Learning to Fall

A few weeks ago I started going through old photos and videos on my computer.  I laughed and cried as I reminisced over a lifetime of memories and the joy and trials of raising three kids in our little house in South Texas.  

I have scrolled through this index a hundred times – but now that Bryce is gone, each frame has become more important….a precious lifeline to his facial expressions and the sound of his voice.  There is nothing more priceless than this not-large-enough collection.

I came across a series of videos I took on my phone back in April.  One evening Bryce had come home to do laundry and eat dinner.  His little sister had just bought a Ripstik with some Christmas money she had been saving.  Since Bryce was our resident expert on anything skateboard (or danger) related, he was more than happy to join Ryan outside as she tried to figure out how to ride this new toy while wearing her new Mohawk helmet (which is the cutest thing I’ve ever seen).

A Ripstik is a cross between a skateboard and a snowboard, and trust me, it’s difficult to ride.  Or maneuver.  Or whatever one does.  I put a foot on it once and was positive I would spend the next day in traction.

But Bryce knew how to do it and was willing to teach Ryan how to ride it.  So I watched without comment the night he taught her to ride.  

I was speechless when she fell HARD onto the street, and Bryce didn’t run to help her up.  

Instead I saw him get down on the ground and demonstrate…not proper foot placement, hip movement, balance or how to avoid that unavoidable fall backwards for beginners.  

But he showed her how to fall – literally.  

I watched him put his hands behind him demonstrating how painful and dangerous it would be to fall incorrectly.  If you put your arms down to break your fall, you could easily break your wrist, some fingers or even your arm.  It’s better to land on your bottom.  You’ll most likely bruise and be sore, but an injury to the bottom is preferable to broken bones. 

He didn’t show her how to never fall, because Bryce knew it was inevitable.  So being her protective big brother, he showed her how to fall better.

And boy did he know how to fall.  This is the kid that I’d nursed dozens of times – scrapes, bruises and cuts just because he couldn’t resist that steep hill in Landa Park.  Or that difficult trick he was always trying to perfect.  I once found out from a neighborhood mom that Bryce had been hit by a car while he was skateboarding.  An actual CAR….driving down the street.  He told me it was just an ‘old lady’ and I was like ‘you better be glad they drive slowly!’  (Yes, my life.)

For sure, if it was something that was possible, Bryce was going to be doing it over and over.  And if he succeeded, he would only do it more.  I already knew this.  

So I’m watching these videos of Bryce and Ryan….and I’m thinking for the millionth time since he died on July 30 that I can’t do this.  I just cannot.  I’m remembering that night in April, what we had for dinner, what we talked about, that sleeveless flag shirt he was wearing.  I hear his voice and I’m missing him so much it physically hurts.

Suddenly I am so aware of the truth.  

We are all falling.  Going to fall.  Perpetually falling.  Getting run over, because we are having fun or not paying attention, or just because we are living in this world.  Human.  Past the age of zero….

The truth is there is no graceful way to fall.  We all come out bleeding.  If we are living.  If we are in the real world.  If we have children and family we love.  Friends we love.  There is no stopping the cuts and scrapes in this life.  

But here is what I want people to know about our journey – it’s not God who wounds us.  He doesn’t choose who gets hurt or who loses children.  It’s just the fallen state of this world and none of us make it out without falling once or a thousand times.  Some falls take an hour to recover from, or a year.  And then other falls last the rest of our lives.  We never fully recover.  

I'm sure if Bryce could teach me how to fall now - how to persevere through his death, land correctly, that he would do his very best.  

                                                                                                 

But Jesus.

He walks with me through this valley and gives comfort and peace.  He’s faithful to grant mercy in those moments that it’s hard to breath or when my heart explodes into pieces.  

And learning to fall…..oh I am finding a great lesson in that video of Bryce and Ryan that I watch over and over.  As Bryce shows her how to not land on her wrists, I’m reminded not to land on my pride or my self-preservation.  

