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"If all I ever have is you...it's enough."

That was the first coherent sentence I think my husband uttered after we found out we had lost our only son.

My first coherent sentence had been "my biggest fear is that we won't know how to deal and we will get divorced!".  This was even bigger than my fear of never having children. (I have heard horror stories about people getting divorced after a loss like this either because neither of the spouses could move on or they just grieved so differently they couldn't lean on each, etc.!)

And that was his response - "If all I ever have is you...it's enough."  What an incredible testament to my husband's commitment to and love for me; to our marriage; to God; and to John Preston!

It's true that we grieve differently.  Jimmy Ray grieves quietly and privately.  I grieve loudly, enthusiastically and sometimes angrily.  The key is that we respect each other's way of grieving.  I'm okay with those difference because when I am falling aprt and crying hysterically or cursing and ranting and raving or searching for my own way of 'productive grieving', he listens to me, he holds me, he comforts me, and he supports me.  He still misses our son desperately, just as I do.  And as long as I remember that, I can respect whatever way he decides to grieve as I know he will respect mine.

The worth of a book is to be measured by what you can carry away from it. ~James Bryce

I am almost finished with a book that might have saved my soul and changed my perspective on my spirituality.  'The Will of God' by Leslie Weatherhead.

"The phrase "the will of God" is used loosely, says Leslie Weatherhead, and the consequence of that looseness to our peace of mind is serious. Weatherhead's recognition of this problem led him to write The Will of God, a classic that has helped more than a million grieving persons better understand the meaning of the phrase. It can help you as well.

It was during the tumultuous era of World War II that Leslie Weatherhead preached five sermons on understanding the will of God for the congregation at City Temple in London. These sermons became the classic book The Will of God, which has helped hundreds of thousands of Christians explore how God's will is related to God's character and ultimate intentions for us."


I don't normally read this kind of book.  I'm a murder, mystery, suspense book kind of girl normally, definitely not a resource, relationship, spiritual, learning book girl. 


But a friend of mine mentioned it, and gave me a brief description of it.  Something about it grabbed my attention, so I thought - it's short, interesting - I think I will try it.


It has changed my life.


After we lost John Preston, one of the stupid things people said (as happens in any grief situation) was that it was God's will that he died.  They didn't say it quite that directly, but things like "maybe he was an invalid", or "God has a plan" or "God never makes a mistake" or sometimes maybe that directly "it must have been God's will for some reason".


That's a load of crap.  God didn't want my son to die.  He didn't kill my son cause there was something wrong with him.  He didn't want our hearts broken to pieces.  His intentional will is that I don't suffer, that I have peace, that I have what I need.  His circumstantial will is that there is evil in the world caused by satan, and he has to circumvent that evil in order to reach his intentional will.  His ultimate will is that I join Him in heaven. 


I just think you should READ it!

"You've let this become your life..."

Someone said that to me about my 'obsession' (their words not mine) with John Preston, my loss and indirectly CrossHeart Ministries.

Guess what?  It IS my life.  I had no choice in the matter.  I didn't choose to lose my son, but here I am dealing and coping with it...in MY way. 

Aren't your children YOUR life?  Didn't having kids change your life, your outlook, your behavior, your thoughts, your dreams, your goals, your everything?  Well my son changed mine in the same way.  He isn't here, I can't hold him, I don't have to take him to soccer practice.  But I did have a son, he is my son, I am a mother and I think about and miss him every second of everyday.  Just as you would if your 2-day, 2-week, 2-month, 2-year or 20-year-old child died suddenly, without any explanation.  You watch your child do new things every day, I dream about what my child would be doing every day.

Before you say “You’ve let this become your life” or “You are obsessed about your loss” to some friend who has had a loss, take a look at your own child and think how you feel about them.  Then remember that those of who have been through a loss, that we have the same feelings every day on TOP of the grief we deal with every day.

So no, I am not ‘over’ it, I will never be ‘over’ it.  And yes, I am ‘obsessed’ with my son, yes, I do focus much of my energy on his memory.  But he WAS the most amazing thing that ever happened to me, and I will ALWAYS notice that he isn’t here with me.

The last safe place...

I remember the last hours before John Preston was born.  We checked into the hospital at about 9:00pm.  My sister, who in another post you will find out essentially raised me, drove up from Nashville and arrived at 11:30pm.  From the time that she got there until John Preston was born I was in what I think was a "sadly hopeful cocoon".  Until he was born and they took him away, it wasn't real that he was gone, they could be wrong, I was still going to give birth, I was a mommy and I was wholly and completely being taken care of by my knight, my sister-mom and nurses.  I was on morphine and drifting in and out of sleep and having still peaceful dreams.  My aunt and uncle came by to visit.

As horrible as the truth was, those last few hours still felt safe.  Nothing has ever felt safe since then.  I worry about Jimmy Ray dying, about my sister dying, about my daddy dying.  I worry about dying and leaving Jimmy Ray and my sister to cope with that.  I am constantly on alert about where I am going and who is going to be there and what the 'babyland' level will be.  I am afraid to go anywhere without Kleenex.  I am afraid that my house will burn down and I will lose the only physical things I have that connect me to John Preston (his hand and foot mold, his Christmas ornament provided by the funeral home, my computer with the pictures of me pregnant, of his sunlit gravesite, etc.).  I am afraid that people will forget about him, that people will ask about and him, that people won't ask about him, that someday I might possibly not think of him every minute or hour or day.  I am afraid that one day Jimmy Ray and I will be 2 old folks without anyone to take care of, or visit, or notice us.  And then that one of us will be left all alone without even each other. 

And then I hear a song like "I Can Only Imagine" (Mercy Me) or "Unclouded Day" (favorite: Broken Bridges soundtrack version) and something inside me calms down. And I can function and I can breath and I can live.

One of the options that the doctor gave us 2 days before his birth was that the hospital could take care of 'it' (his body!) for us.  We didn't know what to do about anything at that point and originally said okay to that.  How horrific.  Sometime during the night Jimmy Ray held my hand and said "I don't want to throw away my son".

I will never feel totally safe again - and maybe we shouldn't on this earth.  In those last few hours, when there was hope and a dream, I was cocooned in that last safe place.