Four Years Later

I am not okay.

Grief is such a strange thing. After so many years of broken humanity existing, one might think we would have some kind of grip on grief by now…that it would be predictable and routine, easily plugged into a formula which takes away the sting and restores normalcy—whatever normalcy may be. And yet, here I sit, four years after my brother’s death, still avoiding thoughts that relentlessly beg for me to give into their processing. Four years ago, one of my greatest hopes was looking ahead and believing that beauty was to come. While I do see traces of newly born hope, this journey has not looked how I wanted it to. Grief refuses to conform to our rules and expectations. While I knew I wouldn’t be healed, I clung to the belief that four years from then, I would be standing in the wonder of all that God had done, bellowing His providence and abundant life from the rooftops.

 Is it even ok to say that I don’t feel that I am there....? Or really even close….

You see, I still feel broken in a million pieces. I still feel that I’m limping--barely even that at times.

Grief has changed me.

I want to be strong, saturated in a faith that carries me. But I’m wrestling so much doubt.

I want to be soft, unjaded, and open. But I carry the weight of a hardened heart.

I want to stand tall, pushed onward by the  growth only heartbreak can bring. But I feel like I’m still reeling, incapacitated, and struggling to rise.

I never wanted to be angry at the God who carries me.

I never wanted to resent those who left me in my brokenness.

I never wanted my marriage to struggle because of my heartache.

I never wanted to be slow to trust, fearful of losing another dear one.

This isn’t where I want to be and certainly not where I saw myself being four years later.

I am broken. I am sinful. I often times feel alone and unseen.

But one thing hasn’t changed: I believe that my God is good.

He isn’t finished yet. Even when I scream at Him, distrust Him, and run from His comfort, He sees me and He sees beyond me. In spite of my own broken self and my anger toward a story I never wanted written, His faithfulness endures and His mercies are new every morning. There is much beauty that I am blind to right now as I still struggle to catch my breath and learn to allow myself to feel such hurt. I lost my brother. I lost one of my very best friends. I lost one of the few people who knew my heart. And it hurts.

I am not okay.

Perhaps what it all comes down to is that it was never about me. The point of this story was never to glorify Micah or to make sure Micah is a superhero who knows how to grieve. Maybe, Jesus’ love for me is so great that He is willing to usher me into a story that opens my heart to my own inability to be anything apart from Him. And that, His wholeness in place of my brokenness, is beautiful.

-Micah

July 2, 2015

Dearest Ben,
Can you believe you would be 30 today? If you were here, I definitely would be harassing you about being an old man. At least it's good to know that time would be powerless to make you any less funny, or obnoxious, or sweet, or my big brother. It's been 14 months that you've been gone. I miss you...a lot. I spent the last year unable to process and unable to release the burning tears that begged for release. For months after you died, I begged God to give me dreams of you so I could see you and hear your voice. When He finally did, I cursed the morning as it took you from me yet again. Now, I dream of you often. Sometimes I awake filled with joy and carry the sound of your laughter with me through the day--a priceless treasure no one can steal. Other days I awake in a panic...like the night I frantically woke Silas, claiming that you were having a seizure on the couch and we had to save you. Almost daily, I still find myself grabbing my phone to ask you a question or getting excited about fishing season with you before your absence crushes my reality once more. And then...there's July. The entire month has BEN written all over it, top to bottom: You and mom's shared birthday, which was also my due date--This year, I missed you singing "Party Pooper" to me for being born early instead of topping of a birthday threesome. There are fireworks everywhere. Every new firework tent I see ties a new knot in my aching heart. How I wish I could see you with that "July 4th is coming" bounce in your step, flitting around the house to prepare for your firework show. I wish I could design your firework donation buckets and put a touch too much glitter on your advertising posters just to see you roll your eyes. I wish I could sit through the city fireworks this year knowing the real magic would begin after the grand finale, when we would  rush to cheer on the show you waited all year to put on.  I wish you were here to tease me about my pregnancy chub or the funny way you think I say certain words. I wish you were here to give me a birthday present that is just a bit too obnoxiously pink, but perfectly thought through and heart-felt. I wish you were here to take me fishing and listen to my heartache about our baby boy's lung condition. I wish I could tell you that his name will carry your legacy. It's a strange sensation to hurt so deeply and yet remain so numb. They say time heals all wounds, but that's not true. Actually, I don't think I want it to be true. It the moments when the hurt is deep and hot tears roll that I find the sweetest rest. I find freedom in acknowledging the brokenness of a cursed world. I find peace in the presence of God. I find comfort in the arms of my husband and an unfailing God. I refuse to believe that your death was "right" or worth it or whatever else well-meaning people say...but I do believe that God is for you, for me, and that you are with Him. I believe that He IS bringing good from evil. I believe that though time will not heal, maybe healing isn't the goal....God's glory is. I don't think I will ever heal or process or move on as the world's grief therapy book says I should...but I do know that I am changed for having known you, for loving you, and for losing you. I know that I have gained, that I have lost, and that I have seen God. I love you so much, Ben. Thank you. Thank you for being my big brother and friend. Thank you for being so very memorable and missable and capable of leaving such a very big hole in our lives. Thank you for answering God's call to live for the eternal, that your death might not be the end. May God continue to be glorified!

