Chapter 1
On Saturday, December 7th, we had the public memorial for Andrew. Waiting three weeks to have the memorial was my decision. Andrew passed away on November 15th, and I was in no way ready to have any kind of service in the following days. Thanksgiving was just 13 days later. Logic would have said that the long weekend would have been a good time for people to come in to town. However, there isn't much logic in grief. See, I have a nearly photographic memory. I say nearly, because, since I've had children, my memory has dropped a couple notches. I remember things, vividly. I have learned not to reveal the depths of my memory to many people, mostly because you get some really strange looks when you can recite exactly when and where you met a person who clearly has no clue who you are. (Some of you who have read more of what I've written might ask, didn't you say you didn't recall being matched with Andrew the first time? It's true; I don't. This is why it didn't count against me...or so I always said.) I know myself well enough to know that, had we held the service during Thanksgiving weekend, no matter when Thanksgiving fell, for the rest of my life, I would associate the holiday with Andrew's service. I know this because my grandmother passed away two days after Christmas, and my grandfather on Good Friday. It's been over 20 years, and I still remember both those events in detail on those holidays. My day-to-day living is difficult enough without having another holiday tinged with the glasses of grief.
For the intervening three weeks between Andrew's passing and his memorial, I've been in this strange suspended existence. Since November 15th, every day has been a march toward December 7th. Every bit of my introverted energy had been channeled into this one event. With whatever forward thinking ability I had, the farthest I would ever let myself think was December 7th. I wanted it to hurry up and get here, but also never wanted the day to come. But it did. The days always come. December 7th was no different, yet it was. December 7th was the day I shared my grief with everyone else, publicly, and shared my husband with everyone else. This day would involve two things that I tend to avoid like the plague: being the center of attention in a large group of people, and crying in public. When you're a 38-year-old widow with two small children, there's no way to truly avoid those things. Yes, I could have chosen to keep the service private, or not have one at all. Honestly, those thoughts never crossed my mind. See, my husband lived much of his life believing he was all alone. Mental illness is so isolating. Society, in general, doesn't understand mental illness. Compounding that was a man who didn't even understand the depth of his own illness. The result was someone who truly believed he was alone in this world, save for his wife, children, and his father. Over the last many months, Andrew even had a hard time believing people would WANT to spend time with him, let alone enjoy spending time with him. He was so wrong, but I could never convince him of that.
God gave Andrew a huge heart. In many ways, he wore his heart on his sleeve. He was kind, generous, and caring. Andrew had also been wounded by people who took advantage of his kindness, generosity, and caring nature. He was bullied in school, and, by his own admission, spent much of his young life trying desperately to fit in. Satan had Andrew utterly convinced that there was nothing about him that would attract people to him. That could not have been further from the truth. I knew that Andrew had touched the lives of other people; I had been told as much countless times. I had no desire to deny anyone the chance to pay their respects to Andrew, even at the expense of my own personal desires and comfort level.
When I was asked what I wanted people to know walking away from the memorial, there were a couple things: 1) Andrew died from misdiagnosed mental illness. There isn't any shame in that. I believe that mental illness is one of the weapons Satan uses to pull us away from God and to keep us down. We are fallen creatures living in a fallen world. As such, our bodies, our brains, our mental state are all prey to this fallen world. Satan's greatest desire is to prevent people from becoming fully devoted followers of Christ. The mind is one of Satan's strongest weapons. We can't escape our own minds. We can't turn them off. The pain and mental anguish of reliving every fear, failure, and foible drives many of us to cope in ways that aren't healthy. Alcohol was Andrew's primary coping mechanism. He had periods of sobriety, periods away from alcohol. However, without the proper diagnosis of his mental illness, Andrew was a ticking time bomb.
The second thing I wanted people to know is that God is good. God is here, he is present, he is alive, and he is good. Andrew's death changes none of that. I am literally living most people's worst nightmare. I actually had someone brave enough to write that in a card to me, that I'm living out her worst nightmare. That honesty was so refreshing, so human. Dreams and nightmares, those are human concerns. Yes, God gives us "dreams" to aspire to, goals and plans to work toward. In reality, though, God is above our dreams and nightmares. We dream to the limits of our human understanding. Our nightmares are the product of human experiences (real or imagined). While God was fully human, he is, above all else, fully God. My nightmare of being left widowed with two young children is actually God's vehicle for reaching another person for his Kingdom. How? I have no idea. But the parable of the lost sheep tells me that the shepherd, God, will leave the 99 who are already following him, and go pursue the one who has wandered away. No, God isn't abandoning the 99. God doesn't abandon anyone. God is passionately pursuing all people all the time. God would have still sent his Son, Jesus, to die on the cross even if I was the only person on the planet. That is how reckless, amazing, passionate he is. And someone that loving can't be anything but good.
Chapter 1 of my grief story ended on December 7th. I have no idea how many chapters there will be in this story, but when the author of life is also the author of the story, I do know it will be a good one. I woke up December 8th with the realization that I am now living in the "after." I have a choice to make: I can curl up and stay put, just trying to survive each day the best way I can, or, I can take baby steps into the future. I'm choosing to take baby steps. And when I say baby steps, think more...baby shuffles. Honestly, what propels me just a little bit forward is a vision I had on Saturday evening. I was thinking about Andrew, his life, his struggles. I thought about his memorial service, easily one of the largest the church has ever had. And I pictured Jesus with his arm around Andrew, looking down on the celebration of his life. I imagined Jesus saying to Andrew, "You spent so much time thinking you were nothing; you had nothing to offer; no one cared. My son, how wrong you were. Just look at what is happening for my Kingdom because of your life, and your faith in me. Well done, my son."
