Grief – Grieving Mama

“Don’t You (Forget About Me)”

Every once in a while as I’m listening to music, one of the songs from Micah’s playlist will come on, bringing back memories of him. Recently, the song “Don’t You (Forget About Me)” from the movie The Breakfast Club began to play. I can’t remember if Micah actually saw that movie before he died or if he knew the song from when it was referenced in the movie Pitch Perfect. Either way, it made me think about the little ways that some of Micah’s friends and family have shown that they have not forgotten about him. When people share these things with me, it makes me feel so good to know that even though he hasn’t been here physically for over two and a half years, he continues to hold a place in people’s thoughts and hearts.

One of Micah’s friends left a painted rock at the cemetery by his gravestone when he stopped by to visit his grave. Another remembered him by wearing his #Team Micah – Fishing for a Cure wristband for his senior pictures as a way to include him. A couple of others wore their wristbands to prom; taking Micah with them since he didn’t have the opportunity to attend prom in his lifetime. His cousin made a point of including a picture of Micah in his photo display at his graduation party so Micah could be there too, like he would have been if he was still here. One of his aunts sends us a picture via text on the 3rd of every month, remembering the anniversary of the date he died. It’s often a picture of his name spelled out in something she has created somewhere in nature or with one of his favorite foods. Every once in a while, I catch a glimpse of a Team Micah t-shirt or hear from parents of Micah’s friends, sharing a conversation, story or memory of Micah that their son or daughter has shared with them. We also recently learned that there will be a memorial page for Micah in the yearbook this year as this would have been his senior year. These are just a few of the things that people have done that remind us that Micah has not been forgotten.

Before I found myself in the role of bereaved parent, I didn’t know how much it meant for people to share memories and photos of someone who had passed away; to be able to talk about them freely without worrying about making the other person uncomfortable. When someone new in our lives learns of our loss, there is frequently that moment when they don’t quite know what to say. Often, there’s the initial “I’m so sorry” which is followed by an awkward silence before one of us can change the topic to something less uncomfortable than death. As much as I like to talk about Micah and share memories of him, I know that it can sometimes be hard for others to know how to respond.

One of the most memorable interactions I had was with someone who I hadn’t seen since I was pregnant with Annika and who didn’t know our story. As we were chatting, she asked what should have been an innocent question, “How old are your children?” It was easy to share about Annika, telling her age and how she was now in college. However, when it came time to tell about Micah, I felt uneasy as I began to share that he had died from cancer at the age of fifteen. Instead of the expected response, however, she asked me to share one of my favorite memories of him. That simple request gave me the freedom to share a fun memory of him, turning what could have been an uncomfortable moment into a time of sharing and reminiscing. I was so grateful for that opportunity and made a mental note to try to remember that for times when I’m in a similar situation with others.

When it comes to being able to talk about Micah and share stories of him, I imagine how difficult this has been for Annika as she transitioned from being home with all of her friends who had been with her through Micah’s illness and death, to starting a new life at college. She has made some great friends at Wartburg but none of them knew Micah and initially, only her roommate knew that she had lost her brother. After all, how do you even start that conversation with someone new, “Oh, by the way, did I tell you my brother died?” By now, most of her college friends now know about Micah’s death and she is able to talk to them about it, but they don’t have memories of him like her high school friends do. Although they never met Micah, they are getting to know what he was like as Annika shares stories about him. One of her friends in particular has become very invested in Micah’s story and wants to know more. She’s always extremely happy when Annika shares memories of Micah and it’s been good for Annika to be able to have someone close to her that she can talk to about him.

Through the loss of Micah, I have learned how important it is to be able to talk about the people in our lives that we have lost along the way. Telling stories of Micah has not only been healing for us but also gives those who have never met him a little glimpse of who he was. I hope that someday we’ll all be able to talk freely about those we have lost; sharing stories of them with others so that they can continue to live on through our memories; so they can be remembered and never forgotten.

Hearts Abound

I was recently given the opportunity to write a reflections piece to be included in the spring newsletter for our local chapter of The Compassionate Friends, an organization that supports families after the loss of a child. In the article, I briefly mentioned the phenomenon of hearts appearing in unexpected places. Over the past year or two, I have noticed hearts showing up in so many ways; a knot hole in our wooden fence, a chunk of mud that our dog tracked in, miscellaneous places in nature, and even in some of Micah’s favorite foods. I’m not sure if I’m just more aware of them now or if they really are showing up more frequently. Either way, I like to think that each heart I see is a message of love from Micah, a sign that he is still with me in some way.