Love,

Micah

In the midst of darkness

         I despise the ever-changing calendar, marking time that has come and passed.With each fleeting day, I am expected to be healed. I am expected to be whole… I am expected to sing the song of beauty that has risen from my ashes. But I am not healed. I am not whole. I have yet to see the beauty. Rather, I am more broken than before. The gaping whole in my heart is ever-widening, shredded open by the loss of you lived anew day after day. I am so tired of pushing forward. I am so weary of thrusting memories aside and allowing the necessity of carrying on to be the salve expected to bring relief to my searing pain. I wait for a time when your life and the loss of it will leave a beautiful melody whispered throughout each chapter remaining. But eight months later, I am still consumed. I am suffocating, I am hurting, I am wrestling. The beauty I crave is hidden beneath layers of weariness, loneliness, and the throbbing ache of an inability to understand.

           Yet, somehow, in the midst of my darkness, I am held. In the middle of my heartache, my anger, my sorrow, I know that He is for me and not against me. I know that His heart is breaking, His tears are flowing, and His arms are clenched around me. At a time when I cannot always feel, I know. May the truth of HIS promises, HIS victory, and HIS glorious story be lifted high. If I never see, if I never understand, may the beauty of Christ Himself be reflected in my heart, my life, my story. Throughout the pain that has been and the pain that is yet to come, may I choose to praise Him and cling to Him. He is good.

 “Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves receive from God.”

2 Corinthians 1:3-4 

True Love Doesn't Wait

When Ben died, the one belonging of his that I desired to have was a ring he wore that said “True Love Waits.” Ben wore this ring as a symbol of his commitment to remain sexually pure. I too had a ring that I wore for this purpose. This is a hard commitment to make ....but it was a blessing to have a brother to share that commitment with. We had heart to hearts time and time again about our desire to have and be a spouse one day. We talked about potential spouses we were interested in and he often asked my advice on how to be a man that Godly women would take notice of. He never held back from telling me men he did or didn’t 

approve of for me...most of which he didn’t. ;) We even took pictures of our hands with our purity rings together.

That ring of his meant a lot to me...more than I can ever put into words. But on the day of his funeral, I learned I wouldn’t be able to be the keeper of his ring. Instead, it remained on his hand as his casket was closed for the final time and I watched the body of my brother, all I knew of him here on earth, disappear into the ground. My heart broke so hard. On the day of his burial, that ring on his hand is what broke me. For me, it was an image of unfulfilled dreams. A Godly man who had hoped for 28 years to be a husband and father...not out of selfishness, but because he wanted to fully love his wife, his children, and His God. He wanted to break the chains of divorce and Satan’s lies that his own family had experienced. But 

it didn’t happen. It was done...it was over...he was gone. True love had waited...and now that ring still encircled his finger, a reminder of everything that wasn't...never to be exchanged for a ring representing marriage. For weeks, these thoughts tormented me. Some days, they still do. But God is teaching me a different meaning of “True Love Waits.” Some people desperately want to marry and believe in “True Love Waits” so they do just that...they wait. They wait with lacking gratitude. They wait with entitlement, believing they deserve a spouse and they can’t blink or they might overlook who it is supposed to be. They wait...and wait...and wait. And perhaps they do get married one day, but they continue to wait. They wait for marriage to be the magic they dreamed of. They wait for their spouse to measure up. They wait...and wait. But Ben didn't wait. Yes, he had a desire for God’s gift of marriage, but he never stopped running. He ran to serve those around him. He ran to love and heal his family. He ran to become the man God was creating him to be. Ben did not have the disability so many of us do...he wasn't waiting for ideal circumstances, for God to give what Ben demanded. I have no doubt in my mind that Ben would have been an amazing husband and an amazing father. I have no doubt that God could have raised up a generation through Ben that would have seen freedom. And a lot of times, I don’t understand why this isn't what happened. It makes me sad. It makes me angry. I wanted this for Ben. But that is not the story that has been written. Ben saved himself for marriage and that is beautiful. Ben impacted life after life and that is beautiful. Ben never lived his dream of marrying the woman of his dreams. Instead, he met his bridegroom...he stands before God, his stains covered in the grace of Jesus, his heart more full of joy than an earthly marriage could have ever brought him....and that....is beautiful. For Ben, true love didn't wait. It ran to those in need, it served, it grew, it overcame, it carried on. Now, the ring on my finger had been replaced with a new ring...a ring representing my commitment to my husband and my God. It is my hope and prayer that I might live, now as a married woman, as Ben did...may I have a true love that doesn't wait. 

