As I reflect on past journals and blogs I see a woman who is shattered but is clinging on to hope – the hope she has in Christ. I wonder where she went? I don’t feel hopeful. I haven’t in weeks. Maybe months? I’ve lost track.
I miss my son. I don’t understand why he killed himself. I want God to sit right here next to me and audibly tell me Drey is with Him. I hate my unbelief. I hate it I hate it I hate it. Yes, my son told me he accepted Christ as his savior. But that’s not enough for my broken heart. I’m so sick of reading books about the basics in search of a glimmer of rock solid, beyond a shadow of a doubt proof that my baby is in heaven. The knowledge I’ve acquired is nothing compared to the faith I wish I had. The faith I wish I FELT.
My heart is broken. I don’t know who I am. I’m supposed to be making plans for my boy’s 21st birthday. Instead I’m sleeping for 10 hours straight then waking up exhausted. This is new ground for me. And I hate it. How can I still be confronting new emotions, new levels of apathy and despair after almost 2 years? Isn’t 2 years enough time to wring out every last drop of emotion possible?
I visited a youth grief counseling camp last month and saw the art therapy they were doing. Masks. Painted on the outside and the inside. The outside displaying what they wanted others to see. The inside telling the rest of the story.
That’s how I feel. The one who is confident beyond a shadow of a doubt that Jesus Christ was fully God and fully man. He never sinned. He died for us. He rose! He overcame death! I can reference clear, factual proof for these things. Rejoice! Be glad! But the interior of the mask tells more of the story. It shows how little I care about the resurrection. The loss of my son is too heavy. It doesn’t feel like a “light and momentary affliction.” And I am so ashamed of my ungratefulness. God forgive me.
I’m still in the fight but I’m so weary.
A Friend on the Walk 
I have said this before and GOD I wish it was possible. I want to take some of your burden of grief and pain and carry it for you. How do I do that? I stare into space and pray for an answer to the question “how can I ease some of her pain.” The only thing I know I can do is pray, be a good listener and always be available.
Love you so much and I hope knowing you have that love it eases just a small piece of your pain. Love Mom
I love you.
“Isn’t 2 years enough time to wring out every last drop of emotion possible?” The answer is NO…not even a whole lifetime. It is a vicious cycle that visits in different stages…moods….memories….etc…
Faith, like love, is not a feeling…it is obedience to God. He doesn’t ask us to feel faith but to act upon it. We are wading through unbearable grief with weights on our ankles….slowly we move…and God is patient. Our feeling of grief is trumping every feeling…good feelings that we knew before our sons left this life the way they did. Our faith has been shattered and being reconstructed with far heavier fabric than ever before.
Our sons are in Heaven with our Lord. It is a matter of believing and receiving…and they did both…it is not about how they died or sins they committed but rather the same belief that the thief on the cross had. After one sentence to Jesus…”remember me when You come into Your kingdom.”…. and it was done, as Jesus assured him, “Today you will be with me in Paradise.”
It is not a complicated matter but as caring Christian mothers we can hardly see through this cloud of grief to reckon the blood that was shed on our behalf and for our sons. Rest in what is being told to you and hold it close to your heart. The devil is playing in your fragile mind right now as he has with mine. It has been pure torture the past five years but as time wore on and I became resigned to my plight, I accepted all the love and grace that came my way through signs from God. I begged God to send me some kind of sign about Brandon’s soul, even though, I knew he was saved. …so that I could have peace….and He did. I am nobody…there are so many “better” Christians than me but God had mercy on my pure nightmare of living with doubt about my son. If he had died any other way, I guess that doubt would not have been a factor but suicide has a stigma that leaves us charged with all things negative.
I hope this brings you peace: from 1 Thessalonians 4: 13, 14
13. We do not want you to be unaware, brothers, about those who have fallen asleep, so that you may not grieve like the rest, who have no hope.
14. For if we believe that Jesus died and rose, so too will God, through Jesus, bring with him those who have fallen asleep.(died)
I’m grateful for your wisdom. A heavier fabric… I love that descriptor of our faith and what’s becoming of it. Heavy sigh.
Well put. You are awesome, and I love you.
Have you read the book “My Son and The Afterlife” By Elisa Medhus”. I am reading it at the moment. It is about a woman who also lost her son to suicide.
No – I haven’t heard of that one. Will you let me know what you think of it?