Love and Lament
I never really knew how deeply I could love my children until I lost my firstborn.
Losing a child automatically throws you into deep, deep grief that somehow seems to correlate to the depth of your love for that child. Losing Daniel seven weeks ago has been unspeakably sad and hard; loving him for 18 years, 8 months, and 25 days before he died seemed amazingly easy, at least most of the time.
But, God has blessed me with three children. At breakfast this morning I told my two kids that I hoped to love them even more deeply now that there are only two of them left. Since I can no longer offer Daniel my love on this earth, I hope I can channel that extra love into Hannah and Ben, thereby increasing the love and affirmation they experience from me as their father. I hope that a good result of our grieving Daniel’s untimely death is a renewed, deepened, and impassioned love among us as a family as we move on and continue in our earthly journey.
By moving on, I do not mean “getting over Daniel’s death.” I don’t plan to ever do that.
Moving on means moving more deeply into life and never reverting to some of my bad habits, such as focusing on the unimportant, or imposing conditions on my love for my wife or children, or valuing things of this world (power, prestige, money, stuff, or career) over the people that God gives me to love and nurture.
Moving on means continuing to love and miss my child who is gone, but loving my other children, my wife, and all the other people in my life with more complete abandonment, tenderness, and mercy.
This Father’s Day I lament the loss of Daniel and celebrate the privilege of being a father to three incredible kids.
Thanks be to God for these unspeakable gifts!
Longing for my son
As I passed a creek and the surrounding cottonwoods along a highway around sunrise this morning, I thought about the deer which might be living in that brush and drinking from that creek.
In the book of Psalms, verse 42:1 says, “as the deer pants (or longs) for the water, so my soul longs for you, O God.”
Likewise, I find myself longing for my son Daniel.
I long to grab his head, tilt it toward me, rub my fingers through his thick motley hair, and kiss his soft warm forehead right on the scar he received when he was a toddler and fell off his tricycle, (that he was standing up on because I was not watching him closely enough!).
I long to be with him in this amazing Colorado wilderness this summer, fly fishing together so that we can sit by the stream, have lunch, laugh at our lack of fish-catching abilities and spend time talking about life.
I long to listen to Daniel talk – about everything, but especially the Fab and his freshman year at Whitworth – the amazing friendships he is forming there, the girl(s) he has his eye on, the young men with whom he is forming a new brotherhood, the kids he is meeting through Young Life, and the professors who are challenging him to think more deeply about life and the world.
I long to listen to Daniel think.
I long to watch Hannah and Ben follow Daniel around the house with the look of adoring sibling love on their faces, laugh at his silliness, and mutually engage in his quirky zest for life. I even long to hear the three of them engage in sibling arguments, knowing that struggling together is part of life “in the fam” as Daniel would say.
I long to hear Daniel plod down our stairs, look for Mom, and wonder aloud “what is there to eat?” in his most helpless little voice. I even long to realize how helpless he wanted to remain, at least for a few more years, or for as long as he could get away with it.
I long to tell Daniel again how proud I am of the fine young man he was growing into, how much I love him, and now, how deeply I miss him..
I simply long to be with my son.
Sunday, September 20, 2009
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Trying to describe grief
Grief
Grief is very weird when you are not used to experiencing it.
Before I was 50, I did experience the deaths of:
- My cousin, two years younger than me, died from HIV/AIDS when we were both in our late 20’s;
- All four of my grandparents have died – 1974: maternal grandfather when I was 17; 1980 and ’81: paternal grandparents when I was about 23 or 24; maternal grandmother when I was about 35;
- 1986: My mother-in-law died when I was 29;
- 1996: My best male friend at the time died when he was in his early 40’s and I was 39;
- Another very dear male friend died when he was in his mid-50’s and I was about 43;
- My father-in-law died when he was 91 and I was 44.
- Another dear lifelong friend of my wife died when she was 48.
- My cousin died when we were both 49.
