it's ok that you're not ok

I recently started reading It's Ok You're Not Ok and have been bookmarking various parts. This morning I've really been contemplating something she says about grief not being a tool to help you become a better person resulting in knowing what's "truly important in life," as if grief is the only way towards interpersonal growth.  She makes the argument that:

"if intense loss is the only way to make a person more compassionate, only self-absorbed, disconnected, shallow people would experience grief... You didn't need this experience in order to grow. You didn't need the lessons that supposedly only grief can teach. Learning happens in a million different ways. Grief and loss are one path to depth and connection, but they are not the only path... On the contrary: life is call-and-response. Things happen, and we absorb and adapt... You didn't need this... Life-changing events do not just slip quietly away, nor are they atonements for past wrongs. they change us. They are a part of our foundation as we live forward. What you built atop this loss might be growth. It might be a gesture towards beauty, more love, more wholeness. But that is due to your choices, your own alignment with who you are and who you want to be."

Her ultimate point is that grief is not a problem to be solved. "Some things cannot be fixed. They can only be carried."

"This is really as bad as you think. This sucks and you don't need solutions. There is nothing wrong with grief. It's a natural extension of love. It's a healthy and sane response to loss. That grief feels bad doesn't make it bad; that you feel crazy doesn't mean you are crazy.  Grief is part of love. Love for life, love for self, love for others. What you are living, painful as it is, is love. And love is really hard. Excruciating at times... Because the truth is, in one way or another, loving each other means losing each other. Being alive in such a fleeting, tenuous world is hard. Our hearts get broken in ways that can't be fixed. There is pain that becomes an immovable part of our lives. We need to know how to endure that, how to care for ourselves inside that, how to care for one another. We need to know how to live here, where life as we know it can change, forever, at any time."

I think there's part of me that believes(d) that God orchestrated this loss as some answer to prayer I've made desiring to be more dependent upon him or as some tool to help me look more like Jesus through suffering.  In that sense this can feel like a punishment and if I really stop to identify the truth I don't actually think this is the way God works.  Yet, when I just coast through my grief and questioning of God without considering his word, I can easily start to believe things that do not align with the bible.  I don't think this is accidental; I think it is the reality of Satan's presence in this world and his desire to create distance and distrust of God. 

I had been reading through the book of Job right after Jerrod died and haven't read any further in the past couple weeks, but I'm reminded of his story this morning.  Job's friends try to suggest that his circumstances are a result of his sin.  However, at the beginning of the book we get a glimpse into a conversation between God and Satan that let's us know that the awful loss and pain Job undergoes is about proving Job is righteous and faithful, not a result of his sin. I have to admit it still really pisses me off that God allowed Satan to torment Job to prove a point; it's a real WTF move. It's one of those things I will never fully understand about the way God works, but just as God is not dismayed by Job's questioning and anger, I know he isn't about mine either. I trust my relationship with God will only grow stronger because of my questioning, because of my honesty. And as best I can, I will trust his wisdom and sovereignty.

Below is a really good summation of the book of Job.

I will rescue you?

You are not hidden

There's never been a moment

You were forgotten

You are not hopeless 

Though you have been broken 

Your innocence stolen 

I hear you whisper underneath your breath

I hear your SOS, your SOS

I will send out an army to find you

In the middle of the darkest night

It's true, I will rescue you

There is no distance

That cannot be covered

Over and over

You're not defenseless 

I'll be your shelter 

I'll be your armor 

I hear you whisper underneath your breath

I hear your SOS, your SOS

I will send out an army to find you

In the middle of the darkest night

It's true, I will rescue you

I will never stop marching to reach you 

In the middle of the hardest fight 

It's true, I will rescue you

I cannot listen to this song without bursting into tears. I have no idea what was going on in Jerrod's mind the night he took his life, but I know it was full of darkness or we wouldn't be grieving his death. My heart breaks and I feel despair for him as I imagine the pain he must've been suffering in those final moments. I wish we could have rescued you, brother. I wish we knew you needed rescuing. It's maybe the hardest part of losing you, knowing you were in so much pain and you were so alone. I know it was your choice. You could have invited us in. You could have let us try to help. Damn your stubborn independence. Even when you were at the height of your drug addiction, you insisted you could fight it on your own... what prideful stupidity. It's so hard to be so angry at you and miss you so much. 

