know how).

A year later, I am still struggling with not being able to love and care for Owen here on this earth. I am struggling with where to pour my love for him. The other day, it pushed its way out in guttural pain-filled screams and cries as I ached for my oldest boy but can no longer love on him here.

Death haunts.

I have experienced the haunting of death when my mind is plagued by Owen's deceased face. I carry images of my son that are forever etched into my brain - both good ones and bad ones. Those bad images seem to haunt me - his suffering, his death. It's awful. So often I have cried to God for a reprieve from those painful images.

Grief doesn't necessarily have a timeline. In some ways, we have come a long way since Owen's death, but in many other ways, we are still wrestling with so much. I feel I have back peddled in my grief lately and am experiencing things as if Owen just died. The memories of last year keep stabbing my heart like a sharp knife. Sometimes I wonder "How can I keep going?". Sometimes I feel as though I'm suffocating. And sometimes I am so close to just giving up - sick of the awful pain in my heart and sick of the toll grief is taking on my body. Some days I am so miserable and joy seems so far out of reach.

Something a godly woman said has stuck with me in my pain: "As long as you're wrestling with God, you're face to face with Him." (Jill Sullivan) We have done our fair share of wrestling. Maybe wrestling and questioning in our deep pain and sorrow is not such a bad thing. God can reveal Himself to us so beautifully in our pain - He has to me. However, so often I do still wonder where He is in this all, especially in the very dark moments when hopelessness threatens to sink in and all feels too overwhelming to bear anymore. But as I look back on this year without Owen, I can see that God has been lifting me out of those dark places over and over and over.

I wrote about the rollercoaster ride during Owen's cancer journey, but that hasn't stopped in grief. We were told that grief would be one of the gnarliest rollercoaster rides we would ever experience. And boy is that ever true. We are learning how vital it is to cling to Christ with all our might in order to survive the ups and downs. As I look back on this year without our beautiful boy, I know that God has never failed and, in patience and compassion, He continually reminds me of Himself and of where I need to keep my eyes fixed - on Him.

Without God, we wouldn't have made it through this year.

All glory to the Lord for His continued grace and mercy toward us as we so imperfectly muddle our way through the unimaginable.

Lord From Sorrows Deep I call (Matt Boswell, Matt Papa)

Lord, from sorrows deep I call

When my hope is shaken

Torn and ruined from the fall

Hear my desperation

For so long I've pled and prayed

God, come to my rescue

Even so the thorn remains

Still my heart will praise You.

Storms within my troubled soul