None of this really prepared me for April 28, 2008, when my firstborn child, Daniel, left this earth before he turned 19 and shortly after I turned 51.
This grief has been overwhelming and unspeakable.
Physically, it can feel like:
- you are nauseated;
- you have had the wind knocked out of you and you cannot regain your full lung capacity;
- you are sitting in the dentist chair and they have place the lead vest over your chest in preparation for the x-ray of you mouth;
- you are slightly dizzy and you are continually losing your balance even though you are seated or already lying down
Emotionally, it is very hard to find words to describe this adequately.
It feels like there is now a permanent gap in the family – an empty room in this house – an empty chair at our table – a hole in each of our hearts that cannot be filled – an absence of one whom we all loved so much and from whom we each received such intense joy. Daniel brought a smile to your face – he was joyful and elicited to joy when you engaged him. He had a simple charm and wit about him. He carried himself with an ease (most of the time) that was both charming and quirky.
Marking THE Time
Monday morning at 10:00 or 10:30 – as usual, this time springs up into my consciousness since six weeks ago right now, Daniel was pronounced officially brain dead.
I took my now customary walk around the block to mark this moment (the second week now that I have done so). On this walk it struck me that “fragile” is the right word to describe so much right now.
Daniel’s life was obviously very fragile and he did not survive those injuries.
All of our lives are equally fragile, though most of us do not recognize this most of the time. Perhaps this is both a blessing and a curse. If we felt fragile all the time, it would be hard to do anything, to take any risks, to even get out of bed most mornings. We need to feel somewhat invincible just to get in our cars and drive to work, much less to downhill ski, or ride bicycles, or swim, or sky-dive, or even to “fall in love” and risk rejection from another human being.
On the other hand, we delude ourselves continually when we feel invincible. Accidents can and do happen – we can be injured and not recover from those injuries. We can be rejected and feel like the other person has killed us emotionally. We can lose a beloved son to a premature death and feel as though our lives have come to some sort of end. In some ways, when you lose someone, your life as you knew it does come to an end, though hopefully some new life begins and may indeed turn out to good as well. For me, the jury will be out on that question for some time to come.
All I really have is right now, though we all have to live and plan as if we have unlimited tomorrow’s.
Maybe to some extent, that makes our delusion of invincibility a blessing, of sorts.
This delusion is also a curse when it means that we go through life truly believing that we are invincible and completely in control of “our destiny” as if we really own it!
When we believe that we are completely in control, then we have to fret over what we feel like we have to control – most of us fret over way too much in our lives. We worry about tomorrow, what we will wear, what we will eat, what people will think of us, if we will succeed, if people will love us or even like us.
What good do all those worries do us? Very little in the end.
Daniel’s abrupt death should serve as a reminder to those of us who loved him. Truly, we are “but dust and to dust we shall return.” God help us to live in that tension, freedom, and hope.
There is nothing that can happen to me and to those I love, that can separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus.
That said, Daniel’s death still leaves me weeping in deep, deep sorrow simply because he is gone and I will miss him terribly until I see him again.
Sunday, September 13, 2009
The beginning of this journey
Every parent’s “worst nightmare” . . .
At 1:30 am on Saturday April 26, we received the phone call that every parent dreads – “your son has been in an automobile accident.” Daniel and four college buddies had left Spokane for a weekend away in northern Montana, at the ranch where a roommate’s grandparents raised cattle. These college boys were looking forward to helping brand calves and other experiences far removed from their studies.
On a winding road not far from St. Regis, MT, a deer appeared from nowhere and caused a collision with an oncoming pickup. Three boys were injured, with our son Daniel receiving the most significant injuries. He was in the front passenger seat and was nearest the impact when the truck hit the front right corner of the car.
He was taken by ambulance into the community of Superior, Montana, where we learned by phone that his injuries required an airlift into Missoula. By 3:00 am he had arrived by helicopter at St. Patrick Medical Center, a regional trauma center serving western Montana.