What about you, God... did Jerrod cry out to you? Why couldn't you have rescued him? Was not intervening in his suicide and welcoming him to heaven your rescuing? Why couldn't he have found peace here? There are so many questions, so may cries of my heart with a complete lack of understanding in all of this. It's hard to be so angry with you and so completely dependent upon you. I know you're not afraid of my anger, that you welcome it. And even when I cannot reach out to you, I know you're reaching out to me; that you're still loving me and taking of care of me; that these lyrics are just as much for me.

A letter..

Jerrod,

I was talking with mom this morning just trying to understand what happened, what we missed.  It's hard not to question and wonder if there's anything we could have done to have saved your life.  On the other hand I sat there thinking we knew dad was suicidal because he made multiple attempts and none of us could save him.  So, yes, maybe something we could have said or done could have made some kind of difference, but ultimately none of us could have saved you if you didn't want to save yourself; if you didn't believe it was possible or that you were worth saving.

Brother, I love you and I am so angry with you. We can wrack our brains trying to recall every detail of every conversation looking for the clues that you weren't well... and obviously we missed something. We can sit here and feel guilty and take blame for not knowing you were suicidal; for not asking harder, more direct questions... but you had a responsibility, too - to us. to yourself.  You hid this from us. Or you made cryptic comments that were interpreted one way when you meant another and we didn't clarify. You said you would never kill yourself and we believed you.  We failed each other.

I know there have been many times in my life when I have felt low and I just wanted someone to see me, to call it out for me, to show me that I am worthy and loved; ultimately that's no one's job but my own to discover and believe.  I wish you would have told us, that you could have found the words to let us help you carry your pain. Instead you took your life and gave it to us entirely. It's not fair.  I'm so angry and I'm so sorry.

God, how I wish you would have known and believed that there is no shame in struggling and/or failing.  You fought addiction on your own and we thought you did really well... just imagine how much your life could have changed had you let people fight alongside you instead of holding up this facade that you were strong enough to do it on your own or to deny that you were really struggling at all.  Did you think you'd be a burden? Did you think we'd be disappointed? Did you think you were weak? Did you think you were destined to end up like dad or too afraid to admit that you struggled like dad?  I have so many questions, so many answers I'll never receive.

At the end of the day I worry most that you didn't really think you were worthy or loved just because you were Jerrod.  I worry that you somehow misinterpreted our actions or words in a way that led you to believe that you were not wanted, that you would not be missed.  I know our dad believed some version of this; that he'd be serving us better with his life insurance policy than his actual life. I know you know that wasn't true, so how could you believe it about yourself? Brother, I just don't understand.

I don't know what it means to be in heaven and if you have any understanding of what is happening on earth after you have died. I trust that, like Jesus said to the criminal crucified next to him, that you are with him "in paradise"; that you are not continuing to suffer as a result of the pain of your death. I hope you know you are forgiven and deeply loved. I hope you are with our Father and our dad. I hope you are at peace and full of joy. I hope you know that I love you so much, that I miss you so much and that there will never be a day I don't wish you were here.

Love always,
   your twin sis

Open up and let the light in

We’re breaking all the rules this morning: sleeping in bed with mom and on our stomach. I don’t even care. This isn’t a post about co-sleeping. I know people do it and I don’t actually think it’s wrong. I’m just a rule follower and I never wanted kids in my bed. But we are surviving until we’re thriving (AND WE WILL THRIVE) so the occasional co-sleeping it is.

