A Card with Nowhere to Go

A Card With Nowhere to Go

       Holidays are meant to be exciting and filled with anticipation.  There is a rush in counting down until the big day came.  Holidays aren't meant to be marred with tears and sadness.  They aren't meant to be hurtful but instead to be helpful.  Most of us look at the calendar and have dates circled in red and make plans to celebrate.  The grieving person probably has those same dates circled and they also are making plans....but those plans are probably more like survival versus celebration.  Instead of a countdown to something exciting it becomes almost like a time bomb counting backwards waiting for the explosion of hurt and pain.  A reminder of what was lost, not what is.  Holidays are just heavier for the person who has lost a spouse.  They feel the pressure of the world around them.  They see people buying cards and gifts.  They hear the laughter, they see the smiles, and they might even try to fake them.  But things aren't the same.  The sky of a holiday will always be painted with a little gray.  Yes, happiness exists, joy still resides, and hope is always on the horizon, but in the present, the holiday just feels heavy.

      The month of May is typically a doozy for me.  To describe it in one word would be brutal.  The month starts with Tiffanie's birthday.  It's odd to count her years upward on this side of heaven, knowing that she will always be 37.  It's odd to be permanently an age.  If you are reading this you are getting older.  You might not like it, you might feel older, but praise God that you are still counting days.  There will come a time on earth when the clock for your days will end and the sand on the other side of the hour glass will be exhausted.  You will always be that age on earth.  May is also heavy because it's our dog Muffin's birthday.  A dog's birthday might sound like a silly holiday to struggle over, but Muffin was Tiffanie's pride and joy.  He was her shadow at all times.  He adored her.  

      But the icing on the cake for the emotional roller coaster of May is Mother's Day.  Last year the thought of celebrating Mother's Day was exhausting, not just for me but the thought of what my children are having to bear.  It's hard enough losing your spouse, but my three precious children were wandering this world without their sweet momma.  The art projects and school lessons where brutal to say the least.  Each kid in their classrooms had a mom.  My three kids alone were bereft of a mother.  They heard all the other kids share stories about what they loved about their mom, they talked about things they were going to do for their mom, and in art class they made cards for their mothers.  I vividly remember being in the car line after school last year.  Precious little children came running out of the school loaded down with cards, projects, and other gifts for their moms.  I had never heard so many children say "I love you mommy."  They ran to their mom, squeezed them tightly.  Their mom would pick them, give them a hug and kiss, and load them into the car.  I sat in my car, tears flooding.  My three children didn't have a mom after school to hug, they didn't have a mom to give them a kiss, or to hand their card to.  There was a quiet moment in our car as my three kids sat with projects that wouldn't go on a refrigerator, it was destined for a gravestone.  There is nothing more sobering then driving your children to a cemetery to wish their mom a happy Mother's Day.  My heart broken again that, knowing that their little world had changed, and would never be quite the same. 

      Less then 2% of children under the age of 18 lose their mom.  Why do my children have to be in such a sad group and how do I go about the task of being a solo dad?  The first thing I learned as a solo dad was to listen more than I speak.  If you know me, that's a tall order.  I love talking.  Tiffanie was the epic listener, I was the endless talker.  But one of the greatest gifts I could give my children was a willingness to listen, an availability to share any time.  Not to lecture them, to teach them lesson, and especially not to explain their emotions away.  I simply have to listen.  That's tough for a man.  Men are fixers, problem solvers.  We would take a bullet for someone, but we aren't always the most attentive listeners.  We start problem solving when we hear people talk.  As a dad I have to literally tell that part of my brain to shut up, and just simply listen to my children.

      Kids typically often struggle to put grief into words, and each children is uniquely crafted by God, which means that each child will grieve differently. Sometimes their grief comes out through anger, withdrawal, anxiety, behavior changes, or unexpected questions.  The fact that I have two children going through puberty complicates this A LOT.   A child may ask, “Why did God let Mom die?” or “What happens if you die too?” Those questions are incredibly heavy and heartbreaking, but I found them to be invitations to my children's heart, an opportunity from God to understand my children better.

      As a pastor I need to resist the urge to simply provide chapter and verse to my kids.  Yes, Scripture is inspired by God and it is the bedrock of my faith.  But my child doesn't need a pastor, they need a parent.  They don't need a lecture, they need love.  My kids do not need a perfect theological explanation in every moment. They need to learn that I am a safe place for every emotion.  I typically tell my kids that I miss Tiff too, or I tell them that their question is hard and might not have an answer, I always allow them to bring their emotions into a safe space by telling them that I'm glad they told me how they felt, and I encourage them to never hide their emotions from me.  Their feelings are valid.  

      I was recently reading an article that talked about children who felt heard were most likely to have a healthier healing process for their grief.  A lack of attention or having a listening ear complicated their grief, caused them to bury their emotions, led to future emotional stress, and caused a greater spirit of rebellion.  My children need my ears, more then my words.