We received several phone calls through that night – the first few from one of college boys, Collin, who, with enormous strength, calm, and compassion described the circumstances of the accident, the status of Dan, and the unfolding plan for addressing his needs. We also spoke with the trauma surgeon and orthopedic surgeon in Missoula a couple times each before Daniel’s surgery. Unfortunately, we never had the opportunity to speak to Daniel.
When we arrived at the hospital on Saturday afternoon we were met by the trauma surgeon who had been caring for Daniel for most of the day. His orthopedic surgery to repair the broken legs had seemed to go fine, but there was now major concern because Daniel was not coming out of the anesthesia. There were several scenarios presented, including that he had suffered a stroke or a severe allergic reaction to the anesthesia.
Around midnight Saturday Daniel exhibited signs of significant brain swelling and an intra-cranial pressure monitor was inserted and aggressive treatment of this swelling began. We spent that sleepless night and all day Sunday conferring with Daniel’s neurosurgeon and others, listening to them hypothesize and realizing that we had 48-72 critical hours to see if Daniel could overcome whatever was happening in his horribly damaged brain.
About 4:00 pm Sunday, something occurred which the nurse recognized and Daniel was rushed off for another CAT scan. Upon his return, the neurosurgeon, Dr. Mack, met with us and told us that Daniel’s upper brain had ceased to function and that he was irreversibly beginning to die.
Realizing that, within an hour or so of our call with our kids at 5:00 pm Sunday, telling them their brother was beginning to irreversibly die, 40 or more people had gathered at our home, with the single goal of showing our two children love, compassion, and grace.
At 10:00 am on Monday, April 28, after running two more definitive tests, Daniel was declared legally brain dead. As we had agreed to during the previous night, Daniel was immediately plugged back into the life support apparatus and the process of preparing him for organ donation began.
Daniel’s good friend from high school, Malory had arrived at the hospital around 4:00 am Monday morning. Our dear friend, Steve arrived early on Monday afternoon. Hannah and Ben arrived early Monday evening.
From Monday evening until Tuesday morning around 10:00 am when they finally wheeled Daniel into an OR to “procure his organs”, together with Steve and Mallory, our family shared wonderful stories, laughed together, and said many tearful good-byes to our beloved son and brother, most poignantly as we participated in preparing Daniel’s body through prayer, reading scripture, and anointing him with holy water to commit him back into the loving arms of a gracious God.
We experienced so many divergent emotions and moments at St. Patrick Hospital that weekend. We felt blessed at knowing that we are loved by an enormous group of family and friends in Denver, Spokane, Chicago, Texas, Alaska, California, Wisconsin, Ohio, Wyoming, and beyond.
We heard reports of prayer chains in Montana, Illinois, Pennsylvania, Denver, and other places, where Dan was the main topic of many Sunday morning church gatherings in different places.
We sat by our son’s bedside for three mostly sleepless nights and days, watching a groups of angels minister to him, especially the ICU nurse – Barbara, Cleo, Rhonda, and others who exhibited compassion, gentleness, care, attentiveness, and thoroughness, and all delivered with an amazing grace.
Thus begins my family’s journey of stunning, paralyzing, and unspeakable grief accompanied by amazing grace and incomprehensible joy.
My comments at Daniel’s memorial service at Whitworth University Chapel
These last few days, my family and I have experienced: Unspeakable Grief, Amazing Grace and Enormous Gratitude.