Staring at this face this morning, I just started weeping because life is beautiful and love brings so much joy even when it’s hard. Right now, in these moments, my heart aches that my brother didn’t feel it or at least not enough of it. He would have made a great father. Maybe he never would have had kids, but now he will never have a moment like this. And even if he never had kids, he will never hold mine again or for the first time. This baby girl won’t know the loving arms of her uncle. It’s a loss she won’t even know she has (besides factually), but I know and I grieve for her, too.

My friend Kristen sent me this post this morning. I don’t know Rachel, but her account is public, so I’m hoping she won’t mind that I’m sharing this here. Her words are beautiful and they speak to my heart. During or after I write each of these posts, I feel the light creeping in and there is peace. My heart is not wrecked all day long, and I know that’s in part due to allowing myself to feel the pain when needed and letting the Lord fill those dark spaces with his light and love.

What has started as a huge gaping hole will shrink as I grieve and heal over time. Sometimes that’s hard to reconcile because it feels like moving on and letting go of my brother, and I desperately don’t want to lose any more of him. So I have to remind myself that it’s not my pain or sorrow that keeps his memory alive, but simply the love that I carry for him in my heart and nothing can take that away.

just the beginning of the wrestling

It took all of an hour to feel utterly overwhelmed this morning and worrying about how we are going to survive once Bret goes back to work. Avery was being fussy and unhappy even being held and Jackson decided to burst into his own waterworks for some reason.  It's exhausting even when I'm not alone and I hit a state of mental panic imagining trying to deal with this on my own.  So Bret grabbed the kids for a double stroller ride to calm everyone down and to give me some peace and quiet.  I reheated my coffee and grabbed the new Truth Unchanging devotional that a friend sent me and started to read.

As with most times of stress these days, one situation turns into anguish over my brother. I'm simply reading the intro about God being with me as I read and desiring to speak to me and immediately my heart cries out why couldn't you have been with my brother?!  Why couldn't you have saved him; spoken truth to him instead of whatever awful lies he believed and agreed with to the point of ending his own life?! My head does not always go to this place.  I can rationalize my way out of being upset with God, but I know for the sake of my healing and for the sake of my relationship with Him, I have to be honest when those ugly thoughts surface. Ultimately I feel let down by God. I know our pain is His pain, but I question how he has let this (suicide) happen to my (immediate) family twice; 3 times including my cousin. I'll never understand his ways and why he prevents some suffering and allows others.

Then my mind launches into an entirely different train of thought... people say to treat mental illness the same as a physical disease.  I generally agree with this statement, as it speaks to the importance of caring for our mental health and combating the stigma around seeking treatment, but a death as a result of mental illness (i.e. suicide) is not the same as someone dying from an illness, such as cancer. In neither circumstance are we hoping for death to be the way someone achieves peace, but I would challenge that it is more devastating - or maybe just devastating in a different way - when someone chooses to end their own life as opposed to having their life ended by an illness.  With a physical illness there feels like so much more that is not within a person's control to bring about health than with someone whose battle is mental. Even as I type this, I'm challenged that maybe that's not really even true.

I've experienced anxiety and depression, but never to the point of feeling suicidal.  There are certainly genetic factors that impact my predisposition to anxiety and depression, but I'm also keenly aware of how my lifestyle and daily choices impact my mood and well being. I also know that it's a lot of work to address those issues and they're not so severe that I struggle to get out of bed in the morning nor have thoughts of wanting to end it all.  It's a battle to try to allow God control and to bring joy into my life when I'm feeling low; how much harder would it be for me to lean into his good news if I were feeling utterly hopeless?  I feel like I'm rambling, but mainly jumped on here to acknowledge that while I ultimately believe God is good and that he can somehow bring redemption, there's still wrestling to be done as I grieve.  I don't think I'll ever have all the answers, but I'm praying that as I wrestle and cry out to God when my head and heart are in chaotic grief, that one day I will predominantly feel peace.

how to help a grieving friend

I think previously I would have said I knew how to support someone in grief.  I went to school for psychology and social work, but there are some skills that only life can teach you, not a text book. I think in order to really sit well in someone else's grief, you need to have experienced your own.  I also previously would have said I've experienced grief. This is predominantly true given that my dad died when I was ten, but since then the bulk of my grief has been related to "heartbreak" resulting from a couple short-lived dating relationships..not really earth shattering.  I've experienced other pain related to family and friendships, but not permanent loss.

