January 20, 2017 - Even in the death of Andy

I’ve been living in a bubble. I have no concept of your birthday. I had to be reminded we were gaining a new president in these twenty-four hours. While your world has been about going to the grocery store and driving your child to school for a semester's end exam, I have been living all things Andy. You are doing exactly what you are supposed to do. The world is to continue its course, pulsating with each turn on its orbit. You are to go about your day enjoying the things scattered throughout your hours. I would be doing the same in your shoes because I adore the ins and outs of every day life. I have purposely tried to re-enter your world. But I’m not there yet, partly by choice, mostly by necessity. I have scrolled your social media trying to excite myself in the delight of your café latte. I’ve driven to work and walked its hallways. I even pushed a cart down aisle ten in the grocery store but shortened its scavenger list after finding it overwhelming.  I’m succeeding at some tasks and failing at others. I’m still in Andy’s bubble.

It was January 11^th  and I was standing in my bathroom at the sink when my phone rang. It was 10:05 in the morning. Normally at that very hour, I  would have been at work seeing patients, but this morning in particular, I was home after having had a migraine the past 36 hours. God knew why I was at home that day. God knew I needed to be at home in my bathroom when my mother’s phone number came across the screen. “Sally, I am about to give you terrible news. Are you at work?" I don't recall how I responded but I recall the start of her next sentence. "Andy is dead…..” The conversation went on for a bit in precise, purposeful, short sentences as I was changing my clothes, grabbing items, and working my way to my car. I spent the next 6 hours right there. Precise, Purposeful, Short. There is a new piece of Sally it took 42 years to suddenly now have all figured out. Sally now knows how Sally reacts to death. Andy was my first Death. 

I’ve lost grandparents. I’ve lost in-laws. I’ve lost close friends. Nothing prepared me for losing my only brother, Andy. I spent the first six hour in a state of shock (precise, purposeful, short) being where I needed to be, doing what I need to do, asking the right questions, giving the right answers. There was a moment that day about 3 hours after getting the call that I remembering asking someone if they wanted salad dressing on their plate. Even as I said the word "salad dressing" I remember thinking how stupid it sounded to be uttering those words in the moment. I really needed to know the answer to the question as I was putting vegetables down on the plate, but I remember thinking how stupid it felt to be going through the task of fixing a plate on a day like that day. Turns out I couldn’t eat more than a single bite, and that would last almost 48 hours as my body knew what my mind didn’t, but we find a way to do what needs to be done when we are in the initial moments of tragedy. That night, while lying in bed where no sleep was to be found, I had 12 hours to feel each and every emotion that couldn’t be found earlier in the day. I relived my version of Andy’s final minutes. I swam in a sea of 42 years of sibling dynamics. I wrapped myself in a cocoon of love that comes with family. I counted with precision each passing hour building on yet another hour of accumulating loss. I mourned the finality of earthly memories. I feared the days to come. I found Joy in heavenly reunions. I wept in the details of accidental tragedy. It simply was a swirling concoction of a weary mind and a grieving heart. Grief is a powerful untamed entity of which I am just now truly becoming acquainted. I work in a world of grief. I have lost less immediate relatives and friends. I have seen you lose people you love. But how naïve we all are when we think we know what we speak of when we have not experienced something ourselves. We live in a world where we become experts because we have watched something happen around us. Boy, are we oh so very wrong. 

As I'm learning about the folly of my misdirected assumption, I am relishing in the incredible blessings that are already almost too numerous to count. This is the glory of Christianity. People say blessings happen to everyone. Yes, they do, but realize it is in the power and presence of God and in his orchestration in which they occur. Count your blessings, name them one by one. 

