Good morning day. Are you here already?
I'm awake at 4:30am... again. I confess it is usually my cat, waking me up, wanting to get out for good hunting before the sunrise... But often, like this morning, I wake up on my own, expecting to see Lynn at the foot of our bed, leaning over the dresser drawer, getting dressed for an early run. It is still as natural as the morning sun to me. I used to tell him how much I loved to go to sleep beside him, to end the day with him. But, he always preferred the mornings, having someone to wake up to...
...no known cause... no known cause...
I feel a little numb. I spent some time arranging details for the girls cardiologist appointments, went through some other paper work, mailing, registrations that needed to be sent in. The girls were their usual awesome selves, with strange episodes here and there like Roya throwing off the cover on the tank of our new toilet so she could see what it looked like inside when it flushed, sending the cover smashing to the floor... Then, getting out to run errands in the morning (which never happened), but not leaving until noon, so packing a quick lunch to eat at the park, then never leaving the park, Alea's foot being stung by a bee, Roya running away again so that I actually got in the car, (Alea already in her seat and buckled), and drove "around the circle" in the parking lot, actually hoping to terrify my child so she would stop running away and stay with me in public places, or just come when I say it is time to go... but it didn't work. She didn't even notice. (Roya is the most tender and gracious child and seems to behave perfectly for most other people. With her Mama, though, she knows she has a safe place to vent all her frustrations and anger, so sometimes we have a few difficulties...)
While we were at the park, (supposed to be running stupid errands), another mom looked up and shouted at me, Look! A fire! Look at the fire! I slowly turned as I heard sirens behind me and saw the large mass of smoke lifting up into the sky just blocks away in the neighbourhood across the street. I felt I was suppose to react, at least to offer an Oh my, that's awful! but couldn't manage it. I had no emotion to conjure up over a possible tragedy somewhat nearby, but not directly effecting our lives at all. It's the most embarrassing thing sometimes, this lack of feeling. Sometimes, compassionate feelings are there and genuine. Other times, I fake it. Today, I could not.
Why? Why do others get the luxury of speaking so casually about death? To say things like, Oh my, did you hear?? Well, I heard that... Isn't that just awful. So sad. Why do other families live normal North American lives, worrying about their net worth and which daycare to use? Why do other couples grow old together, go on dates, enjoy the comfort of each other's company (or their endless complaints about each other...), when I am forever tortured by my missing half. Why do other children get to run up to their Daddy and laugh and giggle, climb up his legs and swing around? When my children have to process grief, grapple with why Daddy died when there is no answer, try to grasp how he could be in heaven but cannot come back to us, and have to undergo tests just in case, causing more and more nightmares, knowing that they might die too...?
...no known cause... no known cause...
The truth is, I am not angry. I feel powerless. Powerless to save my husband. Powerless to protect my children from harm. Powerless to will life to be one way when it is in fact another. I am powerless to fill the void Lynn left in our lives, to accomplish everything on my own... To keep our family unscathed and un-scarred by the mark of death on our lives... I am powerless.
But we see [Jesus], who for a little while was made lower than the angels, namely Jesus, crowned with glory and honor because of the suffering of death, so that by the grace of God he might taste death for everyone. (Heb 2:9)
There He is, Jesus... standing above the tumultuous waves, arms wide open, watching me. In my spirit, I hear Him say, Peace, my daughter, Peace be still. Come to me. Fix your eyes on me, the author and finisher of your faith. I am the Way the Truth and the Life. All your answers are found in my peace that reigns over the flood.
Silly me. I am always trying to reign over my own flood, keep my life together, stay on top of it... Why? Why do I still do that, as id I had any semblance of control? Why does any of it matter when a life so precious can be swept up to glory in an instant, leaving a broken family to struggle without him? What is there left to hold onto? What else could be sure and secure, if for no reason, it can all be swept away?
But we see [Jesus], who for a little while was made lower than the angels, namely Jesus, crowned with glory and honor because of the suffering of death, so that by the grace of God he might taste death for everyone. (Heb 2:9)
Friday, August 9, 2013
Wednesday, August 7, 2013
Why? - Part 1
The words from the other end of the phone are echoing like thunder in the back of my head.
We've been investigating your husband's heart...there is no known cause of death... we want to have an answer for you... it's a very interesting case... we are continuing our study... we are sending his heart to the top specialist in the country...
