Facing Milestones

How does one face their dead child's birthday?

A question that has been haunting me as we face what would've been Owen's 8th birthday.

He was our firstborn. I remember the day he was born so vividly. When I first held him as a baby in my arms, absolutely amazed and blown away by the miracle of birth and this first child God blessed us with, I never could've imagined one day celebrating his birthday without him. I never could've imagined a life where one of our children has died. And yet, we are living it now. I don't have expectations for the day. I don't know how we will be or what we will be able to handle. We hope to celebrate him somehow, whatever that will look like, because he is our son and nothing will change the fact that he was born to us on September 1, 2018.

The anticipation leading up to the much dreaded months of September and October has been excruciating. My chest pain has been so bad as we near these milestones...the physical manifestation of grief. 10 months since Owen's death was really hard for us. Now we have Owen's birthday on September 1, the start of the school year on September 8, 11 months since Owen died on September 11, and in October we have to face the 1 year anniversary of his death.

I have one word for it all: Crushing.

I actually battle some panic lately as I don't want to face any of these things and I hate how time just keeps moving on, bringing us farther from when our son was alive.

I am constantly flooded by the realization of my weakness and that I have not been doing this journey on my own. I couldn't! I have to give glory to God for His constant grace in carrying me and upholding our whole family each day; for the strength He provides to do the next right thing. I am weak and unable to carry on by my own strength. And in that, I am reminded that we really do need the One Who created us to help and sustain us in this life, in everything we face.

I think of the well-known Bible verse 2Corinthians 12:9 where it says, "My grace is sufficient for you, for My strength is made perfect in weakness." How good of our God to provide the strength we need by His grace.

I have heard often, either spoken to me or to other bereaved parents, of how strong we are to be able to walk this journey and handle everything we have been through. No, we are not strong. I am not strong. I am so weak and fall apart so often. Many days I don't even know what to do next. The fact that we are still going is purely God's strength through us.

To hear things like "look how far you have come since Owen died" or "look at what you have survived" or "look at how well you are doing" - makes me think: but I don't actually want to do this anymore, I had no choice and I've had to survive without one of my children and it's really awful trying to survive, and I am at this point in life because of my son's sickness and death and no one knows how I truly feel and that I don't feel like I'm doing anything well. I know people mean well, that they are trying to encourage and build up someone who is hurting so much. But I'll tell you right now, there is very little, if anything, that can be said to ease the pain of losing your child and make you feel ok.

As the griever on this journey I have discovered that: "Grief doesn't need your advice. It needs your presence." (Author unknown) People cannot fix anything in grief, nor can they make the problem better, because that would require bringing the loved one back from the dead, which is impossible. Only God can grant the peace that surpasses all understanding (Philippians 4:7) in this situation. We need people who will just be with us in our pain and stand by us as we learn about God in a whole new way and as we discover who we are now.

With Owen's birthday looming ahead, we are carrying questions like "Is Owen aging in heaven or will he be our 7 year old boy when we meet him there?" We have a casting of his hand and the realization that his hands will not get bigger was hard. Is he growing in heaven? But then if we think about it, time is so different in heaven. Or is there even time? Because heaven is for eternity (and so is hell). And if God's children are all reunited with their bodies and made perfect when Christ comes again, would Owen then still be 7 years old? I know that in heaven we won't even care about these things because it'll be perfection and we will be in the presence of our Holy Almighty God. But here on earth, our human minds crave knowing. We have slowly begun exploring more about heaven and what Owen could be experiencing in this time before Christ's return according to what God has revealed to us through His Word.

This first summer without Owen sucked. Everyone asked us how our summer was going or what our summer plans were. Honestly, this summer sucked and my goal was to just survive and get through. Which we did. But, everything we did hurt. We missed Owen so much. He loved summer time, he loved swimming, he loved exploring, he loved coming up with things to do with his siblings. It really really sucked not having him here with us. I even hit a point where I just needed our pool emptied and gone because I couldn't stand seeing that constant stark reminder from the pool of who he was, what he loved to do, and how much we miss him. Our kids also had hard moments trying to figure out how to do things without their oldest brother there leading the pack.

