Stand By You...

Revelation 21:4 - “He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away.”

Tahlequah, or J35 as she is known to researchers, has released her baby into the deep. This heart-breaking story has been in the headlines of Pacific Northwest papers and news channels and Facebook feeds for 17 days. The killer whale named Tahlequah birthed her baby 17 days ago. The baby lived for only a brief time before succumbing to death. Her momma carried her, pushed her, through the ocean for 17 days at the expense of her own health. The debates have ensued with a lot of theories from people about animal behavior. Some say that she didn’t realize her baby was deceased. Others say that there must be something wrong with the whale, that it must be intellectually or cognitively impaired to be carrying her dead baby for so many days. And others theorize that she is making a statement about the pollution and the people that have ruined their environment and this was her own protest. 

As I’ve watched the news and watched this poor whale pushing her baby to the surface with her snout, I see pain. I see gut-wrenching sadness. I see grief. 

I haven’t lost a child. Many would say that I have no authority to speak on the grief of losing a child. And they would be correct. I don’t know what it’s like to lose a child. But I do know what it’s like to grieve. I do know what it’s like to have people say that I should be over that already. Why am I still sad after all these years? There must be something wrong with me. I’m just looking for sympathy. In my eyes seventeen days is only the beginning for this momma whale. Just because she let go of her baby’s body doesn’t mean she has let go of her sadness, her pain, her kicked in the gut sobs. It’s just the beginning of her grief journey. 

Death can be consuming. Overwhelming. When Brian killed himself my head immediately started swimming. They hadn’t even found his body yet and my grief was starting. There’s panic and sadness. Fight or flight kicks in and in my case stayed on for a long time, and still rears it’s head from time to time. There’s the feeling like your heart is going to explode. Loneliness. Anger. Helplessness. Panic. Depression. Worry. Lack of sleep.  Feeling like you’ve been kicked in the gut.  Feeling sick and tired. Grief is hard, even when you’re not pushing around a 300 pound baby. 

One remarkable piece of Tahlequah’s grief journey was watching her pod respond. They gave her space to grieve but also stayed silently near her for when she needed them. They grieved with her. They fed her. They helped when they could. Her pod stepped in the help carry her burden for her and with her. Just like humans. My pod, my people, rallied around me. They watched my kids. They let me cry and scream and get mad. They helped make phone calls and sort paperwork. They walked me through things I had never thought I would have to do. They fed me. They stayed at a distance if needed but were right there if I needed them closer. My pod saved my life, just as that killer whale pod supported and surrounded Tahlequah in her moments of raw grief. 

Being someone who has been through the grief journey, my hope and prayer is that I can use my process for good. Either through these blog posts that I write, or through love and support of people in their grief journeys. My heart aches for everyone that I know that is going through this process. The feelings that I had, and still have, run rampant when I find out someone has lost a loved one. The grief journey is something that you share with others whether you want to or not. My heart aches when people lose someone important and oftentimes, it rips a little bit of my scab right off and starts the wound oozing all over again. It doesn’t matter whether you’ve lost a parent or a sibling, a child or a spouse, a grandparent or a friend, grief is hard. There is no sliding scale that determines who has a harder road. There’s no right or wrong amount of time to grieve. There’s no rules about when grief is over because honestly, it’s not over. There will always be a piece of you that is gone, that is missing. A piece that will never feel whole. The sadness gets easier and the waves get smaller. But sometimes they’re big and giant just like it first happened. It’s not a curve. It’s not a circle. It’s not a linear path through the stages. It’s a roller coaster and there’s no shame in being sad. There isn’t anything wrong with you if you grieve longer than someone else who went through a loss. There’s also  nothing wrong with you if you’re done with grief quicker than others. We all have our own timeline, our own pace that we go through. 

Seventeen days. That momma carried her grief physically for seventeen days. I have carried my grief mentally and emotionally for going on eight years. There is no right or wrong. The only recommendation that I have is to invite God into your grief. Let Him walk with you. Let Him carry you on the days that you can’t make it. Let Him comfort and console you.  And let Him lead you to the people in your pod. I have been blessed with the most amazing people on my journey. Friends and family, coworkers and neighbors, church family and even strangers. My pod has kept me alive, and kept the memory of Brian and others that I have lost on this journey afloat. Who’s in your pod? Let them swim the waves with you and help you through it. We all have burdens and struggles. We all have things that we are carrying that no one may even know about. But with Father God in our hearts and our pod by our side, we can walk this grief journey towards healing and recovery. We never forget our loved one. We carry them in our hearts forever. And there will be moments we don’t think we can move forward, but just remember the verse for Revelations that I posted at the beginning of this post: “He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away.”

