This past week marks sixteen years since our daughter died
of SIDS. In some ways, it seems like it
has only been yesterday – in other ways, I lived every single day of those
sixteen years remembering someone so dear to my heart. Someone I miss and think about and long to
see again. In that way, it seems like a
long time.
The day she died I remember thinking how sad it was that it
was so close to Christmas. Twelve days
before Christmas. I remember wondering
out loud if this would make Christmas’ from there on out hard. Someone listening assured me it would
not. He was wrong. Every single Christmas since that cold
December day sixteen years ago has been affected by her death.
The unfortunate thing about losing a loved one so close
around the holidays is that there are so many more trigger points that affect
the memories. I have gone from loving
Christmas and feeling like it is “the most wonderful time of the year” to a
sense of dread because of how many memories it brings to my mind.
I see the Christmas lights go up around town and I am
brought back to the memory of seeing the Christmas lights on the way to the
funeral home for the visitation that night before her funeral. We put up the Christmas tree and I think
about how we took the girls’ picture by the our decorated tree, never knowing
less than twelve hours later she would be dead.
The photos a cherished memory of our last night together as a
family.
Perhaps the hardest part for me as the holidays approach is
the festivities at church. Our lives
have revolved around church. Before Ally
died and since Ally died. I have found
that church festivities are the same no matter the church you attend. There are the carols that are sung for
services. There is the auditorium
decorations that are so similar. Green
garland, white lights, poinsettias….
And, of all the trigger points that take me back sixteen years the ones
at church seem to be the hardest.
The annual Christmas cantata has become a source of
unbearable sadness. For in the music, I
remember the hours and hours of practice I had done that year to get ready for
our church cantata. Ally would sit in
her seat next to the piano and I would practice the pieces that our choir would
be singing. The sound of the Christmas
music had been a part of my life for weeks and weeks before she died. She was always there with me while I played –
and her absence from the cantata brought more pain that I can put into words.
The Christmas music was playing on the radio the moment I
walked into her room and found her not breathing. The look of death is haunting and cruel. I will never forget that moment as long as I
live. The 911 call and watching my
husband do mouth to mouth as I begged the emergency operator to get help to us
as fast as she could. The Christmas
wreath on the door shook as the first police officer arrived and walked through
our front door. I took him to her room –
and he took over the CPR as I grabbed his arm and begged him to make her breath
again.
The house was soon filled with firefighters, police officers
and detectives. The phone was ringing
and I did not hear it. I was only
brought out of my state of shock by the sound of someone crying – uncontrollably.
The sound was one I could not make out and I
remember wondering what the sound was – only to realize that it was my husband
on the phone with someone. I later found
out it was one of my closest friends calling to see what time the cantata practice
was that afternoon. Suddenly, I was
brought back to the present and realized that I was not even supposed to be at
the house that morning. I was supposed
to be at a cookie exchange. I had called
and canceled the night before because something had to be taken out of my
schedule. Life had gotten too busy. The cookie exchange was the chosen
activity.
I remember them taking Ally out on a stretcher and I begged
for them to put on another blanket. It
was cold outside and I could not believe that they did not have her covered up
better. I ran in and got her blanket
while they waited at the door. The
already knew something I did not know.
She did not need her blanket. I
stayed home to make arrangements for someone to watch Rachel and Abbey. Rob
went ahead in the ambulance. I would be
following behind shortly. The detective
had more questions for me as did the other detective that went with Rob. As I look back, I wish I could change
that. I don’t know why I stayed. I knew I was coming along right behind them;
but I wish I would have left with them.
I remember the phone call that came as I was heading out the
door to the hospital. It was Rob – and Pastor
answered the phone. He said he could not
tell me and wanted Pastor to let me know.
Pastor’s voice was quiet as he hung up the phone and looked over at me
and told me that Rob had called to let us know that they had done everything
they could but that she was gone. I will
never forget the next moment, I sunk to
the floor weeping. Deep weeping from the
depths of my heart. Like I had never
cried before. But just as strong as the
tears came from the depths within me I felt someone right there next to
me. It was God – I knew it. I could not see Him; but He was right there
beside me as sure as if I could see Him face to face. I knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt that He
was weeping with me and was with me right there as my heart shattered into a
million pieces.
I remember hearing “Oh Holy Night” playing on the radio as
we went to the hospital. I do not
remember who I was with – or how I got into the car – only the song – and an
incredible sadness that I had never experienced before.
When we got to the hospital emergency room I remember
holding her body and realizing how true it was that our body is just a
shell. I remember talking about the
funeral arrangements and what day it would be best to have the funeral. I
remember thinking of all the people we needed to call, all the plans that
needed to be made for her funeral in four days.
That was Saturday.
I remember crying the entire night. I have never cried that long and that hard in
my life before that day. I grieved
through every hour of that night. That
would be the longest night of my life. I begged God to make this be a dream; then my
prayers went to begging God to forgive me for whatever sin I had committed that
would make Him punish me so severally.
My chest hurt as I cried from the depths of my heart and I did my best
to wrap the pillow around my face as I cried – fearing I would awaken the girls
asleep in their beds.
The next day was Sunday. I remember getting the girls
buckled in the car to go to church. The
infant car seat base was left bucked in the seat; but it remained empty. My five year old daughter said in surprise, “We
forgot Ally – then she looked up at my eyes and remembered. I closed the door and tears spilled down my
cheeks. It was going to be a long day. I played the piano for church and Rob led the
singing. It was something I wanted to do
for God. I wanted Him to know that no
matter what I would serve Him – even if my heart was breaking. It was
the only part of that day that felt normal – in an odd sort of way.