Today, the image of my husband's body lying on the table in the emergency room is replaced by the image of this one organ, my husband's physical heart... The rest of his body is dust and ashes, his other organs donated, but his physical heart, almost a year later, is being kept in sterile fridges or freezers or portable boxes...?
When I first got through to the coroner's office, the woman on the other end of the line reminded me of someone working in a hair salon, chewing gum, saying honey, and darlin' to everyone. I had this image of a white, sterile medical examination clinic, like one pictured in movies or TV shows, with this vibrant woman, adding colour with her makeup and hair clips and painted nails. What a terrible stereotype. What a contrasting, yet fitting, dynamic she brought to the image in my head...
Two phone calls later, after speaking with two examiners involved in the investigation (as they call it), after almost a year's worth of testing... it is most likely that we are dealing option #1. I cannot remove the no known cause echo, that persists in the back of my mind, leaving my head throbbing and my jaw tight...
The examiners were kind and sensitive. They said things like, We cannot imagine how hard this is... We are going to keep testing until there are no more tests... We want to have an answer for you... Talking to them reminded me of the many phone calls made in those first few months trying to cancel Lynn's accounts. It took an age and a day to get a certain company to cancel Lynn's cell phone account. They wouldn't talk to me. Finally, when they heard he had died, they said, Well we shouldn't even be speaking to you since your name is not on the account... Like they needed to remind me how gracious and generous they were being even to receive my phone call. Weeks later, after travelling to the out-of-town store location, then from there, sending faxes through to the main branch, it was very clear that they had no idea what to do with an account when a person died. Don't people die? I wanted to say. How can you be so awkward and unprepared as though you've never heard of a person dying before?? I wanted to say, Why are you making this so difficult for me when it is most certainly not in your favor to continue charging a dead person's, no longer existing, bank account!
Those people had no idea what to do with death. At least the coroners were practiced in the domain of grief and the bereaved...
...no known cause... no known cause...
We've been investigating your husband's heart...there is no known cause of death... we want to have an answer for you... it's a very interesting case... we are continuing our study... we are sending his heart to the top specialist in the country...
Today, the image of my husband's body lying on the table in the emergency room is replaced by the image of this one organ, my husband's physical heart... The rest of his body is dust and ashes, his other organs donated, but his physical heart, almost a year later, is being kept in sterile fridges or freezers or portable boxes...?
When I first got through to the coroner's office, the woman on the other end of the line reminded me of someone working in a hair salon, chewing gum, saying honey, and darlin' to everyone. I had this image of a white, sterile medical examination clinic, like one pictured in movies or TV shows, with this vibrant woman, adding colour with her makeup and hair clips and painted nails. What a terrible stereotype. What a contrasting, yet fitting, dynamic she brought to the image in my head...
Two phone calls later, after speaking with two examiners involved in the investigation (as they call it), after almost a year's worth of testing... it is most likely that we are dealing option #1. I cannot remove the no known cause echo, that persists in the back of my mind, leaving my head throbbing and my jaw tight...
The examiners were kind and sensitive. They said things like, We cannot imagine how hard this is... We are going to keep testing until there are no more tests... We want to have an answer for you... Talking to them reminded me of the many phone calls made in those first few months trying to cancel Lynn's accounts. It took an age and a day to get a certain company to cancel Lynn's cell phone account. They wouldn't talk to me. Finally, when they heard he had died, they said, Well we shouldn't even be speaking to you since your name is not on the account... Like they needed to remind me how gracious and generous they were being even to receive my phone call. Weeks later, after travelling to the out-of-town store location, then from there, sending faxes through to the main branch, it was very clear that they had no idea what to do with an account when a person died. Don't people die? I wanted to say. How can you be so awkward and unprepared as though you've never heard of a person dying before?? I wanted to say, Why are you making this so difficult for me when it is most certainly not in your favor to continue charging a dead person's, no longer existing, bank account!
Those people had no idea what to do with death. At least the coroners were practiced in the domain of grief and the bereaved...
...no known cause... no known cause...
Sunday, August 4, 2013
What if?
(This is an older post I had started many months ago in the first few months after Lynn's death. I wasn't able to post it at the time, but am facing these same issues again so decided to dig it up...)
