A Year of Tears

A year ago today, we sat beneath a green tent with family in padded, covered chairs and me in a wheelchair. The tent gave us shade but not a lot of relief from the July heat in South Georgia. And in front of us was a casket, beautifully draped with yellow roses, holding the Earthly shell of my beloved 18-year old daughter.

Since the accident on June 30 that altered the trajectory of my world, memories, bad dreams, and tormenting thoughts have caused the tears to flow on a daily basis.

I do not remember birds chirping or the noise of cars passing by on the nearby highway as I do today sitting at the cemetery.  The ground on top of the casket is now covered with live and dead flowers where grass is beginning to crawl through the dirt and weeds stretch up around her nameplate. Truthfully, I was probably too medicated from surgery and my own injuries to absorb all the details of that day.

I have learned since that time of others’ lives during that horrid week last year. Many cut vacations short after hearing of the accident, some left later than planned, some returned early, and some postponed it all together.  Tears were shed by many family and friends who mourned the loss of Sophia.

Now after wiping away tears each day for a year, maybe I’ll make it a day without puffy eyes, smeared mascara, and a pounding heart. Maybe I’ll be able to put in contacts again without fear of them swimming away. Maybe I can wear something other than tennis shoes with dresses. Maybe I’ll lie down to sleep without dread. Maybe my nightmares will turn into sweet dreams. Maybe I’ll wake up and not be in physical pain and can take a step without my ankle hurting.

During the course of this year, however, I have found myself laughing again. I’ll catch myself singing around the house and in the car once more. I have improved physically to the point I can work more hours, pull weeds in the flowerbed and start more projects in the shop.

There is much relief that this year of “firsts” is over. Yet, it is hard to imagine I will have to do the rest of this Earthly life without her. Sophia is not going to make a cameo appearance at Christmas or send me a sweet card at Mother’s Day. Life has changed, and I do not like it. I want her back, which unfortunately is not an option.

So, I’ll trudge through, trying to take it one day at a time. And maybe, just maybe, one of these days will be free of tears.

“And God will wipe away every tear from their eyes…” Revelation 21:4

Forever 18

I was feeling a bit successful as I ventured to my counseling appointment in a nearby town alone. It was only a few months after the accident, so even though I could not put weight on my foot, I was getting proficient on the scooter. I decided to head to a few stores to pick up items, and I needed to run by Bed, Bath, and Beyond for a gift.  

I got the registry and headed through the store with speed. After I found the wedding gift, I handed it to the clerk and asked her to leave it at the front so I could peruse the clearance areas. And then standing over the clearance table, it hit me. Hard. 

With tears streaming down my face, I realized I would never get to pick out wedding gifts with Sophia. She would be forever 18 in my mind, and I would miss many huge life events with her. I will never see her…

          -  walking across the stage for her high school diploma
        -  eyes light up as she tells me about finding Mr. Right
        -   dancing with Richard on her wedding day
         -  face light up in excitement when she tells me she’s pregnant
         -   raising my grandchildren
       -   trying to hid the gray in her hair
        -   holding my hand as I age

Inspirational speakers will tell us to look forward and not dwell on the past, but in this situation, I have to hold fast to those memories we shared, not the ones we will never have.

We have done amazing things with Sophia in her 18 years:

                  -   Skiing in Colorado
        -   See her get baptized
       -    Backpacking in the Cohutta Wilderness
        -   Watching her dance and sing on stage
       -   Seeing her love many different types of people
       -  Plan a Minion 18^th birthday party

                 -  Run a family marathon relay

I hope that with each birthday that passes, we will be able to focus on those things we shared more than those we did not. She lived a wonderful life and is loved by many. I simply wish I had more years to love her on this earth.

Hope in the Midst of Hurting

Holy Week brings with it many traditions of the organized church and personal families. From attending church services to dying eggs, from getting a new dress to getting some time off from school, this week resonates with the hope of new life and celebration.

For the hope of eternity to be available to believers, there had to be an ultimate sacrifice who could take on the sins of the world.