Our Sunday afternoon was spent at the funeral home. We had an obituary to write, flowers to
choose, and a casket to pick out. More
tears. We left the funeral home to drive
through the area cemeteries to pick out where we wanted her buried. We found a beautiful cemetery close to the
church and then headed back to church for the conclusion of choir practice. The Christmas Cantata that had been
scheduled for that Sunday night had been postponed to the following week. The choir practice that had been reserved to
go over a few rough spots of a Christmas cantata was now being used to practice
the music for our daughter’s funeral in three days.
I could go on and on about how Christmas triggers memories
of our daughter’s death. Year after year
it happens and year after year I hope and pray that it is better than the last
year. Time heals all wounds – right? That has yet to happen. Each year I am paralyzed by the memories that
come along with the holidays. This year
was no exception. Each year I hope that
it will be easier. Each year it is
not.
The absolute hardest thing for me each and every Christmas
is the church Christmas party. It
usually falls on the same weekend that Ally died. Just like it did that year. Each year I am begged to go and each year I
find that I just can’t. Too many
memories. Too many confusing feelings
. It does not feel right to go to a
Christmas Party on the weekend your daughter died – even if it was sixteen
years ago. It’s the weekend that my
heart shattered into a million pieces.
The weekend my life changed forever.
How can I go to a party on a weekend like that?
This year was no different.
The little kids begged for me to go.
I told Rob I just couldn’t. Too
hard. Too many memories. How would it look? I was pulled.
The sadness and hurt I felt cut deep.
While I did want to go – I found it to be something that would be
inappropriate for me to attend. Yet, it
did not seem right for me to stay home either.
It *has* been sixteen years.
Rob urged me to make a phone call. He felt I needed to talk about these feelings
with someone. I was unsure of making the
call. After all, it *has* been sixteen
years. I should be over this by
now. I should not be still crying this
hard over the memories that come with this weekend. Finally I made the call.
I told her about the feelings. I cried.
I told her how much this week brought back the memories of that weekend
sixteen years ago. The trauma of finding
her and then the days that followed in preparing to bury her. I wept as I remembered.
Then she said something that pinpointed the problem. This week I remember her dying. Within this week I remember all the horrors
of her death. Death is a horrible
thing. Death brings trauma. I understand that!
Then she reminded me of HOPE. Christ brought HOPE when he rose from the
dead and conquered death. Because of
Him I do not have to fear death - even the death of Ally sixteen years
ago. She reminded me that Ally is not
dead – she is alive. She is just not
here. She is “Waiting in Heaven”. As she talked, I realized I was remembering
her dead – not alive. As she talked I
saw it! She is not dead! She is alive.
The horrors of that weekend – have been conquered. She is alive.
She is in Heaven. Her days are
filled with happiness. Remembering her
dead is paralyzing. Realizing she is
alive fills me with HOPE.
She then encouraged me to go on. This is the hard part. To go to the party and to have a good
time. How? Is that even appropriate? The questions came through tears and I told
her I did not see how I could do this.
She encouraged me to think of what Ally’s days are like in Heaven. Complete happiness. Complete peace. Total joy.
I need to think of her days now not of that day back then. She then encouraged me to ask God to give me
a verse from His word to allow me to see that it was time for my life to go
on.
I got off the phone and the clock was ticking. I needed to get going. The family needed to leave soon for the
Christmas Party. I knew I needed to go. It was time.
I quickly got around and then headed out to the van. I prayed as we drove that God would give me a
verse, time had not allowed me to pull out my Bible. “God, I know your word. Surly you can bring a verse to mind that I
have memorized. I need something from
your Word!” Just
then the phrase came to my mind, “For our light affliction which is but for a
moment…” I knew God had given me the
verse, though I could not quote the verse in it’s entirety I had enough to hang
onto through the party.
I stepped into the house and started talking with
people. I quoted the phrase several
times when I thought about Ally. I chose
not to look back at the weekend sixteen years ago – I chose to look ahead to the
future. All the heartaches of earth cannot
come close to comparing to the things that wait for me in Heaven. This light affliction is but for a moment
compared to eternity. I participated in
the games – and had fun. Lots of
fun. For the first time in sixteen years
I did not feel guilty. It’s time to go
on.
I came home and tucked the little ones in bed and then
pulled out my Bible. I wanted to read
the verse God had given me in its entirety and context. What I found was breathtaking.
“We are troubled on every side, yet not distressed; we are
perplexed, but not in despair… For which cause we faint not; but though our
outward man perish, yet the inward man is renewed day by day. For our light affliction, which is but for a
moment, worketh for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory: While we look not at the things which are
seen, but at the things which are not seen: for the things which are seen are
temporal; but the things which are not seen are eternal.”
I just sat there amazed at His goodness to me. He gave me these verses! I don’t need to look back and remember the
trauma of that day and the days that followed Ally’s death. Those are things which are seen – or have
been seen by me - and praise the Lord,
they are temporary! They don’t last. I need to look to the things which I have not
yet seen; but are just as real as those memories. Heaven is waiting. She is waiting in Heaven. Eternity with Christ will never end. It is eternal.
I closed my Bible and thanked God for HOPE. I am on a mission this year. To keep an eternal focus during the holidays
and build memories with the children God has given me. So thankful for a God that is living and
offers me HOPE even in difficult situations.