      A second focus, especially now that I'm remarried, is to keep Tiffanie's memory alive.  I never want my children to forget their mom.  I had someone come up to me recently and said something to the effect that talking about Tiffanie might make my children sad.  Well, my children are already constantly thinking about her anyhow, so the mere mention of her name probably won't create grief or make it more complex, instead it reminds my children that their mom matters, is still valued, and that they are not grieving alone.

      My conversations about Tiffanie might be in the past tense, but I still tell stories about her naturally.  We regularly look through photos, especially Facebook memories.  We talk about what we remember from that photo or video.  We also continue traditions that Tiffanie loved.  We make her favorite meals, listen to her favorite songs, sometimes watch her favorite movies.  We laugh at super funny moments and we cry typically shortly after.  We speak her name more often then you can imagine.

      Keeping her memory alive helps my kids, and I would personally think other children, understand that death ends a life, but it does not erase love.  Death is a powerful foe, but it does not have the ability to steal the love that we had for someone.  I want my kids to treasure those memories.  I want them to laugh again, live again, and continue healing.  So, what are some practical ways that we intentionally keep Tiff's memory alive?  Sometimes we still write her cards or letters, we go out to her favorite restaurants, we jam out to her favorite music, create digital photo albums, and more.  These moments have become almost like an anchor for my grieving children or possibly like a lighthouse reminding them that their momma mattered....and still does.

      Finally, it is vital for a solo dad to keep his children grounded in their faith.  Grief can shake a child’s faith deeply. It can also deepen it profoundly.  Death can bring a child at a crossroads for their faith, and tragically death often puts faith on the rocky shore destroying it to pieces.  But it doesn't have to.  You can allow grief to be a teacher, not a master.  You can allow a child's grief to guide them and form them.  I recently was talking with a woman at a church whose mom died when she was in her teens.  Her mother's death strengthened her faith....but her brother walked away from the Lord and still is far away to this day.

      Children are going to wrestle with difficult questions like, “Did God stop loving us?” “Why didn’t God heal Mom?”  “Can Mom still see me?” “Is heaven real?”  "What is heaven like?"  My kids and I talk about heaven on a weekly basis.  We don't treat it as some abstract place that's far away, but instead we talk about it as a house where Tiffanie currently lives.  But questions can be a little scary, but don't fear those questions. Honest faith is not threatened by honest grief.

      One of the most important things you can model is a faith that grieves honestly while still clinging to hope. Scripture never teaches believers to pretend pain does not exist. Jesus Himself wept at the tomb of Lazarus. Faith and sorrow are not enemies.  One of the greatest injustices we can teach our children is that grief is rushed, or to put a false smile over the pain.  Children need to see sincerity in our walk with the Lord, even in grief.  They need to see a genuine faith under trial, not a counterfeit one.  Your child needs to see that it is possible to cry and trust God at the same time.  Those two things are not contrary.  For the man reading, please don't try to gloss over your emotions.  Men are historically bad at expressing emotion, but our children don't need that, they need to know that you hurt too and that you have questions.  If they see you in those moments they will know it's ok to grieve.  If all they ever see is false strength then they will wonder why their grief is so heavy.

      I want to make something extremely clear,  not every conversation should become a sermon. Often, faith is most powerfully communicated through ordinary consistency.  Think like praying together at bedtime, reading Scripture together, continuing church involvement, singing worship songs in the car, and speaking openly about God’s presence in suffering.  Children do not need parents who appear spiritually unshaken. They need parents who keep turning toward God even in heartbreak.  Read that again and let it sink into your memory.

      One of the greatest comforts you can offer is the reminder that death does not have the final word because of Christ (PRAISE THE LORD). The Gospel speaks directly into grief. Because of Jesus, believers have hope beyond the grave (1st Corinthians 15). That hope does not erase sorrow, but it gives sorrow a horizon and let's children (and you for that matter) see Jesus clearly even in the darkest moments.

      One of the hardest things about becoming a parent is that there is no road map on how to do it.  Once we think we have it mastered we find out how wrong we are.  There isn't an easy drive from point A to point B.  Now, imagine pareting a child in the midst of grief.  There is no perfect roadmap for raising children after the death of their mother. Some days you will feel strong. Other days you will feel exhausted and inadequate.  Some days you will feel both or none. That is normal.  You as a man need to normalize that.  You need to remove an expectation of what parenting looks like sans your person.

      Grief also changes over time. A child may revisit their grief at birthdays, graduations, holidays, weddings, and countless ordinary moments. Healing is not linear.  What your child will remember most is not whether you handled every moment perfectly. They will remember whether they felt loved, safe, heard, and spiritually anchored during the hardest season of their life.  You do not have to parent without tears. You do not have to hide your grief. You simply have to keep showing up. You might not know the next thing you need to do, but in actuality you do.  Just show up loving your child, even on hard days like these.