It was common for Lynn and I to see or hear the siren of an ambulance and stop what we were doing to pray for the people involved. Protect those in need, comfort family, send Your healing and grace... It is still common to see and hear them, but my response to them has felt quite different.
I remember driving with the girls on the highway and an ambulance passing me on the left. They were not in emergency, just travelling at a steady pace. Still, I thought... Lynn died in an ambulance just like this one. Was it this one? Could it have been them? Other times I heard sirens... I wanted to pray for them, but instead, could only imagine Lynn's body, his chest rising with his last breath, missing me beside him, surrounded by strange paramedics making strange sounds, and pounding on his chest...
Knowing that my husband died inside an ambulance makes them profoundly real to me, and the tragedies that people face on a daily basis... When I opened the mail, and found a bill from the Emergency Health Services, months after Lynn's death, I felt weary, heavy, empty inside. I had to take the bill to the bank and pay the ambulance service that carried my husband to the hospital, holding his last breath inside of its belly, swallowing it up, bringing him to me there, already dead and gone.
It is hard not to think of the what if's? (This is another place I seldom allow my mind to go). The truth is, no conclusions have officially been made concerning a cause of death, and I still await a phone call, that will someday take me off guard, catching me in the middle of supper preparations, or a sisterly squabble, from some appointed person announcing the conclusive results after extra testing on Lynn's heart... I dread that call. I know I will be inevitably faced with the what if's.
As a believer, it is one thing to declare God's soveriengty and rest in an sense of completion, divine timing, and sovereign intervention. But it is something entirely different to know that maybe... just maybe.... if that beloved, stubborn man had stopped half way of the hill... If he had been willing to rest and confess the unusual physical strain he was feeling the last portion of the run... If he had just once in his lifetime chosen to rest instead of push himself forward... Would this have had an entirely different ending? Would an ambulance look less like a hearse and more like a giver of life to me? Was this unavoidable? or was it my stubborn, driven, brilliant, self-discipled, dedicated and energetic husband pushing himself beyond the limits of heart?
Again, no answers, though some may come when this mysterious phone call finally arrives and some mysterious human being on the other end of the line informs me of their conclusions regarding my husband's death...
It was common for Lynn and I to see or hear the siren of an ambulance and stop what we were doing to pray for the people involved. Protect those in need, comfort family, send Your healing and grace... It is still common to see and hear them, but my response to them has felt quite different.
I remember driving with the girls on the highway and an ambulance passing me on the left. They were not in emergency, just travelling at a steady pace. Still, I thought... Lynn died in an ambulance just like this one. Was it this one? Could it have been them? Other times I heard sirens... I wanted to pray for them, but instead, could only imagine Lynn's body, his chest rising with his last breath, missing me beside him, surrounded by strange paramedics making strange sounds, and pounding on his chest...
Knowing that my husband died inside an ambulance makes them profoundly real to me, and the tragedies that people face on a daily basis... When I opened the mail, and found a bill from the Emergency Health Services, months after Lynn's death, I felt weary, heavy, empty inside. I had to take the bill to the bank and pay the ambulance service that carried my husband to the hospital, holding his last breath inside of its belly, swallowing it up, bringing him to me there, already dead and gone.
It is hard not to think of the what if's? (This is another place I seldom allow my mind to go). The truth is, no conclusions have officially been made concerning a cause of death, and I still await a phone call, that will someday take me off guard, catching me in the middle of supper preparations, or a sisterly squabble, from some appointed person announcing the conclusive results after extra testing on Lynn's heart... I dread that call. I know I will be inevitably faced with the what if's.
As a believer, it is one thing to declare God's soveriengty and rest in an sense of completion, divine timing, and sovereign intervention. But it is something entirely different to know that maybe... just maybe.... if that beloved, stubborn man had stopped half way of the hill... If he had been willing to rest and confess the unusual physical strain he was feeling the last portion of the run... If he had just once in his lifetime chosen to rest instead of push himself forward... Would this have had an entirely different ending? Would an ambulance look less like a hearse and more like a giver of life to me? Was this unavoidable? or was it my stubborn, driven, brilliant, self-discipled, dedicated and energetic husband pushing himself beyond the limits of heart?
