It's been over a year since I've written anything on this blog. The last entry was on September 11 of last year. I had planned on keeping the blog going by posting at least every couple of months or so. Truth be told, I had planned on doing a lot of things. But on December 5, 2013 everything changed. And I mean EVERYTHING.
As many of you reading this know, both my mother in-law and my father in-law, Charles and Frances Galloway, tragically lost their lives in a car accident on December 5, 2013. As of this writing, a full year has passed. It is almost unimaginable that it's been a year - and what a year it has been.
Let me say that I'm not writing this to gain sympathy. If you're reading this and you know someone who has experienced loss, please understand that your thoughts and sympathy, while certainly a nice gesture, really don't help in the grand scheme of things. But if you truly care for those that have lost loved ones, pray for them. Its your prayers that have the power to change everything.
I know that many people have lost loved ones (myself included as my father passed away in 2011, succumbing to lung cancer). I'm certainly not trying to say that our losses are greater, lesser, or more profound than anyone else's. I'm sharing in hopes that others who are grieving may somehow be encouraged by our story. I want them to know that they're not alone. I want them to know that its okay to grieve, and that its okay to hurt, and its okay to run the gamut of emotions too often uncontrollable. Its okay to mourn, its okay to cry, and its okay to take as much time as you need. For us, it's been a year, but in many ways, the pain is just as fresh today as it was one year ago. It is the type of pain that will never truly go away. One of the biggest lies ever told is that time heals all wounds. No, it doesn't. Time is simply distance; the pain will forever be real for those who experience the loss of loved ones. Problem is, most people don't understand that - let's face it, the majority of people don't experience sudden and tragic loss. However, we live in a society in which we are instructed to hide pain. We learn from an early age that when someone asks how you're doing, the proper answer is "I'm doing just fine!", when in actuality, nothing could be further from the truth. Truth be told, we default to the "fine" answer for one reason - we know that the person asking really doesn't want to hear about our pain. Think about it, when you ask someone how they're doing, do you REALLY want to know? Or is it simply a way of greeting someone?
I pray that everyone who reads this understands that tragic loss is something you cannot understand unless you experience it. This cannot be overemphasized. You may think you understand what someone is going through, but you don't understand unless you've experienced it (and even then, individual grief doesn't fit neatly into a one-size-fits-all mold). It is from this lack of understanding that otherwise well-meaning people can cause even more hurt to the grieving. For example, we have heard the whispers of those who have said "They should be over it by now" (I say whispers because its never been said directly to us, of course). It's obvious that anyone who could say that has not experienced tragic loss (and I pray that they never do). PLEASE never, ever say this about or to someone who is grieving - it shows ignorance of grief and the grieving process, and it is a highly offensive statement to make to anyone who is grieving. Don't be that guy/girl.
Certainly the world in which we live is wrought with tragedy. It happens. People die, sometimes in sudden and tragic ways. Of course, you're never ready when tragedy strikes, and there is never a good time to receive such terrible news. There is no preparation, no advanced warning, and no manual for how to deal with picking up the pieces. And one year ago today, tragedy struck our family. And just as gravity is inescapable and unrelenting when falling into a hole, we were plunged headlong into overwhelming grief, debilitating shock, indescribable confusion, and questions to which there would come no answers.
Oh, those questions.
We asked them to God. Our beautiful little girls (who ADORED their grandparents) asked us those questions. The most frustrating thing for me was trying so hard to help my girls and my wife to understand what could not be understood. I was yearning to take away their pain, yet all the while experiencing the impossible frustration of seeking to understand the incomprehensible.
There were so many difficult times over the past year, but for me personally, one of the hardest was going through and gathering up Charles and Frances' personal belongings and trying to comprehend the reality of what had happened to them. The jarring reality that they would not return to their home that they had built for a lifetime is one the heart refuses to accept. It cannot accept that the chair in the dining room, left moved away from the table, would never be pushed back up by the person who moved it. The tractors on which Charles loved to work would never be used by him again. The small beauty shop, right beside the house in which Frances worked her magic - where folks in the community would come to get their hair cut, permed, and trimmed - would never be used again. That little building was almost always filled with laughter and story telling, as men and women young and old would come to Country Curl Beauty Salon and talk about, well, just about anything! Topics included what was happening in the community, politics, religion; I'm pretty sure that 95% of what ails this country right now was solved in that little building! It was so full of life! But on December 5, it was eerily quiet. As were the house, the farm, the barns. I'll never forget the overwhelming sensation that the house, the beauty shop, the farm, the livestock, the equipment...ALL of it, was simply waiting. Waiting patiently for their return, waiting for them to return to their life. These inanimate objects proudly proclaimed their life story, painting a picture of two hard-working people that had achieved what all of us want, really - a good place in life. They had no sooner reached that place...
The funeral was a blur. It seemed like the whole town came to pay their respects and offer condolences. Story after story of how Charles and Frances had impacted others' lives. Stories that neither myself nor Amanda knew about them that testified to the type of people they were. Stories that we'll cherish and remember forever. Christmas came and went. I remember very little of last Christmas...only numbness. Pour on a heavy dose of things like legalities, seemingly endless calls to and from insurance adjusters forcing us to relive the events surrounding the accident, sleepless nights of crying and pain (when sleep did come, waking to realize that it wasn't a dream). In the midst of it all, my wife had her demanding teaching career, I had a church to lead, and oh, by the way, here's a beef producing farm operation that we've got to run. No training. No warning. Figure it out...and now! The world didn't stop with the accident. It sped up.
We had and still have some wonderful people around us that have helped us through, and for those folks we are forever grateful. But I have to say that the most wonderful person I've ever known (this side of Jesus Himself) is my beautiful wife, Amanda. She is my hero; having been so incredibly strong through this. She has steadfastly pointed people to Jesus when they ask, "How are you getting through this?" On her Facebook page, she has faithfully shared helpful article after helpful article on how to experience grief, all while being extremely transparent with her feelings, and her faith. She has been there for our children like only mommy can, holding them in her arms as they cried themselves to sleep, missing GiGi and Poppie. She has continued to show others Christ in her, even though she lost SO much that day. She is an only child, and she had a GREAT relationship with her parents. They were extremely close in all facets of life. Her parents adored their daughter, and she adored them in return, having become a living testament to who they were. To have them BOTH torn from her life at the age of 35 is something I can't understand. But you know what?
I don't have to understand.
Phillipians 4:7, Paul speaks of "the peace of God which surpasses all understanding". This scripture tells me that God's peace goes far beyond our ability to understand things in our life. It was when we realized this that true healing began. What I have learned about all this, and through our process of grief, is that I'd much rather have God's peace than to understand why this had to happen. I came to realize that even if we did understand it, understanding doesn't have the power or the ability to bring us comfort. But God's peace sure does. If you are grieving, I pray that you will allow God to fill you with His peace, and with His love.
Jesus said "Blessed are they that mourn, for they WILL be comforted." It's okay to mourn over a wound that will not heal this side of heaven. And when you struggle with the pain of your loss, please remember this: if this life were always comfortable, we'd have no need for The Comforter.
Chad
