Tested, Stretched, Reshaped

The 8 month mark of Owen's death fell on the same day as the school closing program for Owen and Logan's school. That was a very very hard thing to face. Owen never started grade 2 and it was almost unbearable to see the rest of his class done their grade 2 year. Those grade 2 kids got to see first hand what a hurting mom looks like when I broke down in front of them. And Logan finished his kindergarten year without his big brother there for him.

It has already been 8 months and yet it still feels like yesterday that we tucked Owen in for the night and never saw him alive again. Grief has taken a huge toll on us physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually.

We still struggle to make decisions or answer questions; my mind is in a fog much of the time. It's called grief brain, and it's a very real thing.

We struggle to concentrate or remember things.

I feel nauseous when I haven't taken time to properly grieve and process things.

We are plagued by headaches, skin infections, stomach problems, and I still battle chest pain periodically (even though all the tests show I'm healthy).

I am still struggling with vivid flashbacks of Owen's last days, seeing his lifeless body, and closing the casket on him.

We are easily overwhelmed and overstimulated. We cannot handle loud, busy, crowded places. For me, being social is even more exhausting now than it ever has been, and I cannot handle being around lots of people.

I don't have energy for my phone. Please don't take it personally if I don't respond to your messages right away. It is extremely tiring for me to think of a response; my brain just doesn't have the capacity for that anymore.

We don't care about many of the things we used to care about and we both have lost the desire for a lot. We are both not on social media as much anymore. We can't handle knowing everything that's going on.

We don't have patience for frivolous or petty things anymore.

We are tired all the time. Grief is so exhausting; intense pain is draining.

We are not the same people we used to be. Neither of us can handle things like we used to.

Our priorities have majorly shifted.

We need different things now - deeper conversations and deeper relationships. We gravitate to those who haven't given up on us, those who accept us as we are now, and those who can handle our grief and all that it brings.

We are unsure where we fit in now.

A part of you dies inside when your child dies. You are tested and stretched and reshaped as a person.

I battle anger and Rick battles impatience. We can both get easily frustrated or annoyed, especially with other people - something that's very common when such a great loss has been experienced. Having grace for others is a work in progress and something we need to be in much prayer about.

We also don't have the space for other people's problems. The pain of a loss like ours is so shattering and all-encompassing that there is no capacity to be there for others right now. Our hearts break for people who experience loss because we know the pain of loss, and we can lift people up to the Lord in prayer. But for many situations, it is hard to find the space to really care as we are still trying to figure out how to carry our own pain and wonder how on earth to piece our own hearts back together. 2Corinthians 1:4 tells us that God is "the Father of all mercies and God of all comfort, Who comforts us in all our tribulation, that we may be able to comfort those who are in any trouble, with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God." We know that one day we will be more emotionally available to come alongside others who are hurting and to comfort them. We just don't know when.

Losing your child completely changes your perspective on everything.

I have guilt that I'm so different now, especially as I see how relationships in my life have changed. But yet I know we could not go unchanged after what we have been through.

"When we struggle to know ourselves, we can rest in the fact that God knows us fully. When we are misunderstood, God knows and understands us. May you find joy in the God Who loves you more than you know." (Author unknown)

People may not agree with how we are grieving. I know that some may have their own opinions on how we need to get over it already and move on; maybe they think we should be happy because we know where Owen is; or maybe we need to be more sympathetic to other people and be willing to live like we used to again. Well, until someone has lost one of their own children, they simply cannot understand. And I have to constantly remind myself that everyone responds to extreme pain differently; no grief journey is the same.

Every day we wake up with an empty place in our home and in our hearts. We lost our child! Our lives were tossed upside down! You cannot just "carry on" from that. It may seem like it's taking such a long time for us to "get back to normal", but we have to face the reality of Owen's death every day. There is no more normal as it used to be. So to those who haven't experienced this, be patient and be gracious to us or anyone who has lost a child. Bereaved parents really feel the isolation months after a child's death, when the world carries on or people have pulled away because they think we are selfish, that this is taking too long, or they can't handle our grief.

It has been hard not putting pressure on myself to be ok and to get back to being an active part of the community and the church. But that is just not possible for us right now. We are not ok and that is ok.

The world is a strange and scary place to me. I feel unsafe. Anxiety takes hold easily. I walk around with this identity of being the mom who's son died from brain cancer, which is a reason why it's so hard for me to go anywhere right now. When I do go out, I disassociate to try to protect myself. There are SO many reminders of Owen's absence everywhere. There are many things I still cannot do or places I cannot go because missing him hurts too much. The pain of Owen's loss can be so unbearable and suffocating that it's almost impossible to function and do the next thing. How long O Lord? (Psalm 13) Will there ever be a reprieve from this awful pain of grief? Will we ever be ok again? Will we ever be able to function better? What is normal?

Owen had a special love for all his baby siblings.