Again, no answers, though some may come when this mysterious phone call finally arrives and some mysterious human being on the other end of the line informs me of their conclusions regarding my husband's death...
Anger brewing.
One year... one year...
The one year marker haunts me. There is now nothing else in the way. I have crossed into the 12th month and have no hope of avoiding the devastating milestone before me, the anniversary of my husband's death.
I have a lot to face in the next month, but the thing most glaring and offensively rude before my face is test results. I have to call the medical services again, assuming they have finally finished the testing of Lynn's heart, and finally receive one of maybe three possible answers. #1. There is officially no known cause of death. #2. Lynn died of a genetic disease that was likely passed on to my daughters, which would require lots of tests and monitoring (which I suppose we are doing already "just in case") in the event that they too could drop dead suddenly and unexpectedly... and #3. His death was stress related, some sort of heart attack? Are there any other options? I'm not sure. Please don't inform me of them if you are aware of some. I will know what I need to know soon enough.
I used wait for this phone call, imagining that in the middle of a regular day, the phone would ring, and someone on the other end would say, Mrs. Erskine? I am calling from the medical examination department and I have here the tests results of your husbands heart... I regret to inform you that your husband died of...??? In my mind, I would drop to my knees, lose my grip on the phone, hear it bounce on the hardwood floor, and scream. This "vision" did not ever come to pass, however. Months went by, more months went by... I tried to reach them before the move and they still did not seem to have anything for me. What do you mean??? You've had my husbands heart for how many months?? How can you just keep his heart, do your tests, and tell me nothing??? He has a family you know!?!? He has parents and siblings!!!
I have a lot of anger waiting to be unleashed upon the finding of these results. If it is option #1, I will unleash the anger incapsulated in the relentless question of WHY??? and recognize that I will never know, will never understand, will never be satisfied with answers as to the abrupt end of our life together... If it is option #2, I will likely squelch my anger with practicality and sober minded acceptance, taking on the role of nurturer and overly protective mother, until the Lord convicts me of my faithlessness and brings me to a place of peace... Option #3, is I think the least likely, but also the most terrifying. It is terrifying because it unleashes a terrible anger that I have been holding in, saving in my waiting, irrationally ready to explode towards any thing or circumstance that may have contributed to this end. There will be anger towards our church and ministry, towards family, towards the whole worldly system that allows Christ followers to get into financial debt following a call into ministry, encourage them to give their lives in service to the gospel, held in such high and noble esteem, then criticize and judge them at every turn, and pay them less than they can afford so they struggle and are burdened by debt for the rest of their lives... Yes, I am angry about these things and more. And yes, I have been holding it in, waiting...
The brunt of my irrational anger will be towards Lynn. I know Andrew's story. I know how Lynn struggled, even to the point of giving up his runners belt. If I find out that Lynn pushed himself to his own death, I will be REALLY ANGRY. It is wholly irrational, but I have thoughts like, What if Lynn had smartened up and taken a break? What if he had recognized the degree to which he was struggling and acknowledged it, in humility pulling off to the side and catching his breath...? Would fate have changed? Would he still be alive? Did he stubbornly push his body to limits beyond what his heart could withstand, when instead, he could have just rested?
These are big questions in a little widows mind. But soon, I will face them, head on. Soon, I will have some answer to pass along to his family in the States, to my daughters...
And in the meantime... anger is a brewing.
The one year marker haunts me. There is now nothing else in the way. I have crossed into the 12th month and have no hope of avoiding the devastating milestone before me, the anniversary of my husband's death.
I have a lot to face in the next month, but the thing most glaring and offensively rude before my face is test results. I have to call the medical services again, assuming they have finally finished the testing of Lynn's heart, and finally receive one of maybe three possible answers. #1. There is officially no known cause of death. #2. Lynn died of a genetic disease that was likely passed on to my daughters, which would require lots of tests and monitoring (which I suppose we are doing already "just in case") in the event that they too could drop dead suddenly and unexpectedly... and #3. His death was stress related, some sort of heart attack? Are there any other options? I'm not sure. Please don't inform me of them if you are aware of some. I will know what I need to know soon enough.