Grief: over saying our earthly farewell to our beloved son and brother
Grace: in feeling and experiencing God’s loving embrace through the arms and prayers of hundreds of people in Denver, Spokane, Missoula, Cody and beyond
Grief: over a tragic accident and the pain and suffering it wrought on our son, his friends, and many other families and friends
Grace: in knowing that Dan – the one who proclaimed boldly on Facebook that he is a follower of Jesus – he is now caught up to Jesus and is walking with Him side by side and directly experiencing that ultimate love and complete redemption
Grief: in having to sit in a hospital room in Missoula and try to explain to your two children in Denver that their brother is dying
Grace: in calling our home about two hours after our call to our kids, and learning that 40-50 of our friends – kids and adults – have descended on our home and are embracing our two children with love and support in profound ways
Our emotions and thoughts are on the wildest of roller coaster rides – from sobbing in one moment to lightness and laughter in the next.
These experiences of unspeakable grief and amazing grace have now led us to hearts that are over-flowing with enormous gratitude:
Gratitude to God for giving us Daniel to enjoy and to love these last 18 years;
Gratitude for Dan’s love, humor, easy spirit, compassion, and commitment that Dan brought into this world and shared with his family and so many other people;
Gratitude for the angels of mercy who have descended upon us in Missoula and in Spokane these past several days – Mallory, Steve, Dick, Sean, Collin, Justin, Ben, Dustin, Alicia, Lindsey, Glenn and Nina, Bill and Bonnie, Terry, Jerry, and many others who have ministered to our son and to us in amazing ways – please accept our heartfelt love and gratitude.
And, finally, gratitude to this whole community of Whitworth and especially all the men of Mac Hall – this was a perfect place for our son to come – you have all demonstrated to him a love for Christ, a love for learning, and a love for each other that greatly enriched Dan’s final months on earth, and is now enriching his family and friends from afar.
Take these experiences and whatever relationship or encounters you had with our beloved Dan, and continue to reach more deeply into your relationship with Christ and with each other.
Thank you.
At 1:30 am on Saturday April 26, we received the phone call that every parent dreads – “your son has been in an automobile accident.” Daniel and four college buddies had left Spokane for a weekend away in northern Montana, at the ranch where a roommate’s grandparents raised cattle. These college boys were looking forward to helping brand calves and other experiences far removed from their studies.
On a winding road not far from St. Regis, MT, a deer appeared from nowhere and caused a collision with an oncoming pickup. Three boys were injured, with our son Daniel receiving the most significant injuries. He was in the front passenger seat and was nearest the impact when the truck hit the front right corner of the car.
He was taken by ambulance into the community of Superior, Montana, where we learned by phone that his injuries required an airlift into Missoula. By 3:00 am he had arrived by helicopter at St. Patrick Medical Center, a regional trauma center serving western Montana.
We received several phone calls through that night – the first few from one of college boys, Collin, who, with enormous strength, calm, and compassion described the circumstances of the accident, the status of Dan, and the unfolding plan for addressing his needs. We also spoke with the trauma surgeon and orthopedic surgeon in Missoula a couple times each before Daniel’s surgery. Unfortunately, we never had the opportunity to speak to Daniel.
When we arrived at the hospital on Saturday afternoon we were met by the trauma surgeon who had been caring for Daniel for most of the day. His orthopedic surgery to repair the broken legs had seemed to go fine, but there was now major concern because Daniel was not coming out of the anesthesia. There were several scenarios presented, including that he had suffered a stroke or a severe allergic reaction to the anesthesia.
Around midnight Saturday Daniel exhibited signs of significant brain swelling and an intra-cranial pressure monitor was inserted and aggressive treatment of this swelling began. We spent that sleepless night and all day Sunday conferring with Daniel’s neurosurgeon and others, listening to them hypothesize and realizing that we had 48-72 critical hours to see if Daniel could overcome whatever was happening in his horribly damaged brain.
About 4:00 pm Sunday, something occurred which the nurse recognized and Daniel was rushed off for another CAT scan. Upon his return, the neurosurgeon, Dr. Mack, met with us and told us that Daniel’s upper brain had ceased to function and that he was irreversibly beginning to die.
Realizing that, within an hour or so of our call with our kids at 5:00 pm Sunday, telling them their brother was beginning to irreversibly die, 40 or more people had gathered at our home, with the single goal of showing our two children love, compassion, and grace.