Sitting in the grief of losing my brother has felt a world of difference from losing my dad. In some ways, I don't even feel like that loss happened to me or I feel like a completely different person than than to whom that happened. This may simply be due to the fact that it's been over 2 decades and so much of the pain has been redeemed. Losing Jerrod feels completely different. In some ways I feel like I've lost a part of myself. That sounds really cliche, but maybe that's what a close death feels like or it's wrapped up in the fact that we're twins and the person I've walked every day on this earth with is no longer here.  Maybe this grief feels different because I'm an adult and my emotional intelligence is greater than my 10-year-old self who just tried to survive and cling to what I had left.  Perhaps it's also the combination of joy and pain losing Jerrod just four days after the birth of my daughter.  Not to mention all the hormones and ups and downs of caring for a newborn, but this roller coaster feels like a whole new beast to me.  In every moment of joy, it is also tinged with sadness, especially when it's a joyful moment I would have previously experienced or could picture myself experiencing with Jerrod. This most often happens when I watch anyone playing with my son because Jerrod was so playful and attentive with Jackson. One minute I'm smiling or laughing and the next I'm crying. The journey of healing from this pain feels long and daunting, so as best I can I try to cope in the present.

It's been only just over a month, but still so often I cannot fathom that he is gone; this cannot be real and often it doesn't feel real.  I keep waiting for the next time I'm going to see him because we didn't interact or see each other daily and sometimes not even weekly so the absence can feel normal.  Then something happens that I want to share with him or picture him giving Bret shit and I'm reminded that he's gone. For instance, Bret bought a new hammer and measuring tape last week and my initial reaction was to want to take a picture and send to Jerrod saying that he'd be proud of Bret's upgrade.  On so many occasions he has given us a hard time about the quality of our tools, questioning if we're even real adults or something along those lines. He had just done this the Saturday before he died when I had him hang up my "badger crossing" sign in the garage commenting that he wanted a real hammer not a toy hammer. That was quintessential Jerrod though; he'd help you with anything, but he'd have something to harass you about in the process.  My heart breaks that we'll never banter again. I know that while currently painful, these are the memories that will also make me smile and laugh as I remember him in years to come.

I initially just posted the resources below with no context, but decided to circle back to share a bit more of my own grief process and reflection of sitting in someone else's grief. I fully relate to not knowing what to do or say when someone is hurting and can fall prey to the temptation to fix. For me this doesn't stem from a lack of caring or unwillingness to sit in the pain with someone else. I've sat in plenty of pain with people, but I also know many times I have ignorantly or pridefully thought I could make it better with something I could do or say.  What is most illuminating to me as I'm mourning Jerrod is that no one can fix this or make this better for me, as much as I wish they could.  Sure there are probably things people can say that are unhelpful, but I'm not sure I could even pinpoint what those things are right now.  In the instances where that might occur, I can have grace for people not knowing what to say because I often don't know what to say to describe what I'm feeling or know what to ask for when people offer help and support.  However, I feel loved in the asking and it's a gentle reminder that the world hasn't entirely moved on without me. 

Someone shared a website with me that has some resources for those who are grieving and those who are supporting someone in their grief. These are compiled by Megan Devine, author of It's Ok That You're Not Ok. I don't agree with everything she has shared (and am a little turned off by some of the over priced products), but I appreciate some of the suggestions she gives to support a grieving friend.  I've shared the links below.  She also has a blog and a podcast that I have yet to really dive into, but have heard they are helpful.  

Refuge In Grief: How To Help A Grieving Friend

Ask Don't Tell: How To Help Someone In Grief