CS Lewis Song

Tonight as I was making dinner, I was caught off guard by this song that came up on my iPod shuffle. Emotions that were lurking just beneath my calm front came spilling out from me and I found myself wanting to weep and praise God at the same time. The song captured the cry of my heart perfectly. The first verse says, "If I find in myself desires nothing in this world can satisfy, I can only conclude, that I, I was not made for here," and then the chorus, "Speak to me in the light of the dawn, mercy comes with the morning. I will sigh, and with all creation groan, as I wait for hope to come for me."


That's how I feel right now. I have these longings for my son that nothing else can satisfy and I know that's because God created me to be a mother and also because He created me as an eternal being who's only on this earth temporarily. Before Matthew died, most of my thoughts were consumed with the here and now. Eternity didn't ever seem real or pressing. But now! Gosh, now that's all I think about! I imagine heaven and seeing Matthew there. I literally groan with the desire to be reunited with him. I find that things that used to get me all excited now seem pretty lame in comparison to the longing and excitement I have when I think of holding my little boy again.

I am so thankful that this song reminded me of the hope I have. There are so many days where I move about in a fog, wondering if life will ever hold promise again. It's good to remember that hope is coming for me.

I hope you'll take a minute and listen to this song - it's absolutely beautiful! (Please excuse the corny photo montage.)

Scenes from our trip

Lake Jocassee was wonderful! We laughed, we cried, we remembered, and we made new memories. I definitely had moments when my heart ached for our little boy to be with us, but the fam was great about loving on us and keeping us occupied. We spent all day, every day out on the lake skiing, tubing, wake boarding, and exploring the many waterfalls.

Here are a few pics from the week.

Hard Day

As you can tell from that last post, today was a hard day. I just really miss my little guy. I want to hold on to the memories of what he smelled like, what he sounded like, and how he felt in my arms, but all of that is already starting to fade. I know it's inevitable, but it's so hard to let go.

I went by the cemetery in Columbia today. I had to fill out some last paperwork and I figured I might as well stop by his grave (even though the headstone isn't there yet). It was very hard. The ground is still soft where they buried him and the flower arrangement that my sweet grandmother put together was lying on top of the dirt, wilted and dead. Altogether, it was a sad scene. As I stood there, I kept thinking about the fact that my son's body was lying beneath me, and although I know that his soul is in heaven, I couldn't help but feel that I had abandoned him and that he was scared and all alone in this huge cemetery. I know that sounds crazy, but anyone who's ever lost someone understands what I'm talking about. As earthly beings, it's hard to grasp eternity and we struggle to understand that the soul lives even though the body dies. So while my intellect tells me that Matthew isn't really there, my aching heart clings to the physical reality and can't get the picture of his sweet face out of my head.

On a lighter note, tomorrow we leave for vacation and I'm hoping that we will be refreshed and rested when we get back. I probably won't blog much, but I'm sure Cole will take pictures of Claire that I will post as soon as we get home :)

FYI

Just so you know, that last post doesn't mean everything is ok. It doesn't mean that I'm coasting along in the grief process. Because I'm not. I still cry every day. I still have days where I don't really want to live the rest of my life without Matthew. I still yell at God from time to time and demand answers from Him. I want to to walk around with a shirt that says "I just lost my son... Feel sorry for me." I get mad at people who cry over small things because I think that they have no idea what real sorrow is. I want everyone to constantly think about Matthew and let me talk about him for hours. I get offended when they talk about their own lives. I avoid babies and can't help but feel jealousy when I see a mom holding a newborn, especially if it's a boy. I can't sleep at night because I can't stop thinking about Matthew. I want to go back in time and hold him and kiss him again and again. In fact, I kiss my phone every night because his picture is my screen saver. And then I cry. And cry. And cry. And wonder if my tears will ever dry up.

BUT - because of the things mentioned in the post below, I know I'm not going crazy. I'm able to get through these awful emotions and still smile and have normal moments. By God's grace I know we will make it through this storm and enjoy many happy days ahead.

I just wanted to make it clear that we're not there yet.

Looking back

Grief is a weird thing. Just when I think I'm doing ok, the sadness will hit again and take me by surprise. For example, I'm in Asheville right now visiting my parents because I thought it would be a good distraction and a fun trip, but I've cried several times a day since I got here. I don't know why. There's nothing here to remind me of Matthew and I do have plenty of distractions, but for some reason, I can't get him off my mind. I guess I'd always thought the next time I came back here, he would be with me.

Asheville is a very special place for me. It was the only place I'd ever lived (besides college) before marriage and my parents have lived in this same house for 21 years. All my growing up and maturing was done here. In fact, as I look around my parents house, I remember that this is where I first learned about grief. The bed I cried in last night is the same bed I cried in 10 years ago. You might not know this, but when I was 14 years old, some family friends were in a car crash that killed both parents and four of the six kids, including the twin girls that were my close friends. A few months later, I lost another close friend to a brain tumor. It was devestating. In fact, I remember that year and the following years being full of suffering. It seemed like our church in particular lost a lot of people within a few years. Some were old, but many were young. What I remember most though, was the way people handled their grief. I saw them hurting and asking why, but I also saw them praising God through it all. They cried with hope and they sang through their tears. My friend's parents in particular were good examples of trusting God in their sorrow. I remember seeing her mom crying and smiling at the same time and wondering how she was able to do it. I could've never dreamed that God was preparing me for losing my own child.

Now as I look back, I'm so thankful that God used that time in my life to answer a lot of the "why" questions and to teach me what faith through suffering really looks like. I'm so fortunante to have friends that have walked this road before me, who can encourage me through my doubts and tears. Obviously grief is never easy, but seeing good examples of it in my early years has helped me. It gives me hope that I too will make it through this and still have joy again. I think if I had never experienced grief before, losing Matthew would have been much more of a shock and much harder.