Enter Jesus. Son of God. ONLY son of God.

But why would God have to sacrifice his only son? Surely, something else could take his place. There are those pretty white doves, a spotless lamb, a majestic eagle, or even a beautiful tree could be struck down to cover my sin. God sacrificed His only son because He was sinless, and He was treasured more than anything in heaven. No angel, no streets of gold, no Old Testament saint could compare to God’s son.

Most parents would agree their most valued treasure is their children. We do anything to protect them, raise them well, and love them unconditionally. That is why losing a child is the most agonizing, heart-wrenching pain a parent can ever feel. We feel as though we have let our child down – that we did something or did not do something that has led to their death.

Our finite minds will never understand fully the trinity on this earth, but I truly believe God’s heart was broken when He saw His only son on the cross and when He knew the pain Jesus endured. Even knowing that in three days the hope of heaven would be available to all who believed, the pain of losing His only son certainly was the worst day in history from God’s point of view.

Just prior to his crucifixion, Jesus told his disciples, “Therefore you too have grief now; but I will see you again, and your heart will rejoice, and no one will take your joy away from you.” (John 16:22)

God knew what was going to happen – He planned the whole thing! He knew Jesus would rise again, but I’m sure those three days of separation from His only son were not pleasant. The greatest day in history is Resurrection Day when Jesus rose having buried the weight of our sin and given all those who believe a path to redemption through Him.

However, even with knowing Sophia is in heaven and that I will see her again, the pain of losing her is still overwhelming. When I pass her Minion-filled room or sit by her grave, the hope of heaven has not brought me the comfort I thought it would. Somehow, the aching in my heart is not soothed by the reassurance of that hope.

My head has not relayed the message to my heart that it is going to be okay in the end. My heart has not grasped the hope of the resurrection. This will come (hopefully) with time and healing, but for those who have lost a child, the celebration of new life is challenging. So...we will wait, and in the midst of our hurt, we will hold on for the hope of eternity.

Always Daddy’s Girl

There is nothing quite like the love between a daddy and his little girl, and Richard and Sophia are no exception. Even before she was born, he began his doting over her.  We found out shortly before Christmas in 1999 that our baby number four was a little girl. That Christmas Richard lavished me with gifts of pink! He bought me maternity clothes that would announce to the world the new life I was carrying was going to change our world…and it surely did!

After three dirty, rambunctious boys, our world was rocked with estrogen and pigtails. Sophia entered our family and gave all four boys in the house a better understanding of the moods of females and the different needs we have from our male counterparts.

Richard of course had many pet names for her, and one that was prominent was “Princess.” As most every daddy calls his daughter, Princess was a term to let her know the importance of her position in our house - although there never really was a question on who ruled here.  When my parents took the family to Disney World when she was only five, we disembarked the monorail and headed for the gates for The Magic Kingdom. As Sophia entered with her hand in Richard’s, the man greeted her with, “Good morning, Princess.” She looked up with her big blue eyes to her daddy and said, “They know my name!” She never realized every little girl who came through those gates was “Princess” – she thought she was the only one around!

One of Richard and Sophia’s special dates each year was the Daddy/Daughter Dance, and their dances covered a decade together. This picture shows the gift I gave to Richard for Valentine’s Day this year. It was a hard day, knowing he did not have his princess to take to the dance this year. She always looked forward to her date where she could get a new dress or buy a cool pair of Converse shoes. This dance was one that she would never outgrow, and if given the opportunity, I feel certain she would have driven home from college to attend with her first love.

There are many seasons in our lives, and Ecclesiastes states them beautifully. “There is an appointed time for everything….A time to weep and a time to laugh; A time to mourn and a time to dance.” (vs. 1, 4)

Sophia loved to dance, whether with her daddy on their special date or at a wedding with her brothers, and those memories forever will be treasured by us all. The time to dance with her is over, and the mourning continues. Our laughter has turned to weeping as we constantly miss her, and as I cry for her every single day.

