People ask how I’m doing

Kind people often ask me how I am doing. I have settled on a standard answer: “Okay.” It is almost true. I am not doing horribly. I am going about my life and can still find pleasure in a cup of coffee or a conversation with a friend. Though it surprises me to be able to say this, seven weeks after the death of my son, I am still a functioning human unit. But even say, though I will tell people I am “okay” I am forever changed and perhaps my outward life will soon reflect that.

One thing I keep reminding myself it that millions of people die every day, many of them with living parents. Death is a natural part of life, blah blah blah….I knew that before this happened. I try to understand why it is so different when the person who has passed on is my child. But the fact is it is different. Very different. It is like a stab to my own personal heart, worse than my own death, because it is a living death. When your body dies you live again in a new form. When someone who is a part of you dies, you have to keep living with death dragging you down inside. Maybe this is the hardest part of it.

How can you purge yourself of your child’s presence? Also how to incorporate the knowledge that your most sacred charge on earth –to keep him alive — has failed? Rationally I do not know what I could have done to prevent Jesse’s death, but there is that persistent instinct that I have failed in what I thought was my life’s highest purpose and all my sub-purposes are tainted and stripped of light and joy.

And yet I am doing sort of okay. On some level I know I did okay in my job as Jesse’s Mom. I might even get a B+ on my final report card in the subject of Parenthood. It’s just that the Jesse part of the job is over. Jesse finished his purpose in life earlier than I expected, and I have not yet finished mine. Therefore, my purpose or mission is not done. Obviously not, since I have another son who needs me. But I sense that parenthood is not my only reason for being here. I never really thought it was, except that when Jesse died, I realized the extent to which I had identified as his mother. I mean, it’s not that I didn’t realize it was important while he was alive. I poured everything I had into the job. It’s just that, I never realized the extent to which he had become intertwined with my identity.

So what am I to do now? I used to like doing things — like art and writing and had ideas about a direction to go with those things. But now somehow I have little enthusiasm about those ideas. I can barely remember what those ideas were. Sometimes I pray to the Lord to send me a scripture to give me a clue about what I ought to do. This morning Psalm 42 flashed in my head. It is the one that starts “As the deer pants for water brooks, so pants my soul for You, O God.” I did see two deer yesterday in a field near my house.

I read the psalm and it did speak to me. It is all about the psalmist’s spirit being cast down and needing to find comfort through hope in God. Well in this time of my life where else can I find hope or comfort? When your child has left the earth there is nowhere else to go except despair or amnesia, and neither of those options appeal to me. Because of that circle of hope shining through the dark shadow of death, I can still find mild pleasure in a cup of coffee or good music or conversation with a friend.

Psalm 42 (NKJV)
1 As the deer pants for the water brooks,
So pants my soul for You, O God.
2 My soul thirsts for God, for the living God.
When shall I come and appear before God?[b]
3 My tears have been my food day and night,
While they continually say to me,
“Where is your God?”
4 When I remember these things,
I pour out my soul within me.
For I used to go with the multitude;
I went with them to the house of God,
With the voice of joy and praise,
With a multitude that kept a pilgrim feast.
5 Why are you cast down, O my soul?
And why are you disquieted within me?
Hope in God, for I shall yet praise Him
For the help of His countenance.[c]
6 O my God,[d] my soul is cast down within me;
Therefore I will remember You from the land of the Jordan,
And from the heights of Hermon,
From the Hill Mizar.
7 Deep calls unto deep at the noise of Your waterfalls;
All Your waves and billows have gone over me.
8 The Lord will command His lovingkindness in the daytime,
And in the night His song shall be with me—
A prayer to the God of my life.
9 I will say to God my Rock,
“Why have You forgotten me?
Why do I go mourning because of the oppression of the enemy?”
10 As with a breaking of my bones,
My enemies reproach me,
While they say to me all day long,
“Where is your God?”
11 Why are you cast down, O my soul?
And why are you disquieted within me?
Hope in God;
For I shall yet praise Him,
The help of my countenance and my God.

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Author: CJ

Blogger, illustrator, writer

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