The day before my wedding, my sweet brother in law gave me a precious gift. It is an exact copy of Ben’s ring....and on the inside is an engraving. It simply says: Heaven Rejoices. Heaven DOES rejoice! And I will choose to also. I don’t understand...I hurt...I miss....I long....but I rejoice in the life, legacy, and love of my brother...a true love that never waited.

Beneath the Surface

I went to my brother's grave alone for the first time.

I was surprised that in over two months, it hadn't changed much.

My heart surrendered to a surge of anger as my eyes glared at the dry, cracked mound in front of me. 

 Is this all there is to mark a life so beautiful?

Death is so cruel, so final, so hideous.

I sank to my knees and watered the dry and weary land of my heart with tears I have long awaited.

Father, where are you?

Will I ever be whole again?

Where is the beauty my heart longs for?

“Lift the dirt.” He whispered.

So I did.

Beneath a surface so hideous and lifeless, new life abounded!

All I can see are broken pieces...a parched, worn, and weary land.

But my God is fulfilling His purpose.

Beneath the brokenness, He is breathing new life.

Within the pain, He is nurturing growth.

Throughout this desert drought, His love is quenching.

I will yet praise Him.

Iron

Around my heart, an iron fist clenches

Imprisoning raw, emotional wrenches

Beneath the metal my flesh throbs defeat

Swelling and writhing with each booming beat.

The cold fingers tighten with each wave of pain;

Jeering of strength, aloneness, and shame.

I'm imprisoned within a heart that's my own,

I cannot grieve, I feel all alone.

It won't last much longer, devastation is near.

The pain is too much, the pressure severe.

A wave of tears flow from far down deep

Begging for freedom, release from this keep.

But each glistening drop is slammed back from liberation

By a wall of destruction in the name of protection.

I'm dying inside, awaiting disaster;

I can't seem to grasp my freedom, My Master.

Father, shatter the dam that holds my tears in

Let my grief be released as peace fills again.

Pry open the fingers of iron inside me;

God, let me be broken for then I will see thee .

You promise You're near to each one brokenhearted;

Break me O God, may my strength be discarded.

Let the tears of my heart be the tears on my cheek;

May my grief mix with yours as Your heart I seek.

I miss my brother.

The Dance

The beat is slow, painful, and deep

Bellowing tragedy, grief, defeat.

The rhythm is quick, light, and full

It chirps of victory, and life beautiful.

The words are scrambled, confusing and dark

Sobbing of loss and death's ugly mark.

The lyrics are joy-filled, a sweet jubilee

Singing the peace of grace over me.

My feet are stumbling, unbearably sore

I can't keep up, the tears sting and pour.

My toes feel free as I twirl and spin

I jump and leap and praise through a grin.

My partner is missing, I'm deserted, alone

I stumble and trip with no way to be shown.

My lover is close, I feel the beat of His heart

He leads me and teaches me each step of my part.

This dance is unbearable, I can't find my way

My heart is destroyed by this cavity each day.

This waltz is life-giving, teaching me to sing

Showing me beauty and glimpses of my King.

Darkness and light, beauty and pain.

Heartache and joy, they mingle the same.

For grief is the dance partner of hope.

Was.

My brother was.

He was an EMT. He was gentle. He was funny. He was kind. He was...here.

Was. Never has a three letter word had so much repulsive power.

These three tiny letters blend together to solidify the horror of a reality where Ben's physicality no longer is...just...was.

I hate having to tell you not who my brother is, but who he was.

I hate to feel my mouth go dry and my face burn hot as you ask how many siblings I have;

I don't know if it is politically correct to count the one who was.

I hate that what so recently was my family's is has become our was.

Was.

In unending ways, my brother was.

He was goofy, he was burdened, he was lonely, he was friendly, he was full of dreams.

He was hardworking, he was persistent, he was sensitive, he was handsome, he was faithful.

He was.

But in so many more ways...he is.

He is alive. He is free. He is surrounded. He is fulfilled. He is healed. He is happy. He is content.