I used wait for this phone call, imagining that in the middle of a regular day, the phone would ring, and someone on the other end would say, Mrs. Erskine? I am calling from the medical examination department and I have here the tests results of your husbands heart... I regret to inform you that your husband died of...??? In my mind, I would drop to my knees, lose my grip on the phone, hear it bounce on the hardwood floor, and scream. This "vision" did not ever come to pass, however. Months went by, more months went by... I tried to reach them before the move and they still did not seem to have anything for me. What do you mean??? You've had my husbands heart for how many months?? How can you just keep his heart, do your tests, and tell me nothing??? He has a family you know!?!? He has parents and siblings!!!
I have a lot of anger waiting to be unleashed upon the finding of these results. If it is option #1, I will unleash the anger incapsulated in the relentless question of WHY??? and recognize that I will never know, will never understand, will never be satisfied with answers as to the abrupt end of our life together... If it is option #2, I will likely squelch my anger with practicality and sober minded acceptance, taking on the role of nurturer and overly protective mother, until the Lord convicts me of my faithlessness and brings me to a place of peace... Option #3, is I think the least likely, but also the most terrifying. It is terrifying because it unleashes a terrible anger that I have been holding in, saving in my waiting, irrationally ready to explode towards any thing or circumstance that may have contributed to this end. There will be anger towards our church and ministry, towards family, towards the whole worldly system that allows Christ followers to get into financial debt following a call into ministry, encourage them to give their lives in service to the gospel, held in such high and noble esteem, then criticize and judge them at every turn, and pay them less than they can afford so they struggle and are burdened by debt for the rest of their lives... Yes, I am angry about these things and more. And yes, I have been holding it in, waiting...
The brunt of my irrational anger will be towards Lynn. I know Andrew's story. I know how Lynn struggled, even to the point of giving up his runners belt. If I find out that Lynn pushed himself to his own death, I will be REALLY ANGRY. It is wholly irrational, but I have thoughts like, What if Lynn had smartened up and taken a break? What if he had recognized the degree to which he was struggling and acknowledged it, in humility pulling off to the side and catching his breath...? Would fate have changed? Would he still be alive? Did he stubbornly push his body to limits beyond what his heart could withstand, when instead, he could have just rested?
These are big questions in a little widows mind. But soon, I will face them, head on. Soon, I will have some answer to pass along to his family in the States, to my daughters...
And in the meantime... anger is a brewing.
Friday, August 2, 2013
11 months.
Tears stream down my face. All I see is ocean...
Lynn, do you have a sec?
Sure, what's up, Babe?
Well, I had this vision as I was praying and I wanted to tell you about it.
Sure, he said, and listened as he rocked...
Well, you know how people sometimes use the salvation analogy of Jesus entering a house...? I've heard many preachers talk about Jesus knocking on the door, then we invite him in, we invite him into the living room, then he asks to see the house... We start taking him throughout the house (our heart) and he becomes gently invasive, asking us to open up closets we've kept hidden for years, etc...
Well, in my vision, Jesus was walking with me through this house (representing my heart)... It was pretty well cleaned out, organized, tidy. We passed by closets that had been opened and sorted and cleansed... But then he led me to a mysterious door I hadn't noticed before... He stood by it and asked me to look. Together, we opened the door. Before me lay a vast sea of dark blue water, tossing and churning. Waves were crashing up around the edges of this never ending expanse... It reminded me of a scene from the movie, the Truman Show, when Truman pushed through the storm and came upon a door... I wasn't in the storm, just looking out over it, knowing it was somehow inside "my house." What is it? I asked Jesus, as we looked on. But he didn't answer. What are you showing me?
I remember telling Lynn about this vision sometime last summer, maybe a month or two before his death. I can picture us talking about it in our old living room, but cannot see his face, or remember anything he said. I think he just listened and let me process it out loud a bit.
I wondered what was behind that door. But I didn't labor over it. I wondered what it could mean. I knew no childhood baggage, even something severe that might have happened and been repressed all these years, could not account for the vast, tumultuous sea that had stretched out beyond that door... But now I know. Now, I can recognize the sea. I can recognize the pain and grief and stormy weather, the crashing waves and forceful currents... It was a vision of this season, my season of grief, of sorrow upon sorrow, stretching further than my eye can see or my heart can seemingly bear...
The Lord showed me this before it happened. I am comforted in the memory of his presence, so sure and unshakable as we stood in the door frame, as we looked out across the dark waters. He is a good and gracious God. He stands unscathed by Lynn's death. He reigns over my heart, governing it with perfect peace.
