Weary

To say that it has been a rough week seems ridiculous to me. Words like “rough” or “difficult” pale in comparison to the grief and pain we have witnessed and felt in this past 10 days.

Twelve days ago I saw a status update by chance on Facebook that our dear friends who were in Maine on vacation needed prayer as their 18 year old daughter was missing while on a kayaking trip with a friend. I don’t check Facebook that often these days, but I was so glad I did. We immediately started to pray and make phone calls to get more details. It was not good. Irina McEntee and Carissa Ireland had left that Sunday afternoon (May 16th) for a short afternoon kayak/adventure to a nearby island and were supposed to return several hours later. Irina was a trained kayaker and had done this very trip so many times. When they did  not come home as planned, Irina’s parents called the coastguard. After searching all night, they found the girls the next morning, still in their life jackets several miles from their original destination. They could not be resuscitated. The agony of hearing the news trickling in over those hours was so difficult to bear. We hoped and prayed until we heard the final the reports, still unwilling to believe. I could not speak for hours, and still find it hard to put words to my feelings. My kids were also in shock.

What makes this story even more unbearable is that Irina’s brother Oleg,16, died in a tragic accident just the spring before. How much can these parents endure? My heart has been overrun with shock and pain and just the weight that grief brings, especially over the loss of a child. No one can make sense of it, so we will not try. We will love, though. We will love and be present for our friends. We will pray through the hours of the night. We will carry their burdens as our own. It is our honor.

The photo above was taken after Irina’s Life Celebration Service. That is what her parents called it, and that is what it was. Several came to Christ at her service as they gave an invitation at the conclusion of it. She loved her Jesus, and that was apparent in her life and in her death, as many spoke of this young woman’s quiet conviction to follow God, and her beautiful and bright smile.

My daughter Annie had the honor of speaking at the service, and I would like to include an excerpt here of her beautiful words:

“Images keep coming back to me—the coast in front of the Peaks Island house, grey water crashing into grey rocks, and the green of summer filling up the islands. Irina in long shorts and a red t-shirt, greeting the ocean with wide-thrust arms. Walking the shores in bare feet, she and my brother and Oleg leaping ahead of me to collect the wildly bright orange and yellow buoys that lobstermen had lost. It seems like a dream now—now that she and Oleg are both gone. I can’t get my head around it. I keep seeing her face cracking into that familiar bright smile in my mind—the smile that was like watching the sun leap up over the horizon at dawn—nothing at first, and then a burst of light.

And that was Irina, that was the way her life became.

I remember telling her more than once that God adored her—that you could see it all over her, almost glowing. To me, it always seemed so clear that he had pulled her from a very dark place to show her His love, to give her a life brimming with it. Hers, more than anyone I have ever known, is the story of redemption, of God’s heart for us.”

Her words sank deeply into our minds as we saw Irina through Annie’s eyes, and through God’s.

I twittered my grief often this week.

here are a few of my own thoughts written in fragments as I could not say much more:

~Heart broken   May 17th

~One of the hardest and saddest days for so many today. The McEntees will need much prayer as the days continue.  May 17th

~pictures from Maine on my screen saver today. Makes the sadness deeper. Not fair how life just treks on in the face of tragedy.  May 18th

~tragedy makes me feel so small, and yet I sense the largeness of my God. He is near, and the protector of the broken-hearted   May 21st

~ It’s okay to ask why. Even Jesus asked why when He was on the Cross.  May 22

~Loving and supporting friends in deep grief is such a great honor.  May 22

~Hate this stage of grief. The numbness, the burden, the elusiveness of my own heart. May 22

~Wavering between numbness and deep sorrow. I prefer the sorrow. Numbness doesn’t help anyone.  May 24

~It’s okay to cry, yes even imperative that we do. Those we love are worthy of our tears, the visible reminder that our hearts ache for them.  May 26th

I posted my daughter Katie’s photograph above, because it symbolizes what grief feels like. So exhausting. She could not keep her eyes open after the service. We love our friends so much, and we know they are being carried by their Saviour, who knows Himself the burden and pain of grief. Even God knows what it is like to lose a child, and then, ( praise Him!) have that child returned to Him in resurrection. That is our hope, our lifeline.

So thankful now for the truth and life that we can find in His word:

^“Brothers, we do not want you to be ignorant about those who fall asleep, or to grieve like the rest of men, who have no hope.”  1 Thessalonians 4:13

“For the Lord is close the brokenhearted, and saves those who are crushed in spirit”~ Psalm 34:18

I cannot conclude this entry without a few more thoughts, although I know it is already quite lengthy.

Nearly five years ago on October 26th, 2005 I lost a child of my own.  He was still in my womb and I was 16 weeks pregnant. We named him Benjamin David Morgan.

I will never forget the tragedy of that day or that season, and I will never forget him, as I already loved him dearly, like only a mother (or father) can. Even as I write these words, my heart feels compressed, still needing air and healing in those painful places. I bring this up for a couple reasons. First of all, to be transparent about my own journey, so that I can live my life fully alive. Secondly, as I experienced life with the McEntees this week, I remembered parts of my own journey that were so important for my healing.

After the loss of my child, I went through some depression, and was afraid to be alone. My sweet Chris helped me set up a schedule with people I loved and trusted to come and “sit” with me. When our counselor first suggested it, I was appalled. I felt embarrassed at the thought of having to have people come just sit with me. What would we do? Would I have to entertain them? However, as the days and nights went by, and Chris could not always be with me, I accepted the idea. Now, as I look back, I am so thankful for these people, who left their lives to come and help me stay in mine. My sister Liza took Sunday nights, and I would watch  Extreme Homemakeover with her family, bundled in a blanket on her sofa. So comforting. My friend Susan would take Wednesdays. I always looked forward to hearing her sweet voice as she came in my mud room door. We wouldn’t do anything in particular, but I made it through another night. I love her for that. There were, of course, so many more friends and family members who held my hands and encouraged me to live, to be present again. I cannot leave out my mom, who slept in the chair next to me at the hospital when I experienced complications after the surgery to remove Benjamin’s body from my own. Thank you, mom, for crying those tears with me. I am so thankful for every single person who prayed a prayer, who brought me food, who whispered comfort to me, and who came to “sit” with me in my pain. Thank you. I am in my life because of you.  You are indeed the hands and feet of Jesus. May we be that for Jack and Gerri now.