Here are some of the hearts I’ve been seeing lately as well as the message I shared for the reflections piece.

From Death to Life

One of the things I most appreciate about living where I do, is the change of seasons. Each one has something unique to offer and brings with it its own beauty. I love seeing the vibrant fall colors as the leaves transition from brilliant green to hues of red, yellow and orange. Although the color change is indicative of impending death, there is so much serenity and beauty that comes along with it. Even in the winter, when the world lies in a dormant state, a fresh blanket of snow can bring a sense of tranquility to a world that is otherwise, for all intents and purposes, in a state of death. It brings light to the darkness and covers the dirt and grime that infiltrates our lives. After a while, though, even the beauty of the snow grows old and I find myself longing for spring and summer; for a time of warmth and new life.

As we’re transitioning from winter to spring, it makes me think of my grief in terms of seasons and the way I choose to cope with the death of my son, Micah. In the “winter” of my grief, there are times when I find comfort sitting alone in my sorrow; allowing the tears to flow as I scroll through pictures of him while listening to his favorite music, reliving memories from when he was young, up through the final days and moments of his life. I find some sense of comfort and healing as I allow myself to feel the emotions that somehow I think I need to hide from the world. At times like this, I feel like I’m simply looking for ways to survive the loss of my son.

Although I feel some benefit from allowing myself these moments, I can’t stay in that place of grief and sadness for the long term. I don’t know if I would be able to survive my loss without the belief that Micah has been given new life through his death; trusting that there is life after death. Believing that my son’s spirit is just as alive as it ever was and that he is always with me in my heart, brings me comfort. I feel his presence in the beauty of a sunrise, the appearance of a heart in an unexpected place, the grandeur of an eagle soaring overhead or the sound of one of his favorite songs playing on the radio. It’s as if he’s letting me know he’s near as I allow myself to enjoy the daily beauty that is all around me.

Just as I believe that Micah has received eternal life after his physical death, I also know that I need to find new life, a way to thrive and not just survive, in spite of the emptiness I feel from his absence. Although my son’s untimely death has changed me forever, I can’t let it destroy me. After he died, I kept thinking that there had to be some reason for this, some purpose to fulfill, some specific thing I needed to do to somehow make sense of his death. After pondering this for the past two and a half years, I have come to the conclusion that maybe there isn’t one specific thing that I need to do to honor Micah’s life but rather to live a life that will bring a sense of purpose. Maybe the purpose I was looking for is to simply live my life to the fullest; to share the love that I had for Micah with others, to offer my support to those who are hurting and lonely, and to find something to be grateful for in each and every day that I am given.

As we anticipate the arrival of spring, a time of new life and growth, my wish is that we all may be able to find the beauty that still exists in this world and to be grateful for the gift of new life, both for our loved ones who have gone before us and for us as bereaved parents, grandparents and siblings. May we all experience a new life where we live with purpose, find ways to share our love, show gratitude for what we have and to be a support for others who are grieving the loss of a loved one.

God is Good, All the Time???

“In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.” John 16:33

So many times, I have heard people talk of God’s goodness when good things happen; a loved one’s cancer is in remission, prayers for healing are answered, and life in general is going well. If that is true, what does it mean when the opposite happens; when our prayers for healing aren’t answered, when someone we love dies, when we are in the depths of grief and despair? If we give God credit for the good things that happen to us, does that mean that God is to be blamed when things don’t go the way we think they should? When I think of Micah and how cancer destroyed his body, it’s hard for me to comprehend God as being “good” in the way we often think of God’s goodness.

I have heard the saying, “God is good, all the time. All the time, God is good,” so many times throughout my life but I’d never given much thought to what that really meant until just recently. One Sunday, not long after Micah died, I was sitting in church and heard the pastor use that saying in his sermon. As I let those words sink in, I could feel my anger and bitterness growing. If God was good, why did Micah get cancer and suffer? Why did God let Micah die when he was so young? If God was really as good as we say, how could this tragic thing have happened?

As I’ve struggled with these thoughts, I’ve come to realize that this way of thinking isn’t what is meant by that saying. When we hear that God is good all the time, it doesn’t mean that we will only experience blessings in our lives, that we will be spared from any pain or heartache. In fact, in the Bible we are promised that we will have trouble in this life (John 16:33). Being a Christian doesn’t mean that we will have a pain free life but it does mean that God will be with us during those times when the pain is so intense that we wonder how we can go on. Now, when I hear, “God is good all the time”, I try to remind myself that what it really means is that God is with us and is here for us, in any and all circumstances. God is there to celebrate in our joys and victories but God is also with us to support and comfort us when we are experiencing the valleys and low times in our lives.