The vision has changed, has altered a little... Now the Lord is outside... He has moved beyond the doorframe, outside the neat and tidy structure, to stand upon the waves. His feet are risen just above the storm. His arms are open. Now come. He says. Come?!?!?! I say, my insides shrieking. No way!! I cannot. But my God is insistent. Come to me and walk upon the waves.
Here I am, 11 months into this year from hell. My neat and tidy house is useless against the storm. I hear words echoing in my spirit... Come to me. Come to me upon the waters...
Do I dare? Do I trust Him that much?? Is He really that good? Is He really secure? Can faith withstand the wind and waves of grief and death and loss?? The horrible truth is, He knows I will follow Him. Is it faith? stupidity? or plain curiosity? I need to know what will happen if I dare to take Him at His word...! I need to see a faith that is real. I need to see His kingdom come and will be done on earth as it is in heaven...
So, I'm looking out, beyond the door frame of all that is familiar, into a mighty unknown... And the sea billows roll... I see the Lord standing out upon the waves, and know that I will follow Him there.
Lynn, do you have a sec?
Sure, what's up, Babe?
Well, I had this vision as I was praying and I wanted to tell you about it.
Sure, he said, and listened as he rocked...
Well, you know how people sometimes use the salvation analogy of Jesus entering a house...? I've heard many preachers talk about Jesus knocking on the door, then we invite him in, we invite him into the living room, then he asks to see the house... We start taking him throughout the house (our heart) and he becomes gently invasive, asking us to open up closets we've kept hidden for years, etc...
Well, in my vision, Jesus was walking with me through this house (representing my heart)... It was pretty well cleaned out, organized, tidy. We passed by closets that had been opened and sorted and cleansed... But then he led me to a mysterious door I hadn't noticed before... He stood by it and asked me to look. Together, we opened the door. Before me lay a vast sea of dark blue water, tossing and churning. Waves were crashing up around the edges of this never ending expanse... It reminded me of a scene from the movie, the Truman Show, when Truman pushed through the storm and came upon a door... I wasn't in the storm, just looking out over it, knowing it was somehow inside "my house." What is it? I asked Jesus, as we looked on. But he didn't answer. What are you showing me?
I remember telling Lynn about this vision sometime last summer, maybe a month or two before his death. I can picture us talking about it in our old living room, but cannot see his face, or remember anything he said. I think he just listened and let me process it out loud a bit.
I wondered what was behind that door. But I didn't labor over it. I wondered what it could mean. I knew no childhood baggage, even something severe that might have happened and been repressed all these years, could not account for the vast, tumultuous sea that had stretched out beyond that door... But now I know. Now, I can recognize the sea. I can recognize the pain and grief and stormy weather, the crashing waves and forceful currents... It was a vision of this season, my season of grief, of sorrow upon sorrow, stretching further than my eye can see or my heart can seemingly bear...
The Lord showed me this before it happened. I am comforted in the memory of his presence, so sure and unshakable as we stood in the door frame, as we looked out across the dark waters. He is a good and gracious God. He stands unscathed by Lynn's death. He reigns over my heart, governing it with perfect peace.
The vision has changed, has altered a little... Now the Lord is outside... He has moved beyond the doorframe, outside the neat and tidy structure, to stand upon the waves. His feet are risen just above the storm. His arms are open. Now come. He says. Come?!?!?! I say, my insides shrieking. No way!! I cannot. But my God is insistent. Come to me and walk upon the waves.
Here I am, 11 months into this year from hell. My neat and tidy house is useless against the storm. I hear words echoing in my spirit... Come to me. Come to me upon the waters...
Do I dare? Do I trust Him that much?? Is He really that good? Is He really secure? Can faith withstand the wind and waves of grief and death and loss?? The horrible truth is, He knows I will follow Him. Is it faith? stupidity? or plain curiosity? I need to know what will happen if I dare to take Him at His word...! I need to see a faith that is real. I need to see His kingdom come and will be done on earth as it is in heaven...
So, I'm looking out, beyond the door frame of all that is familiar, into a mighty unknown... And the sea billows roll... I see the Lord standing out upon the waves, and know that I will follow Him there.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)