• Eight little girls gathered around someone’s table and created the most precious card (picture below) of bible verses for Andy’s wife. The power and belief through the eye of children.
• Over 900 people came to the funeral and over 600 to the visitation service. Through this outpouring of friendship and respect for Andy, I was able to cocoon myself love and be reminded that people and relationships is what God purposes us for here on this side of Heaven.
• My mother, sister, and I were able to meet with the man (I will call him Frank here) who found Andy and performed CPR. The day I found out about Andy I kept praying for Frank, who I could only imagine was traumatized by his experience. I prayed for him for 3 solid days for peace and healing from what he experienced. Later, circumstances led to me finding him and the joyful reunion we were able to have with him. He brought us flowers. I will forever be changed by that meeting with him, his wife, and children.
• My family has been able to grow closer to each other in ways we haven’t imagined as we grieved together and navigated unchartered territories of loss.
• Andy’s household has been covered with friends who have cleaned, organized, fed, and loved on family. God calls us to community to do life with each other. What a perfect model of this.
• Friends, and even strangers, have shared stories with us of how Andy has impacted their lives. A very large world  suddenly feels so much smaller.
• We’ve prayed for some very specific needs after Andy’s death and within hours answers to those prayers have arrived on our doorstep.
• We’ve met so many people in the last week who have shared similar loss; we are not traveling this road alone. God has now gifted me in this experience and prepared me to help one of you who, unfortunately, will experience this in your future.
• Just when I think I’ve recieved the last card, another card arrives in the mail encouraging me or filled with memories.
•  I’ve watched my niece and nephew rely on tangible faith that is more than just words in a book, but rather a reality that has been modeled to them from their father and their mentors.
• Every single human contact I have had following this tragedy has been an awesome one. You guys simply know how to support me. Be in in silence. Be in in encouraging words. Be in in showing up in a big way. Therefore my next few words do not apply to you. You did it well!

      The list goes on and it will continue to grow as these weeks morph into months. But for now after only a week of being in Andy’s bubble, I’m relying on the blessings to help me traverse from the brother-shaped bubble back to grocery store aisles, and work hallways, and café lattes of your world you continue to traverse while I am on this non-linear continuum. I’m suspicious it is going to take longer than usual, because “usual” is a word that shouldn’t be applied in such scenarios. There should be no expectations implied. No schedules demanded. No words uttered as to what normal needs to be. There is no normal anymore, but rather an “after” that will set a new tone that I haven’t experienced before.  So we all need to understand these next few words: To friends of people grieving loss or experiencing tragedy (or even navigating mastectomy) there is no way of knowing if I am on track or not because I have never been here before and there is no right way for us to do this. And you should have no opinion of whether I am on track or not because everyone does each experience differently. What a relief. Now, this does NOT mean you should stick your head in the sand and not be on the lookout for warning signs. You should not ignore downward spirals. But we as a culture should not enforce our expectations of the right or wrong way to grieve on those people around us grieving. Not our timeline. Not our method. Not our depth or degree. What we should do is make our presence known. Pray them through it. And offer as few words as possible in to the how and why. Be simple. Don’t be absent. Show up. Do life together. That is all we are commanded to do. Provide no judgement. And then, let them get through it in what ever way and on whatever timeline they go. Offer words of encouragement. That’s it. And if you have been there before, tell them that too, because they may need your listening ear one day knowing that you get it. 

      I'm removing all expectations from myself and I'm simply doing it. "It" being life after January 11. I'm getting up. I'm going to work. I'm loving on the people around me. I'm tackling the to-do list. I'm crying when I need to crying. I turned my radio on today for the first time in 7 days. I turned my TV on for the first time last night in 6. It stayed on only for a few minutes. It was too much. But it went on.  I'm trying to weave myself back into your appreciation of cafe lattes. I'm trying to write thank you notes (Bear with me! It may take a bit!).  I am trying to smile when you tell me about your funny story. Sometimes you may get a blank stare because I still have two feet in that bubble, but I am taking walks around the bubble each day. Keep telling me the story. Keep drawing me back out. There is now a Before and there is now an After. I have no idea how to do this After. But just like there was “after mastectomy”, I mastered that, so I will master this too. It’s going to look different than any of us expect. It’s going to feel different. I’m already thinking different. Once you stare at the face of your 44 year old brother in a casket you don’t see anything the same ever again. Even God seems to have changed. He’s wiser. He’s stronger. He’s more intricate. He bring light to more truth. He makes life more full. He makes mercy more prevalent. He makes family more rich. Not that He’s more of those things, God has been and always will be the same, but rather my understanding of each has more depth. I’ve changed and with that God simply seems more. This I know, there are blessings that emerge out of complication, even in the death of Andy, and with that I move from Before to After and wherever God takes me we will go. 

      Joshua 1:9  Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go.”

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