I miss Matthew

Just when it feels like my days are starting to get back to normal, something always reminds me of Matthew and sends me back into sorrow and longing. I'll hear a song, see another baby his age, hear someone talk about Charleston (yep, that city has been ruined for me for a while), smell something, look at Claire, or catch a glimpse of a picture of him as I walk by my fridge and I feel that horrible ache in my heart all over again. I feel like I will never again be perfectly content. Isn't that horrible? To think that no matter how good life is, I will always feel an emptiness? It just feels so wrong. I'm only 25. I have the rest of my life ahead of me, yet I already feel so old and tired. The worst part is, I know that this ache will never go away. I've talked to moms who've lost children anywhere from 2 to 45 years ago and they all still feel the ache and long for the child who's gone.

Gosh, I should be celebrating his first smiles and giggles, watching him sleep contentedly, taking pictures of him in cute outfits and posting them on facebook, but instead I'm sitting here with empty arms and wondering what happens next. What are God's plans for me now? I know He has them. I know there will joy in the future, but right now, right this very minute, what do I do?

A few ideas

For the past week or so, I've been reading grief help books and blogs of other moms who've lost children too. I've found it incredibly helpful and just wanted to pass along some things I've learned. Before losing Matthew, I didn't always know what to say to people who'd lost loved ones. I didn't want to hurt them by saying something unhelpful but I didn't want to say nothing and ignore the fact that they were hurting. So I understand that you may find it awkward to be around me sometimes for this same reason. Here are some ideas to help with that. 

In our conversations, sometimes I might just want to feel normal. In public especially, I don't want to be walking around with mascara streaks and constantly be a blubbering mess. Last night I went out with a bunch of friends and was able to laugh and talk like I didn't have a care in the world and it was so refreshing! For just a few hours, I was able to feel normal again. You see, I'm not always comfortable crying in front of people I don't know well, so having a "moment" in the middle of the store or in church isn't really my style. I'd rather save that for another time. So when you see me at the grocery store or at church, feel free to treat me normally, like you would before all this happened. I'm not normal, but yet I am normal. Don't feel like you have to tiptoe around me. 

But then again, don't act like it never happened. Last week I saw someone that I hadn't seen in months and they talked to me for a while without ever saying one word about Matthew. It was so hurtful! I want to know that you haven't forgotten about what we're going through. Don't be afraid to bring up Matthew for fear that you'll make me cry. It's ok if I cry. Sometimes it feels really good to just let it out! As long as you're ok with me crying (and we're in a relatively private area), then I'm ok with it. I LOVE to talk about Matthew because he was and always will be such a big part of our lives. Sometimes talking about him will bring tears, but sometimes I might actually be able to smile and laugh about the memories. Just please don't ignore the fact that I had a baby and that he died. 

Here's what another mom posted on her blog: "If you are an acquaintance of a grieving person and you try to find out how she’s doing (out of sincere love and concern) you might get a response like, “Today’s a good day. Thanks for asking,” or “Today has been kind of hard. Thanks for asking.” This might not be what you expected. Perhaps she’s not letting you in emotionally the way you were hoping. But please accept whatever she can give you even if it’s not much. In your conversations, it can be really refreshing if you help her feel normal. And other times it’s best if you make sure she knows that you are thinking of her special circumstances and have by no means forgotten her or her child."

I hope this is helpful. Cole and I don't want to be a source of awkwardness, but we understand that sometimes it's hard to interact with grieving people. Please bear with us as we navigate the coming months and years. We have so appreciated the outpouring of support for our family. Just knowing that you love us and are praying for us does our hearts and souls good.

Thank you!

I just wanted to thank all the family and friends who have loved us so well over the last few months. Everyday I'm overwhelmed with the love that's poured out on my family. I promise that I have read every letter, every blog comment, every Facebook message or comment, every email, and listened to every voicemail that you have sent me and they have been a great comfort to my soul. I know I will probably not have the chance to thank each and every one of you but I just want you to know that Claire, Cole and I have felt your love and prayers. 

While this doesn't ease the pain of losing Matthew, it helps us feel less alone and makes us see that Matthew's life wasn't lived in vain. You see, I know in my head that "God works all things together for good for those that love Him" but I've really struggled some days to believe this in my heart. I've had days where I'm thinking "Really God? Really?! How can there by ANY good in this?!" But then I get an email or a card from one of you telling me how Matthew's life was a testimony to you and it helps me to lift my eyes from my own sorrow and see how God is using us in the bigger picture. It's still painful, but knowing the impact Matthew had in his short 7 weeks and 2 days makes it a little sweeter. 

So thank you. 

Matthew's Life

This is the final version of the video Cole started when Matthew was first born. For those of you who couldn't make it to his memorial service, this is the movie that was shown there. I will warn you that it's very emotional, but also very joyful. We are so thankful for all the moments God gave us with our little son!

Memorial Service

Just wanted to let you know that Matthew's memorial service is on Thursday at 10 am at New Covenant. I'd love for anyone who wants to come to feel free to be there. It won't be long, we just plan on celebrating his life and laughing or crying as we need to.

When I first told you all about Matthew's condition back in January, I quoted a few verses from my favorite song "O Love That Will Not Let Me Go" and I just want to leave you with those same words.

O Love that will not let me go,

I rest my weary soul in Thee;

I give Thee back the life I owe,

That in Thine ocean depths it's flow

May richer, fuller be. 

O Joy that seekest me through pain,

I cannot close my heart to Thee;

I trace the rainbow through the rain,

And feel the Promise is not vain,

That morn shall tearless be.

Resting in the love of Christ and trusting in His promises ~Julia