When you show up thinking you're going to pick up trash...
The last Saturday in October, our church had a Serve Day. S thought it would be a great Team activity, and he signed all of us up to help clean our church's adopted section of highway. The morning of the Serve, the four of us were assigned to the first half (our adopted section was three miles long) of the highway. Another family of four, plus some others, were assigned to the same section. We carpooled down to Culvers, and started searching for trash.
The first part of our clean-up was rather uneventful. There was a boys vs. girls trash contest, Mr. M lost a shoe in a hedge, and the younger kids tried mightily to see if they could walk through shrubbery, instead of around it. We had been going for a bit when we crossed a big intersection. I found myself on the street side of the sidewalk, walking with the father of the family that had carpooled with us. We started off with the typical small talk: who are you, what do you do, how long have you been coming to the church, etc. I asked him how he came to know the Lord. As the man began to answer, our conversation transformed from a friendly chat to a divine appointment.
Since Andrew's death, my chief desire and goal is to do whatever I can to make sure no other family has to endure what we did. For the two years leading up to his death, Andrew and I sought answers. Doctors, therapists, treatment centers, spiritual interventions, countless books, hours of prayer, meetings with pastors; all we wanted were answers. Why did none of the medications he was on seem to be working? Why was Andrew so tortured in his very soul over his salvation? What was it that we were missing? It wasn't until two weeks before his death that we finally got the answer: Andrew suffered from severe OCD, specifically a version of OCD known as "pure O". He obsessed. Constantly. His obsessions were spiritual in nature, and, one of the medications he had been prescribed for quite some time (a medication that was not for OCD) had a side effect of obsessive thoughts. The months leading up to Andrew's death were a nightmare for both of us. Frustration over his "inability" to get himself under control, anxiety over his mental state, the unraveling of his mental health, the deep depression that accompanied it; it was awful to watch that happen to someone you love, and it was awful to experience it. We had a glimmer of hope; we had a diagnosis and a plan. Instead, God brought Andrew home, where he will never again be tortured by his own mind, and where he can sit at the feet of Jesus and spend eternity in paradise.
I've survived, and lived, every moment of the last two years because of Christ. Yes, my parents have been an amazing source of help, comfort, and support. My family has stepped up in big ways. Friends have come alongside me and held me up when I needed it, and helped me laugh and enjoy myself when I needed that. However, at the center of every piece of help, support, prayer, and love I have received is Christ. The last two years have been the most difficult of my entire life, but I have Christ. I have hope. I have confidence and assurance. Andrew is in Heaven with Jesus. He is safe, healthy, happy, and whole. Even with that confidence and assurance, this entire chapter of my life has been the most excruciating, painful, exhausting, lonely time, I hope, of my entire life. I'm not being dramatic when I say, particularly that first year, I barely survived. I barely survived, and I have Jesus. It breaks my heart to think of another family having to endure the pain, frustration, and confusion I have experienced. Thankfully, I have never had to grieve without Jesus and the hope of the resurrection; to think there could be another family facing the same kind of loss I have, without that hope? This is what spurs me on.
Back on the highway, this man was telling me how he came to know the Lord. He began sharing some parts of his story, some of his struggles, and how he was in a tough spot currently. He has OCD, and his obsessive thoughts have been working really hard to take over. Listening to him share, my heart knew this story. I lived this story. I don't typically share too many details of the last months of Andrew's life outside of my close circle. The thing is, though, when the Lord has brought you over a mountain, he uses you to show others that, through Him, it can be done.
On that strip of highway, I shared with this man about Andrew. I talked about how we met and our early years together. I spoke about the decline in Andrew's mental health; gradual at first, then, overnight, it seemed, rapid and uncontrolled. Starting with the weeks before his death, I told of the deep depression Andrew experienced, and the agony he was in. How he would tell me all he wanted was for someone to give him something to shut his brain off. I retold the day I had to call an ambulance to take him to the hospital, and the subsequent diagnosis that suddenly made everything make sense. I shared about the seizure that wracked Andrew's body, causing him to vomit. He aspirated that vomit, and it stopped his heart. It took 25 minutes to get his heart going again, which left him with catastrophic, irreversible brain damage, and we had to let him go. By this point, the man and I were no longer picking up trash. He was looking at me like I had three heads, while tears streamed down his face. He asked me what the last two years have been like for me, and how my kids are doing with it all. He pointed out that I had obviously found love again, and was happy.