God isn’t looking for me to survive this or to show the world that I’m strong.  God is looking for me to turn to Him, depend on Him.  To write something down that might encourage the next grieving mother.  Or the next person who has lost anything that makes them want to stop living.  God is looking for me to point to Him – even as I’m weeping into a pillow on Thanksgiving Day.  Or grieving Christmas. 

And oh how I fail Him.  I want to talk about ME.  How sad I am.  How sorry I feel for Erik and me and the girls.  How much I miss Bryce and how unfair I feel it all is.

But I fall to scripture.  I fall to my past experiences with the Lord.  I believe He is good, no matter how loud my screams or the voices of the enemy are that invade my thoughts.  I learned my lesson in the desert.  He was faithful in the desert, so I know He has to be faithful now.

In His great mercy, there’s not an instant that is more that I can bear.  He is faithful in the seconds…in the moments.  We keep breathing, living, functioning, and decorating Christmas trees, making hot chocolate, doing laundry, shopping for Christmas gifts.  The great irony of life – when you literally survive losing a child.

It’s not a cliché – though some might hear it that way – His grace is sufficient.  We keep going.  Keep hoping.  We continue to wait.  And we learn how to fall.

Isaiah 13:15 "Though he slay me, yet will I hope in Him."

First Things

Unanswered prayers…oh how they wound us.  Especially when those prayers are for our children.  And when a child dies, a lifetime of unanswered prayers fall flat in the desert.  Dried up and shriveled.  Wasted breath, perhaps?  Lost forever.

The agony of those first days and moments after child loss are naturally accompanied by these sad, dark thoughts.  When the guests go home and the leftovers are frozen; when the flowers die and the cards stop coming – the gloomy thoughts are all-consuming.  It takes effort to breath, much less to take captive my thoughts and bring them under the authority of Christ.

But if I listen closely with the tiniest effort…when I draw near…God whispers new promises.  New thoughts.  A different perspective that defies anything earthly which can only be explained by the supernatural, omnipresent Love of a Heavenly Father.

Soon after Bryce died and before I started asking God for anything more than my next breath, I started hearing a still, small voice.  It didn’t make sense to me at first, and it didn’t seem to match what the present circumstances were. 

“What if all your prayers for Bryce have been answered?”

God’s voice in the form of a question.  In the darkest moments, this is the question I kept hearing.  And I kept pushing it down thinking it didn’t make sense because my prayers WERE NOT answered. 

Nineteen years, 6 months and 23 days’ worth of prayers for Bryce’s health and a long life; for a godly wife and children; for a career he loves.  Unanswered prayers.  Lord, I’m so confused, why do I keep having this thought?

Another thing that happens when you lose a loved one, especially a child I would guess, is that you immediately want to know more about Heaven.  Where is Bryce?  Without a doubt, he has not just vanished.  He is definitely somewhere.  But where?  And what is it like? 

I’ve studied Heaven before, but suddenly what I knew wasn’t enough.  I needed more.  I had to put my hands on it, touch it, hold it – what is Heaven?  Within a few days after Bryce's funeral, I devoured two wonderful books about Heaven and revisited one of my favorite sermon series from Gateway Church.  I wanted to swallow them whole! 

I'm sharing the links here for my new friends who are also grieving the loss of a child.

"Heaven" by Randy Alcorn

"Imagine Heaven" by Don Piper

"Heaven - Paradise Found" sermon series by Brady Boyd, Gateway Church

According to the Bible, this irresistible urge to know more about Heaven is not a new emotion.

“He has set eternity in the hearts of men; yet they cannot fathom what God has done from beginning to end.”  Ecclesiastes 3:11

We all long for Heaven, only realizing it a fraction of the time.  The discontent and discouragement we have here is an inherent part of our genetics put there by a God who wants us to long for Him.  To long for Heaven. I love the word “eternity”.  The word implies there is much more than what I see.  And it promises I haven’t seen the end of Bryce.    

C.S. Lewis said:  “There are second things, and there is a first thing.  If we seek after second things, we lose both first and second things.  But if we seek after the first thing, second things are thrown in for free.”