He is my brother. He is an overcomer. He is the son of the King of Kings.

Was can no longer win.

Death was the victor...grief was the destroyer...bitterness was the destiny...was.

No longer is....was.

Instead, Grace is. Comfort is. Redemption is. Beauty is. Strength is. Love is. Forever is. Ben is.

Because God...My God......is.

Enough

Life's gone on. I get up in the morning. I greet my students with a smile. I laugh at jokes, grin at strangers, and work through the checklist of my day. When a thought of you slips into my mind, I shove it away so those around me don't have to endure the discomfort of my grief-stricken reality.

Another day has come and gone...I made it. But the day is not done yet. My head hits the pillow and I dread what I know is coming. Maybe tonight I can fall asleep fast enough....but I can't. Instead, I remember you. The thoughts of you I have pushed back all day gush into my mind like a wave that steals my breath in both pain and beauty. I know you died...I've known it all day. But now I remember.

I remember that I will never embrace you again. I remember that I will never again hear your laugh, tease you back, or share my heart with you. I remember that there will be an empty seat at my wedding where my big brother should be. I remember that my children will never know their Uncle Ben. I remember the pain that takes my breath away, twists my stomach, and gives me an instant throbbing headache.

I pray...I plead with God to give me strength. I ask Him to give me one person the next day who will mention you and acknowledge the storm ravaging my heart. I ask Him for joy, for peace, and for perspective. I thank Him for you. I tell Him all I need for tomorrow is enough. Just enough.

I am empty. I am short-tempered, sad, and lonely. I am tired, weary, and worn. I am weak, wounded, and devastated. But my Father...He is hope. He is healing, blessing, and grace. He is love, compassion and beauty. I am loved...I am redeemed...I am held. I am His...and He is enough.

From One Who Grieves

My big brother's death has brought a pain and emptiness I had never known before. The last 8 days have been unbearably hard for my family and me. I know this journey is just beginning, but I have some thoughts from the perspective of one who is grieving.

1) Although it seems silly, don't be afraid to ask how I am. Even if I don't have an answer, it lets me know you care.

2) Don't stop sharing your own heart with me because you are afraid I already have too big of a burden to bear. If you feel you can't share with me, I don't feel as free to share with you.

3) Please, please don't shy away from mentioning my brother or his death. Thoughts of him are all I can think about right now, so you bringing them up is not a shock or surprise, but a relief that I am not alone with the elephant in the room.

4) I know grieving people often gripe about cliches and such that are said...but please don't be afraid to offend me with your encouragement (unless it is REALLY dumb! ;)). Scripture is especially important. At a time where lies are flying from every side, truth is all we can cling to. Once the numbness wears off, I will be able to look back and see the truth and promises that carry us.

5) At the same time, be willing to be silent. More than anything, I long for someone who would just sit...sit and listen when I want to laugh about Ben's funny stories, sit while I cry a really ugly cry, or sit while I too sit in silence, lost in my own thoughts.

6) Be gracious. I'm learning that grief not only crushes the heart, it incapacitates the brain. I am dropping balls right and left...I can't remember what day it is, what commitments I've made, or where I put my coffee cup. Please extend grace as I fight to keep my head above water.

Like I said, this journey is just beginning. I praise God for those who are willing to walk alongside my family every step of the way. God is our rock, and He uses each of you to remind us of that. Thank you!

Picture: kendallchurch.org

Shattered

O death, where is your sting?

It is here...a million shards of glass gouging my heart's fragile flesh.

It is boulder in my stomach, a crushing vise in my mind.

It is a revolting throb pulsing through my every vein.

I want to throw up.

I want to break a thousand windows.

I want to scream until I WAKE UP.

My mind flashes a thousand pictures.

My brother, my friend...

His laugh, his hugs, his protection.

His dreams, his heartaches, his seizures.

His grin, his compassion, his quirks.

Our memories make my lips slip into a smile.

I think, “I need to ask Ben about---”

SLAM. There it is again.

My soul is parched, thirsting for the relief of a second chance.

But it will never come.

He's gone.

Gone.

My brother is---he...died.

I hate those words.

They taste wretched forced through my closing throat.

Death your sting is here, sitting upon my chest like a ten ton weight.

I will not... I cannot deny this pain.

My heart knows it too well.

But beneath the crushing weight, hope flickers.

Do you hear? Do you hear the whisper of God's glory?

Like a cleansing flood His grace pours over my raw and aching soul.

I know death...I know pain....I know the famine of a devastated heart.

I don't know how to heal. I don't know how to live this life. I don't know why my brother is gone.

But I know that God is good.

And I praise Him.