He will wipe away our tears. Doesn’t say in seventeen days. Doesn’t say in eight years. It just says He will wipe away our tears...EVERY time we cry them. Our Heavenly Father is with us in our grief and our pain. It hurts Him to see us hurting. He is there to walk us through, to dry our tears, and to heal our hearts a little piece at a time. 

And just as Tahlequah’s pod was there for her, I’m going to stand by you if you need me also. My grief and my journey cannot end here. Father God has a purpose for my pain, a message in my mess, and I’m going to stand by you, whether you’re ready in seventeen days or eight years. I’m going to stand by you...

Everything has Changed...

Twelve years seems like a lifetime ago. Each passing year the memories get a little bit fuzzier. The hurt is still there when I wake up and realize what the date is. Twelve years ago I was in a nail salon and hair salon with my best friends. We were getting pretty for the day to come. I remember the happiness. And anxious pit in my stomach. Wondering what he would think of my dress. Hoping Pastor Pulse wouldn’t get too embarrassing with the sermon. I was excited for my friends and family to celebrate. The day had finally come. I was getting married. 

As we walked through that day I remember taking a lot of pauses to just stop and take it all in. Little moments throughout the whole day happened and I would stop, close my eyes, and be deliberate about that second in time, taking a little snapshot at that very second. It was a magical day. I was so happy. 

As I lay across my bed and ponder those moments twelve years ago the moments run through my mind. I see my sister and Miranda and Rachel and we’re laughing as we eat bagels and drink mimosas. And then the image slowly crumbles away, being cleared as if sand in a desert wind. I see my daddy waiting at the entrance of the church as I link my arm through his. His voice cracks as he tries to tell me how beautiful I look. And that image is erased clean, one swipe across a chalkboard. I see my soon-to-be husband standing up front in a crowd full of our people. He smiles and then disappears as if a mirage in the Sahara. Little moments, slowly crumbling away as I age and the years like into each other as time marches on. 

But the pain and sadness and grief. That I remember. And there are little moments that rose to the surface and I fight back tears throughout the day.  Kneeling at the communion rail, watching Pastor Brynestad bless my beautiful little girls and telling them they are saints in God’s kingdom and tears well in my eyes. Standing in the parking lot of church with my parents talking about where I’d like the go for breakfast to celebrate our “Family-versary”, the day we became the Duncans and I bawl like a baby no knowing what I want or where we should go. Laying on my bed because all I want to do in that moment is sleep and cry and forget that he’s not here, he won’t be coming in the door with roses and kisses and hugs. Sitting on the deck later talking about brunch, and tears finding their way back as I think of all he misses, not just today, but every day. 

Everything is different. Everything has changed. And not all of that change is bad! I firmly believe that most of the changes we have gone through, although painful, have been good changes. I have an amazing little family. We are strong and resilient and we have been placed on this path as God’s children, God’s army. We have been tasked with using our troubles for His good. He always makes good out of all of the bad that happens. There’s always a message in the messes. Sometimes they take a really long time to show up. But they’re there. The diamonds in the rough. The good out of the bad. He puts us on these paths and asks us to walk through horrible, terrible things sometimes. But the good that shines through outweighs the bad. 

Everything has changed. Just as God has promised! In Isaiah 14:9 it says “Behold, I am doing a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it? I will make a way in the wilderness and rivers in the desert.” A new thing. Amelia and Emerson and me? We are new things that God is doing! He is walking with us through our moments of sadness and heartache and grief. He is making us new. He is making our situation new. He is using the hard moments to mold and shape and change us into who we are in Father God. 

Everything has changed. But God never does! He is constant and steady and there for us always! He is making us new. He is walking with us as we grow and change and become more like Him each and every day in our walk. And in the moments like today, where we just can’t walk another step, He carries us. He catches our tears. He reminds us of His plan and His grace and His mercy. And He is just there to listen to us vent, to catch our tears, to hold us and be with us and remind us who we are in Him. 

So, as I think about the beginning of my family, the start of the Brian Duncan family back on August 5th, 2006, I thank my God for starting that journey for me, for us. I am grateful that Brian and I shared in that day, and started the union that was to be our family. I’m thankful I was gifted with my amazing girls. And I am grateful for the four years we got to be a family together. Brian wasn’t in the plan for our family. I may never understand why that part of the plan had to end the way it did. It makes my chest hurt and makes it hard to breathe when I think about him not being here anymore, still all these years later. And days like today I cannot control the tears and the pit in my stomach feeling. But tomorrow is a new day! God is making all things new. And even this piece of my grief will be made new. It hurts tonight. And I just want to cry and go to bed. But I will pray. And talk it out. And write a blog post. And turn to my Heavenly Father for comfort for He knows that plans he has for the Duncan family. And I am thankful to be walking on the path He has planned. 

Everything has changed. And yet, I am so very blessed...