"Death is swallowed up in victory.
O death, where is your victory?
O death, where is your sting?
For sin is the sting that results in death, and the law gives sin its power. But thank God! He gives us victory over sin and death through our Lord Jesus Christ.
So, my dear brothers and sisters, be strong and immovable. Always work enthusiastically for the Lord, for you know that nothing you do for the Lord is ever useless." I Corinthians 15:54-58 (NLT)
For the intervening three weeks between Andrew's passing and his memorial, I've been in this strange suspended existence. Since November 15th, every day has been a march toward December 7th. Every bit of my introverted energy had been channeled into this one event. With whatever forward thinking ability I had, the farthest I would ever let myself think was December 7th. I wanted it to hurry up and get here, but also never wanted the day to come. But it did. The days always come. December 7th was no different, yet it was. December 7th was the day I shared my grief with everyone else, publicly, and shared my husband with everyone else. This day would involve two things that I tend to avoid like the plague: being the center of attention in a large group of people, and crying in public. When you're a 38-year-old widow with two small children, there's no way to truly avoid those things. Yes, I could have chosen to keep the service private, or not have one at all. Honestly, those thoughts never crossed my mind. See, my husband lived much of his life believing he was all alone. Mental illness is so isolating. Society, in general, doesn't understand mental illness. Compounding that was a man who didn't even understand the depth of his own illness. The result was someone who truly believed he was alone in this world, save for his wife, children, and his father. Over the last many months, Andrew even had a hard time believing people would WANT to spend time with him, let alone enjoy spending time with him. He was so wrong, but I could never convince him of that.
God gave Andrew a huge heart. In many ways, he wore his heart on his sleeve. He was kind, generous, and caring. Andrew had also been wounded by people who took advantage of his kindness, generosity, and caring nature. He was bullied in school, and, by his own admission, spent much of his young life trying desperately to fit in. Satan had Andrew utterly convinced that there was nothing about him that would attract people to him. That could not have been further from the truth. I knew that Andrew had touched the lives of other people; I had been told as much countless times. I had no desire to deny anyone the chance to pay their respects to Andrew, even at the expense of my own personal desires and comfort level.
When I was asked what I wanted people to know walking away from the memorial, there were a couple things: 1) Andrew died from misdiagnosed mental illness. There isn't any shame in that. I believe that mental illness is one of the weapons Satan uses to pull us away from God and to keep us down. We are fallen creatures living in a fallen world. As such, our bodies, our brains, our mental state are all prey to this fallen world. Satan's greatest desire is to prevent people from becoming fully devoted followers of Christ. The mind is one of Satan's strongest weapons. We can't escape our own minds. We can't turn them off. The pain and mental anguish of reliving every fear, failure, and foible drives many of us to cope in ways that aren't healthy. Alcohol was Andrew's primary coping mechanism. He had periods of sobriety, periods away from alcohol. However, without the proper diagnosis of his mental illness, Andrew was a ticking time bomb.
The second thing I wanted people to know is that God is good. God is here, he is present, he is alive, and he is good. Andrew's death changes none of that. I am literally living most people's worst nightmare. I actually had someone brave enough to write that in a card to me, that I'm living out her worst nightmare. That honesty was so refreshing, so human. Dreams and nightmares, those are human concerns. Yes, God gives us "dreams" to aspire to, goals and plans to work toward. In reality, though, God is above our dreams and nightmares. We dream to the limits of our human understanding. Our nightmares are the product of human experiences (real or imagined). While God was fully human, he is, above all else, fully God. My nightmare of being left widowed with two young children is actually God's vehicle for reaching another person for his Kingdom. How? I have no idea. But the parable of the lost sheep tells me that the shepherd, God, will leave the 99 who are already following him, and go pursue the one who has wandered away. No, God isn't abandoning the 99. God doesn't abandon anyone. God is passionately pursuing all people all the time. God would have still sent his Son, Jesus, to die on the cross even if I was the only person on the planet. That is how reckless, amazing, passionate he is. And someone that loving can't be anything but good.
Chapter 1 of my grief story ended on December 7th. I have no idea how many chapters there will be in this story, but when the author of life is also the author of the story, I do know it will be a good one. I woke up December 8th with the realization that I am now living in the "after." I have a choice to make: I can curl up and stay put, just trying to survive each day the best way I can, or, I can take baby steps into the future. I'm choosing to take baby steps. And when I say baby steps, think more...baby shuffles. Honestly, what propels me just a little bit forward is a vision I had on Saturday evening. I was thinking about Andrew, his life, his struggles. I thought about his memorial service, easily one of the largest the church has ever had. And I pictured Jesus with his arm around Andrew, looking down on the celebration of his life. I imagined Jesus saying to Andrew, "You spent so much time thinking you were nothing; you had nothing to offer; no one cared. My son, how wrong you were. Just look at what is happening for my Kingdom because of your life, and your faith in me. Well done, my son."
"Death is swallowed up in victory.
O death, where is your victory?
O death, where is your sting?
For sin is the sting that results in death, and the law gives sin its power. But thank God! He gives us victory over sin and death through our Lord Jesus Christ.
So, my dear brothers and sisters, be strong and immovable. Always work enthusiastically for the Lord, for you know that nothing you do for the Lord is ever useless." I Corinthians 15:54-58 (NLT)
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