At 10:00 am on Monday, April 28, after running two more definitive tests, Daniel was declared legally brain dead. As we had agreed to during the previous night, Daniel was immediately plugged back into the life support apparatus and the process of preparing him for organ donation began.
Daniel’s good friend from high school, Malory had arrived at the hospital around 4:00 am Monday morning. Our dear friend, Steve arrived early on Monday afternoon. Hannah and Ben arrived early Monday evening.
From Monday evening until Tuesday morning around 10:00 am when they finally wheeled Daniel into an OR to “procure his organs”, together with Steve and Mallory, our family shared wonderful stories, laughed together, and said many tearful good-byes to our beloved son and brother, most poignantly as we participated in preparing Daniel’s body through prayer, reading scripture, and anointing him with holy water to commit him back into the loving arms of a gracious God.
We experienced so many divergent emotions and moments at St. Patrick Hospital that weekend. We felt blessed at knowing that we are loved by an enormous group of family and friends in Denver, Spokane, Chicago, Texas, Alaska, California, Wisconsin, Ohio, Wyoming, and beyond.
We heard reports of prayer chains in Montana, Illinois, Pennsylvania, Denver, and other places, where Dan was the main topic of many Sunday morning church gatherings in different places.
We sat by our son’s bedside for three mostly sleepless nights and days, watching a groups of angels minister to him, especially the ICU nurse – Barbara, Cleo, Rhonda, and others who exhibited compassion, gentleness, care, attentiveness, and thoroughness, and all delivered with an amazing grace.
Thus begins my family’s journey of stunning, paralyzing, and unspeakable grief accompanied by amazing grace and incomprehensible joy.
My comments at Daniel’s memorial service at Whitworth University Chapel
These last few days, my family and I have experienced: Unspeakable Grief, Amazing Grace and Enormous Gratitude.
Grief: over saying our earthly farewell to our beloved son and brother
Grace: in feeling and experiencing God’s loving embrace through the arms and prayers of hundreds of people in Denver, Spokane, Missoula, Cody and beyond
Grief: over a tragic accident and the pain and suffering it wrought on our son, his friends, and many other families and friends
Grace: in knowing that Dan – the one who proclaimed boldly on Facebook that he is a follower of Jesus – he is now caught up to Jesus and is walking with Him side by side and directly experiencing that ultimate love and complete redemption
Grief: in having to sit in a hospital room in Missoula and try to explain to your two children in Denver that their brother is dying
Grace: in calling our home about two hours after our call to our kids, and learning that 40-50 of our friends – kids and adults – have descended on our home and are embracing our two children with love and support in profound ways
Our emotions and thoughts are on the wildest of roller coaster rides – from sobbing in one moment to lightness and laughter in the next.
These experiences of unspeakable grief and amazing grace have now led us to hearts that are over-flowing with enormous gratitude:
Gratitude to God for giving us Daniel to enjoy and to love these last 18 years;
Gratitude for Dan’s love, humor, easy spirit, compassion, and commitment that Dan brought into this world and shared with his family and so many other people;
Gratitude for the angels of mercy who have descended upon us in Missoula and in Spokane these past several days – Mallory, Steve, Dick, Sean, Collin, Justin, Ben, Dustin, Alicia, Lindsey, Glenn and Nina, Bill and Bonnie, Terry, Jerry, and many others who have ministered to our son and to us in amazing ways – please accept our heartfelt love and gratitude.
And, finally, gratitude to this whole community of Whitworth and especially all the men of Mac Hall – this was a perfect place for our son to come – you have all demonstrated to him a love for Christ, a love for learning, and a love for each other that greatly enriched Dan’s final months on earth, and is now enriching his family and friends from afar.
Take these experiences and whatever relationship or encounters you had with our beloved Dan, and continue to reach more deeply into your relationship with Christ and with each other.
Thank you.
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