What I began to uncover in those quiet, sad moments is that Heaven is a first thing.  THE first thing.  Seek FIRST the Kingdom of God.  I incredibly began to come across every note scribbled in my Bible claiming Heaven for Bryce.  His name is written many times throughout the pages of scripture, highlighted, underlined and dated - all evidence of a mother's petition before God to remember His promise when that sweet boy gave his life to Jesus years ago.

I joyfully began to comprehend what the small voice was telling me.  The prayers I prayed for the second things might not have been answered.  But the ever important prayers for God's promises and Heaven had indeed been answered.  Every place in my Bible with Bryce’s name and a date, I’ve since gone back and added July 30, 2016, the day the promise was fulfilled.  Some pages also envelop tiny pieces of dried funeral flowers, so very precious to me.

Other than Bryce walking through the front door, I can’t think of anything else that could bring the comfort and peace that this realization brought me.

Yes, I would bring Bryce back if I could, perhaps selfishly.

                                                                                      

No, I do not think it was God’s will for Bryce to die at 19.  This is not supposed to make sense and it never will.

And yes, the grief and sadness seems to be getting worse instead of better.  I’m told that’s normal.

BUT God put eternity in our hearts for a reason.  Nothing on earth can satisfy, not truly.  It is noble to pursue the second things.  God gives good things and wants us to ask for them.  But when we live life praying only for second things (including healing or blessing) we are putting ourselves at the center of the gospel instead of God. 

A life lived pursuing only the second things will bring disappointment.  This I know.  He doesn’t answer every prayer. 

Today I’m thankful for the prayers that have been answered.  I’ll spend the rest of my life being sad that Bryce isn’t here swimming in the river, going to school, getting married, having kids.  But I’ll also never let myself forget that my most sacred prayers for him were indeed answered.  

As the mother weeps, the Father reminds her – your prayers are answered.  That makes me love God even more.

 

Sorrow

She said Bryce was in critical condition.  I asked over and over what happened, but she couldn’t tell me over the phone.  She gave me the address to the hospital in San Marcos and told me to hurry.

My brother-in-law Chris once told me something he learned during a survival hike in Utah.  The first 4 seconds of a traumatic situation are the most important from a mental standpoint.  You decide within 4 seconds whether you will survive a situation or not – this decision may be made either consciously or subconsciously.  

Twenty minutes later we walk into a spinning, noisy, suffocating emergency room.  I’m so hot, but I’m shivering.  Where is Bryce?

The nice lady at the desk calmly stood and said, “We are going to take you to the CCI waiting room.”  How did she know it was us?  Did I say something to her? I can’t remember.

CCI? Cardiac Care ICU?  It must be his heart, I think.  Something happened with his heart.  Do I have the names of Bryce’s pills written down?  Should I call his cardiologists in Dallas?

Then we are being led down an empty hallway and into a small, quiet waiting room.  No, no, no, no.

Please do not close that door behind us!                                                                                   

Erik is saying over and over, “What happened?  Just tell us what happened.”  Three nurses and a doctor come in and close the door.  The doctor says, “It’s the worst possible thing.”

1…2…3…4…

Someone is screaming.

We cry, we fall. 

Where is the verse in the Bible that says God will not give us more than we can handle?  I’ve heard it my whole life, quoted it to others.  And until this moment I believed it.  But THIS I cannot handle.  God knows this is not something I can survive.  Doesn’t He?  I’ll find that scripture later.  It’s probably highlighted in pink or yellow in my Bible.  And underlined.    

The timelessness of the situation is hard to remember.  Minutes or hours?  I want to just cry, but we have to ask what happened.  Will knowing what happened help this make sense?

The same nurse I had just spoken to on the phone said Bryce was at the river in San Marcos and jumped into the water and never resurfaced.  She said friends tried to find him and then the first responders got there in minutes and pulled him out of the water.  They worked on him on the bank of the river and then brought him to the hospital where they did all they could.  He was pronounced dead there.  But he was gone at the river.