This past weekend, we celebrated with our niece as she was confirmed. She was very close to Micah and I know that his death has affected her and caused her to question her faith and trust in God. In her faith statement, she so eloquently shared her struggle with faith, doubt and trusting in God through the difficult times in life. I was so moved by her brutal honesty and could relate to so many of the things she shared but her words that struck me the most were the following: “Even when life gets unbearable, and you’re tired of always picking yourself up off the ground, you allow yourself to get closer to God and to take comfort from your relationship. God isn’t there to take away the hurt, God’s there to help you through it.”

In my grief, there have been times when I haven’t been able to feel God’s presence, when I have blamed and felt abandoned by God but I know in my heart that God has been there the whole time. God shows up in the people that have been placed in our lives, in the words and deeds of others, in the little things that bring us comfort. After Micah’s death, a friend of ours told us that God is grieving with us. I had never considered that perspective before but it gave me some comfort and a new way of seeing God’s understanding of what we are experiencing. God sees our pain and knows the heartache of losing a child. Even when we can’t feel it, God is there, ready to provide the comfort and peace for which we are so desperately searching.

One Year

It’s hard to believe that it has been a whole year since Micah was here with us. We survived all of the “firsts” without him but not without a lot of tears and heartache. The past few weeks have been filled with so many reminders of his final weeks and days. I found myself going back and reading the Caring Bridge entries and scrolling through the photos from the last few weeks of his life, reliving his final days.

I think back to the days when my kids were younger, when my worries and fears would take over and I would imagine how I would ever survive if something were to happen to either of them. As a parent, that was always one of my biggest fears. At those times, I imagined that I would never be able to endure something like that, that I wouldn’t be able to function and would lose my will to go on. Of course, I also believed that it would never happen to my family. Those were the things that happened to other people. At least that’s what I thought until it became our reality.

Unlike my fears from the past, I’ve realized that life does go on and we are able to continue to live life after loss. I believe that my grief will always be a part of me but that I will be able to continue to build my life around it. Although Micah is not physically with us, I still feel like he is near at times. He’s with me in my thoughts, my memories and in my dreams, which is probably why I frequently bring him up in conversations. Although I’m sure this might make some people uncomfortable, I can’t stop myself from talking about him. Even though Micah died, that doesn’t take away the fact that he also lived. I have 15 years of memories of him that will always be a part of me and will keep him present in my life.

The Last Time

I woke up this morning with a bittersweet reminder from Facebook of our last outing as a family of four, one year ago today. Not only was this our last family event that we attended together, it was also Micah’s last day out in the world. Just hours after leaving the show, we took him to the Emergency Department at Children’s Hospital in Minneapolis for the last time. Besides leaving the hospital the next day to be transferred to Mayo Clinic & Hospitals in Rochester, he would never again leave the hospital before he passed away just a few short weeks later.

This was supposed to have been the beginning of a week long family vacation at the cabin where we would spend time together before Micah’s big surgery that was his last hope for a possible cure. We had our bags packed and were ready to head to the Cities for a day with family, a trip to the Guthrie Theater for West Side Story and then off to the cabin the next day after spending the night with family in town.

When I went to wake Micah that morning, I could tell that he wasn’t feeling well. After going into his room a couple of times to encourage him to get out of bed, he asked me if I could snuggle with him for a little bit before he got up. Even though we were already running behind schedule, I couldn’t say no to his request. As the mother of a 15 year old boy, I knew that this was a rare occurrence and I’m so glad I took that opportunity. If you had told me then that I would never again snuggle with my son in our home or that this would be the last time he would sleep in his own bed, I wouldn’t have believed it. I didn’t know then how drastically our lives were going to be changing in such a short amount of time. I never would have believed that cancer would destroy his body so quickly along with his chance of returning home for even one last day.

The crazy thing about “lasts” is that you rarely know that it will be your “last time” until it’s over, until the next time never comes. As I look back to that last “good day” that Micah had, I’m so grateful that I took the time to snuggle with him. I can’t tell you how many times I have looked back at that day and wondered how much regret I would have felt if I had missed that opportunity; if I had let our schedule, rather than my heart, dictate my decision that morning.

I sometimes wonder if I would have done things differently if I’d known that Micah’s life would be cut so short. Would I have tried to make each moment a little more special? Would I have snuggled a little longer, taken more videos and pictures, or spent my time differently had I known that he would be cheated out of so much of his life? I have feelings of regret when I think back to time that feels like it was wasted but I am also so grateful for those moments that I treasure; when we took the extra time and effort to make memories and saying “yes” to the little things to which I could have so easily said, “Not now, maybe later.”