The seasons will continue to change, although I am not sure when the mourning leaves – if ever. However, I do know that through life and even death, she will always remain her Daddy’s girl.

The Show Must Go On

Singing has always been a major part of our family. While other families implement the “no cell phones at the table” (which we also did), one of our die-hard rules was “no singing at the table.” That may seem odd for families that do not sing, but for us, we had to draw the line so everyone could enjoy family time around the table.

I was a part of our Tift County High School’s chorus and show choir in high school and to this day some of my best friends were made during those years. It delighted me greatly when both Matthew and Sophia were a part of chorus and show choir!

Graduating to the parent side of the program was exciting and even serving as president last year, while it had its share of headaches, I knew we did right by the kiddos and had money in the bank! We had to worry about backdrops, charter buses verses school buses, wardrobe cleaning and making sure everyone was current on their dues.

Meeting twice a month allowed parents to be immersed in the details that make such a fine program such as this run smoothly, and it also became a major part of my social calendar. While Matthew and Sophia hung out with their friends, I was hanging out with their friends’ parents who quickly became my friends and social group.

Heading across the state and southeast for three months out of the year left us tired at the end of weekends, but it proved to be some of the most exhilarating time to spend with our children and their passion. Richard and I enjoyed watching them excel on the stage, noticed when they messed up, and would critique and encourage them on certain aspects of their shows.

Unfortunately, this year our weekends are free.  Competitions are still being held, but Sophia is no longer here for us to go see her beautiful red hair and her smiling face on stage. It breaks my heart that our school program has lost several members over the course of the past four years due to premature deaths.

On opening weekend of show choir, instead of viewing our beautiful daughter on stage, we stopped by Publix, grabbed some flowers and visited her gravesite. With tears streaming down my face, I wished desperately to see her on stage one more time. Richard and I had seen our girl blossom on stage from a scared 7^th grader to dance captain last year, and we were so proud of her progress. 

Sophia’s role as dance captain last year was challenging, but it was a great opportunity for her to learn how to help manage the group and teach dances. She was a stickler for doing things well, but she was still learning how to direct others in a positive, more encouraging manner. Her sassy and many times bossy manner (I have no idea where she would get that from) was still being polished. I know she is singing in heaven now, and I can almost see her stopping the chorus of praises and saying, “Ok, this time with more energy….from the top….and 5,6,7,8….”

While she is singing and dancing before the throne, we are still grieving. This process is not getting easier. In fact, the reality of it all is slowly sinking in. She’s really gone. She will not be back on stage for us to go and enjoy, and our weekends unfortunately are mainly open. We miss her terribly, as well as her friends and the show choir family.

We wish the best for all the Tift County Show Choirs and know that through the heartache of losing several of their own, the show must go on!

Running away for Christmas

My anxiety grew as the holidays approached. It was difficult to fill my calendar with activities since my time normally was filled with chorus performances and evenings baking cookies and decorating the house with Sophia.

How could I possibly put up her stocking on the mantle and special ornaments on the tree without falling apart? Do we even continue to do what we have done for years, or do we try to make new traditions?

Let’s just run away. Run away from the tradition of Christmas Eve communion at the church I grew up in and where we got married. Run away from the moderate temperatures of a southern Christmas where shorts many years are appropriate. And run away from Christmas morning where everything is familiar. Maybe if we go far enough away, the hole in our hearts will shrink.

So, we headed to Alaska. Hopefully, in the vastness of that state, our troubles will seem small. Perhaps touring a new state will keep our focus on making new memories. And if I stay off social media, surely I will not notice those complete family photos where it appears all joy abounds.

While normally a place for summer vacation, Alaska is a gorgeous state to spend time in during the winter. We could see snow on the runway when we landed late at night, but when we woke up the next morning, and the sun finally decided to rise around 10:00am, the landscape was covered with the purest of white snow.

Our many activities were filled with laughter and smiles, but we could not escape wishing Sophia were with us. Whether flying in a Cessna, touring a museum, or driving around viewing the mountains, icy water and snow, it was nice being somewhere where no one knew us.