I truly believe the Holy Spirit was speaking, not me. I shared what it was like for my now 6-year-old to lose his dad; the nights we would get home from work/school at 5pm, but I wouldn't get out of the entry way and out of my coat and shoes until 7pm. And what was I doing that whole time? I was physically restraining my child. My child who couldn't walk into our house without rage. My preschooler who would kick and hit his toddler sister, push her down the stairs, scream and punch walls every night. I would physically restrain him for hours until he became so exhausted he passed out. I told of my daughter, who has already lived half her life without her dad. My little girl who doesn't have any true memories of her dad, so she makes up stories and memories for herself. I talked about finding therapists, taking time off of work, having unpaid FMLA so I could take my son weekly to play therapy. I opened up about being a solo parent; the toll it has taken on me to be "on" 24 hours a day for two years. I admitted the fear that lived inside me in the early days dating S; fear that I couldn't truly love anyone in that way again, and if I did, they would leave, too. Yes, I shared, the Lord has been redeeming this awful situation in big and small ways. He is bringing amazing beauty out of ashes. Regardless, we are the walking wounded. Our hearts, our lives, and a stories are forever impacted by the tragic and traumatic loss of Andrew.
Standing back at our starting point, through his tears, the man confessed that he had been thinking lately of simply ending it all. He was tired of hurting his family, tired of being betrayed by his own mind; just tired. He hadn't even wanted to get out of bed that morning, and was planning to beg off the Serve Day, but something, he said, got him out of bed. Listening to my story, seeing the pain, and hearing the testimony of God's goodness and grace, this man told me he felt like God meant for him and I to pick up trash together that day. S told me later that it was like this man and I were in our own world walking down that street. He didn't know what we were so intently talking about, but he could tell the Spirit was there. Standing in the parking lot where out families were first paired together, I prayed for this man, and shared with him that my greatest desire is for my and Andrew's story to play a part in making sure no other family has to go through what we did. That day, I am certain, the Lord used me to reach this man in a way that only I can.
Tomorrow, November 15th, will mark two years since I had the blessing of being with Andrew as he met Jesus. There have been many tears today. The pain of losing Andrew is still there. I think, perhaps, it always will be, in one form or another. While I happily anticipate the next chapter of my life with my small people (kids) and S, my heart still aches over the loss of someone I loved so deeply, and still love to this day. Tonight, I'm singing a song that brought me to tears today in church. It was an anthem of mine during the 5 days in the ICU, and in the day and months that followed. The song is "Goodness of God" by Bethel Music.
"… I love You, Lord
For Your mercy never fails me
All my days, I've been held in Your hands
From the moment that I wake up
Until I lay my head
Oh, I will sing of the goodness of God
And all my life You have been so, so good
With every breath that I am able
Oh, I will sing of the goodness of God
You have led me through the fire
In the darkest night
You are close like no other
I've known You as a Father
I've known You as a Friend
And I have lived in the goodness of God (yeah)
And all my life You have been so, so good
With every breath that I am able
Oh, I will sing of the goodness of God (yeah)
It's running after me
Your goodness is running after
It's running after me
With my life laid down
I'm surrendered now
I give You everything
'Cause Your goodness is running after
It's running after me (oh-oh)
It's running after me
Your goodness is running after
It's running after me
With my life laid down
I'm surrendered now
I give You everything
'Cause Your goodness is running after
It keeps running after me
And all my life You have been so, so good
With every breath that I am able
Oh, I'm gonna sing of the goodness of God
(I'm gonna sing, I'm gonna sing)
And all my life You have been so, so good
With every breath that I am able
Oh, I'm gonna sing of the goodness of God
Oh, I'm gonna sing of the goodness of God"
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