Losing Micah has opened my eyes to the need to live life to the fullest, to take time to spend with those we love and to prioritize people over things because, unfortunately, we rarely know when it will be our last chance to give our loved ones a hug or kiss, say our last “I love you” or say our final “goodbye” until it’s too late.

“No One Deserves to Disappear”

Our family of three recently had the opportunity to see the musical Dear Evan Hansen. As we watched the story unfold, I found myself connecting with the family in the musical whose son and brother had just died from suicide. As I watched them trying to figure out how to deal with his death and how to handle their emotions, I felt like that could have been our family up on the stage. Although the circumstances of Micah’s death were different than the character in the musical, I found myself drawing a parallel to this family of father, mother, and daughter.

Everyone seems to deal with loss in their own way but one common thread that I observed in the musical was the need for connection. The mother was soaking up the memories told through Evan Hansen’s stories and emails of his alleged friendship with her son, Connor. Even though they were all lies, and the other family members initially questioned them, she needed to believe that they were real. Her belief that her troubled son had made connections and experienced a true friendship was what she needed to help her through her immediate grief. Those stories and emails appeared to bring her some comfort along with new “memories” of her son.

After Micah died, I worried that I would start to forget little things about him as life went on without him. Would I remember the sound of his voice, his mannerisims, the little things he would say or do that would make me smile? Would my memories of him fade away? Would other people start to forget about him? As I listened to the words of the song “Disappear” from Dear Evan Hansen, I had a difficult time trying to control the tears that were streaming down my face. The words that hit me are still running through my head:

No one deserves to be forgotten
No one deserves to fade away
No one should come and go
And have no one know he was ever even here
No one deserves to disappear
To disappear
Disappear

We have some pictures and videos of Micah from the 15 years of his life that help to keep his memory alive but I have also realized that there are so many reminders of him all around me. Those memories are not only triggered by photos, but also specific dates, places, and tangible items. Every time I eat watermelon or blueberries or see someone drinking Mt. Dew, I think of Micah as he loved all of those things. As I think back to Father’s Day weekend last year, I’m reminded of my last canoe ride with him on Sugar Lake. We went to the area where the stream enters the lake and got out to explore a little, one of his favorite destinations on the lake. At that time, we thought he was doing well so I never would have guessed that would be our last canoe ride together. Everywhere I go, I see things that bring back specific memories of him and the things he did.

In spite of the many memories of Micah that I have, I am also painfully aware that there will never be an opportunity for me to create new memories with him. I find myself thinking of Connor’s mother from the musical and how she needed to hear the stories that Evan told her about her son. I realize that, like her, I also want to hear other people’s stories and memories of Micah as that is the only way I will be able to have “new” memories of him. I know that many people are unsure of whether or not they should talk to grieving people about their loved ones who have died. Do you risk sharing a memory that will likely bring tears or do you just keep things to yourself to avoid an uncomfortable situation? I can’t speak for everyone, but I know that I would much rather have people share stories of Micah, even if hearing them makes me cry, as opposed to missing out on learning something new about him that I otherwise would never have known. When other people share memories of Micah, it gives me comfort and gives me a little insite into who he was with other people.

Since Micah’s death, I have wanted to do something in his honor that will keep his memory alive for others. Something that will benefit other people in one way or another. In Dear Evan Hansen, students from his school started what became know as the “Connor Project” as a way to honor his memory and work to prevent others from feeling like they were alone and without hope. Although I don’t have a specific plan yet, I would love to find a way to create something good from our loss. Some way to keep him from being forgotten, to keep his memory from fading away, to prevent him from disappearing.

** If any of you who are reading this blog post have any memories, stories, or pictures of Micah, I would love to hear or see them. Also, if you have ideas of things that could be done in his memory to benefit others, I would love to hear those ideas, too.

The Power of Love

“If love could have saved you, you would have lived forever.”

Love is a powerful thing. It makes you want to do everything in your power to protect your loved ones from harm. It gives you the endurance to stay up all night with a sick child. It gives you patience and strength to meet the needs of those you love when they are sick or in pain. It gives you hope to keep on fighting even when things look bleak.

Unfortunately, love cannot heal all wounds. It cannot cure cancer. It cannot stop death. But death also cannot stop love, for love perseveres. Even when someone you love is being destroyed from the inside out, love endures. Love can live on in your heart even when the one you love is no longer here because love has the power to last forever.

“Grief is love with no place to go.”