She said hospital policy is to send a patrol car to our house to inform us, but she preferred to have us come to the hospital so they could provide us with more details, as well as assist us in seeing his body.

Oh the tiny things we become grateful for.  The bitter medicine we must swallow to make us feel better.

Hand in hand with sorrow I go.  I must see him.

We came to the room where he lay, covered in a sheet and his long legs hanging partially off the end of the short bed.  The nurse said, “Do you want me to pull the sheet down, or do you want to do it?” 

1…2…3…4…

I said, “Please just do it.”

1…2…3…4…

“Can you please close his eyes?” I asked the nurse.  She said she would try again.  But she couldn’t. 

Those precious eyes, now green and translucent.  Not ready to be closed, so still and peaceful.  This cannot be real.  I’ve never seen him so still.  If I stand here long enough I know he will look over at me. 

Erik and Lexi are at the door.  They can’t come any further.  I want to run, but I have to look some more.  I have to make sure.  I watch his chest to see if it’s rising and falling.  I see the blood under his head.  It must be true.

“I’m so sorry, baby.”  I can only cry and touch his soft, curly hair.  I want to remove the sheet and examine his chest and his arms.  But I’m too scared.  Can I hold his hand?  I think I’m going to fall down.

1…2…3…4…

It’s been 27 days and I’m still standing in that room just looking at him.  I’ve slept, showered, eaten, visited with friends and family.  I’ve said goodbye to his body at the church.  I’ve wept buckets.  I’ve hyper-ventilated and broken down to the point I think I might be insane.  But through all that, I’m still standing right there in that spot, looking at that sweet boy and waiting for him to wake up. 

God knows! I told Him a long time ago that this is not something I can handle.  I told him the loss of a child is not a burden I could ever carry. 

And the truth is, I can’t.  And He knows.

In moments we think we will implode.  Or die along with our child.  He doesn’t let us.  And why?  When all we want is to absorb that pain and that death.  Why won’t He let me die along with Bryce?  That would be the only thing that makes sense.

But in His grace…He doesn’t allow more.  Only enough to ground us.  To demonstrate His great strength.

He only lets me cry so much.  And then I have to brush my teeth.  I can only writhe in sobs on my bed so much.  And then he lets me think about what I’ll wear to the funeral.  Thank God for His great strength.

And it is Great, my friends.

I’m amazed that I can get my girls back to school.  I can cook dinner with the help of mom.  I can talk to Erik about his job and the decisions he’s making.  I can take care of the life insurance and the hospital bill.  How can life go on?

But it does.

That is how I know God is real and how I know His word is true.  Because in this moment He is all or He is nothing.

Jesus, You are all or nothing.

In this moment He is everything.  He has to be.  I’m clinging onto the hem of His robe.  I’m asking for a miracle. That we may live.  That I may breathe and that my daughters may continue to live.

Merciful God, there is nothing now but you.  Please soften the blow and help us see a way out of this darkness.

To An Athlete Dying Young

** A.E. Housman and Hebrews 12 Rephrased **

The time you won your town the race

We chaired you through the marketplace;

Man and boy stood cheering by,

And home we brought you shoulder high.

 

Today, the road all runners come,

Shoulder high we bring you home,

And set you at your threshold down,

Townsman of a stiller town.

 

Smart lad, to slip betimes away

From fields where glory does not stay

And early though the laurel grows

It withers quicker than the rose.

 

But eyes that shady night has shut

Will see in Christ the death-chain cut.

And solemn silence gives way to cheers

When Heaven retunes our earthly ears.

 

For Christ has run His fateful race;

Now follow His “Athletes” in their place.

Fixed on Him, their treasured prize,

They run to the cheers of Paradise.

 

So set, before its echoes fade,

His fleet foot on the sill of shade,

And hold to the low lintel up

His uncontested Challenge Cup.

 

For on the Cross, His laurelled head,

Gave strength and life to the life-less dead;

And Heaven’s honor trumps earth’s renown

As withered garland gives way to crown.