We walked down to a local bakery and ordered while no one was aware of the sadness we carried around. Even the reindeer we visited on Christmas day (who looked tired, by the way) did not seem to sense any unhappiness. We were able to create new memories in the midst of our hurt even while running away with this trip of a lifetime.

“Who will separate us from the love of Christ? Will tribulation, or distress, or persecution, or famine or nakedness, or peril, or sword? For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor any other created things, will be able to separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord.” Romans 8:35, 38-39

Just as we could not run away and escape our missing piece of the family, we could never run far enough away to escape the love of Christ. He was with us on our dog sledding trip, while the rest of the family skied, and with us as we shed tears together on Christmas morning.

The emptiness is still great, but we are continually encouraged by the love of Christ and those friends and family who continue to support us in various ways.

I’m praying for a brighter year filled with less heartache and more opportunities to build beautiful memories!  Happy New Year!

Unanswered Questions

After countless scans and more blood tests than any lab person wants to read, the findings of my injuries – while not great - were actually better than what people scurrying around the ER appeared to fear.  No one would give me a drink because of the possibility of me needing surgery, and oh, how I begged for a Diet Dr. Pepper to somehow quench my thirst and ease my pain.

The ER doctors and nurses tended to me and asked where my worst pain was – it was my left ankle.  I remember forcefully telling the person manipulating it and trying to figure out exactly what was wrong, “I really don’t like you right now.”

The CTs showed I had a talus fracture in my left ankle, a compressed vertebra and multiple transverse process fractures in my back. The right side of my body seemed to take the force of something in the accident and my right hip was already heavily bruised and purple. The blood from my right ear required more than a dozen stitches to bring it back together.

When the great staff at the hospital did their due diligence and realized I did not need immediate surgery, I was able to have my Diet Dr. Pepper. I was in excruciating pain, but there was no internal bleeding and all my internal organs seemed to be functioning as expected.

My fractured talus needed special care, so it was decided I would be transported to Macon on Monday for surgery on Tuesday.  They were gracious to schedule me first thing in the morning so if I was okay, I could come home the same day. Six screws and nine hours later, I remember waking up and knew with the amount of pain I was in, I did not want to go home. I stayed in the hospital one more day and should have stayed longer, but unfortunately, we had to return to bury our daughter.

I was discharged on July 4, and we requested no visitors so we could rest and prepare for visitation the next day. I was sent home with more medicines than I cared – opioids, blood thinners injected through my waist area, and a catheter down my leg of pain meds that was in theory going to keep me out of pain for a few days.

In reality, my pain spiked beyond measure. I was doing fine in the recliner one moment and then less than 30 minutes later I was screaming, “Cut if off, cut it off.” At that point, I did not care if someone cut off the cast or my leg; I just had to have relief. James unwrapped the bandages, cut through the gauze, and cracked the hardened cast to bring relief to what we could only imagine was my ankle swelling beyond the cast itself.

“I will give thanks to You, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made.”  Psalm 139:14

Our bodies are incredible and have the ability to protect themselves and heal themselves. It is truly amazing I am still here on this earth after sustaining such a trauma. However, that leaves so many unanswered questions.

If I could sustain being hit, why not Sophia? If God spared me, why didn’t He spare her? God surely had the power to protect me, so why would he allow me to live and Sophia die?  Surely God loves her as much as He loves me. 

Is her life really over? Has she done all that was required of her here on Earth? Why would an 18-year- old girl with so much life and love be struck down in an instance?  Did God not hear my prayers for protection of my children? Does He not care about the heartache we are feeling?

These questions haunt us as we try to understand God’s plan in the midst of our pain. We continue to try to make sense out of it all.  But we can’t. We do not have answers to these questions that roll daily through our minds. Sure, we know all the “Sunday School” answers, but those don’t currently bring comfort to our aching hearts. 

No answers now….at least none that feel right in this mother’s mind.