I cannot describe the terror I felt poolside while I watched my Brother-in-Law work desperately to resuscitate his son. I held my children close to me as 5 year old Kate practically screamed at me that she was scared and didn’t want to be there any more. She pulled frantically at me, begging me, in panicked tears, “Please, please, please Mommy! Take me home." My heart pounded and my whole body felt burning hot despite my dripping swimsuit and the foggy, misty October weather.
My mind raced as I tried to make sense of the scene before me. I kept thinking, “This isn’t real. This can’t really be happening.” while being fully aware that this was no dream. Time moved in slow motion. I couldn’t seem to get my body to move a normal speed, as if someone had thickened the atmosphere just around me since everyone else appeared to be moving in some sort of “fast forward”.
The group who had been sitting near us previously enjoying drinks had gathered together in a semi circle, with their arms raised to the sky calling out to God and Jesus and my heart was with them even if my voice was not.
Holding Miles in my arms moment before was nothing like holding a sleeping child. This was bad. So so bad. I kept repeating in my mind over and over again, “Just cough. Come on Buddy! Just start coughing.”
But he didn’t cough. The Hollywood ending never happened.
After spending most of the night at the hospital, I returned to the hotel late and laid in that unfamiliar bed covered with a puffy duvet and the horror of the reality of the situation. Overwhelmed with exhaustion and emotion and fear like I had never felt before, I climbed out of bed, crawled to the bathroom, and vomited. Then I sat on the cold tile floor and wept and prayed. There was no escape from the fear I was feeling.
I climbed back in bed and felt my heart begin to race. I had a strange tingling sensation begin in my fingers. I couldn’t catch my breath, as what felt like jolts of electricity surge through my body and then I lost all feeling in all of my muscles including my face. I began to shake uncontrollably. I tried to convey to my husband that I thought I was having a heart attack. He held me tight and tried to calm me. This went on for a few minutes and then slowly I regained feeling in my muscles and the shaking stopped.
I had never had a panic attack before.
After a full day the decision had been made and the adult members of our family gathered in the hospital to say goodbye to Miles. His parents had created a peaceful sacred space amidst the machines and tubing. A picture of the Savior stood on a stand and lovely music played. The room was thick with the spirit of God while the veil to the spirit world was tangibly thin. I felt sustained in that room.
As I left the room the familiar tingling sensation returned to my fingers and I reached out for John just in time to tell him everything was going numb again and he caught me. The nurses brought me juice and took me to a little room to sit and recover. And minutes later it happened again and I literally slid off of the couch I was seated on as I could no longer hold myself up.
Ten days later a ninth grader was hit and killed while crossing the street near my house and then two months later the Sandy Hook shooting happened. My husband called me on the phone that day trying to reach me before the news of the shooting did. He was too late. I sat on the floor and cried into the phone that there was no good in the world anymore.
That first year after Miles passed away I lived in almost constant fear. Fear for my children’s lives and their safety, fear of having a panic attack while driving, fear that I had lost my faith, fear for my brother in law and sister in law and their little family. I was scared I wouldn’t be able to show my love and compassion appropriately to Mark and Andrae, that I would say the wrong things and unintentionally hurt them. I was (sometimes literally) paralyzed with the fear that losing a child might be what God had in store for me. I lived in the world of "What If".
Fear became my constant companion. And it was exhausting.
But along the way blossoms of faith would sprout in my devastated landscape and the spirit’s voice would push through the anxiety that had wrapped itself around my soul and pierce my heart. I would
When I started to set aside the fear and the "what if’s”, space was made for the love and the peace.
Very early in this process I passed by Mark and Andrae’s house one evening feeling overcome with grief and heartache for them and the spirit told me to stop and see them. I entered their home and cried for and with them as they told me they had just found out they were expecting a baby. And I knew God was aware of them and had sent them Clara to have something beautiful and wonderful to look forward to. While grieving deeply, this couple has been incredible about seeing God's hand. Andrae's blog has been very helpful in my own journey.
In the middle this horrific tragedy I had to finally ask myself some questions to which I thought I had always known the answers.
*Does God exist?
*Does God know the end from the beginning?
*Does God love me?
If I can answer yes to these questions then I need not fear what is to come because it will be for my eternal good. It doesn't mean that I will rejoice in tragedy, but if I can find meaning for the pain and heartache then I don't need to fear it.
I have overcome a lot in the past three years. My heart is still tender. I think of Miles everyday, and most weeks I still shed tears, but when the spirit of fear begins to infiltrate I remember what I know. God Loves Me. I know this.
For God hath not given us the spirit of fear ; but of power , and of love , and of a sound mind.
2 Timothy 1:7
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