Before Owen got sick, I prided myself in the 50+ houseplants I had, or how I decorated my house. I cared a lot about things - stuff. Oh how my mindset has changed now - I've gotten rid of most of my houseplants and I have been decluttering my house. I cannot handle all the stuff. I need simple, clean, and organized and the past months have seen me working toward that. It's hard to keep up with everything on a normal basis (young kids, house, property, garden, etc) but when you smear an added layer of grief and reordering your whole family order on top of that, it can be extra hard to stay on top of things. I cannot handle what I used to handle, and the things I used to care about just don't interest me the same anymore.

I was nailed a couple weeks ago by the fact that Owen will not be going to grade 3. That thought took me down hard and I've been really struggling with it. I have been dreading the start of the upcoming school year. I dread seeing the back to school pictures, everyone sending their kids off to school again. Logan has to attend school without his big brother. As a bereaved parent, it's really upsetting to hear parents say how sad it is that their kids are growing up so fast and starting another year of school...at least they have their children alive to watch grow up and start another year of school. Because you know what is really sad? When your child dies and is no longer alive to grow older and go to school anymore. We don't get any more back to school pictures of Owen. We will always miss him in the yearbook and class pictures. He should still be there with the rest of his class. So please, don't complain about your kids growing older and starting a higher grade. It is not something to be sad about. It is something to thank the Lord for! Because there are many parents who are living this same nightmare that we are, so shattered as they don't ever get to enjoy another back to school picture of their babies again.

Last year, even though Owen didn't actually start school, he was still alive. Attending the meet and greet day was our last outing with Owen. I remember trying to get him ready to go see what would've been his grade 2 classroom, and almost not making it out of the house because he was struggling so much and going downhill quite quickly at that point. But when there was life, there was still hope - hope that God might still heal Owen (we knew He could if that was His will). You have absolutely no foggy clue what it'll be like when your child is dead, gone from this life and from your family until they actually are. Now there is no more hope that he'll make it to school and that reality is hitting hard.

We continue clinging to the truth that Owen is perfectly healed and happy - safe with the Lord. He is experiencing glorious things incomparable to anything school has to offer and the joy he had in going to school. It is a hard thing to carry both the hope of where Owen is now and the extreme crushing pain of his absence here. So many conflicting thoughts and feelings. It's draining work learning how to carry it all.

And we continue clinging to faith and hope, as we can find in the hymn Be Still My Soul. I have it on my fridge to remind me of faith and hope.

Be still, my soul; the Lord is on your side;

Bear patiently the cross of grief or pain;

Leave to your God to order and provide;

In ev'ry change He faithful will remain.

Be still, my soul; your best, your heavn'ly friend

Through thorny ways leads to a joyful end.

We sing Psalter 55 (based on Psalm 23 - The Lord's My Shepherd) a lot in our home. It was also a song we sang at Owen's funeral and it has just felt right and good to sing those words. Our girls memorized it over the summer and it's been sweet to listen to their precious voices sing it too.

Psalter 55 - The Good Shepherd

1)The Lord my Shepherd holds me

Within His tender care,

And with His flock He folds me,

No want shall find me there.

In pastures green He feeds me,

With plenty I am blest;

By quiet streams he leads me

And makes me safely rest.

2)Whatever ill betides me,

He will restore and bless;

For His name's sake He guides me

In paths of righteousness.

Thy rod and staff shall cheer me

In death's dark vale and shade,

For Thou wilt then be near me:

I shall not be afraid.

Owen knew Psalm 23. Even in the midst of these hard milestones we are facing in September and October, and how much we ache for our little boy and still can't truly comprehend what has actually all happened to our family, we know that God is our shepherd and He is a good one. We know He is with us in the valleys, we know He is leading us and will restore, we know in Him can be found a sense of rest from this crazy life, and we know because of Him there is goodness and mercy found in the very hard things.

He loved listening to stories. It was calming for him, especially when his pain and symptoms were really acting up.

One of our weekly visits to his grave this summer. In grief, we can still smile.