Archive for June, 2009
Tonight I did some more work on the Latshaw’s basement. I was by myself so I had the chance to play whatever music I wanted. I decided to listen to some music that has been really integral to my grieving.
During the months that followed both Malachi’s and Hope’s deaths, I often found that in order to really connect with my feelings, I needed music. I don’t know what it is about music that does it, but my heart seems to open in ways that it doesn’t otherwise.
As a result of this, some songs (and even some bands) have come to have special meaning in and of themselves. Not only do they help me connect with my feelings, now they actually remind me of Hope and Malachi because I listened so much to the music during those first few months. There have been many times when I have just spent some time alone late and night listening to certain songs, crying, and missing them.
One of these bands is Mercy Me. I have heard some interviews with their lead singer in the past, and have heard his testimony of the struggles he had after losing his father. I’m not sure if it is that knowledge, or the actual content of his songs, or both – but his stuff just really speaks to me. When Malachi passed away my sister in law Heather gave us one of their songs, “Homsick,” which is a beautiful and devastating song.
As I got to know them more, “Keep Singing,” “Hold Fast,” “Bring the Rain,” “Undone,” and “Coming up to Breathe” have become particularly meaningful for me.
Sometimes for me, what I need to do is just have that connection through song. It just is part of how I grieve. I’ve come to learn that over the past few years. I think it’s amazing how powerful of a medium music is.
I’m wondering, have other people had the same experience with music? If so, what songs have helped you through hard times?
Last night our family attended the production of Godspell at our church. During the depiction of Jesus’ death, all three of my children began to cry – even sob. What a tough day for these little guys. It was already an emotional day since it was Hope’s birthday. We had taken some time that afternoon to visit her gravesite and leave some flowers. And now this.
Grieving with little children can be complicated in my opinion. With adults you can ask why they are sad. You can normally pinpoint – are you crying about this, or about that? With kids it’s totally different. Grief can come out in tears about something totally different like being upset about a game. Grief can manifest in anger, in bad attitudes, in clingy-ness. I sat down with all three of my children at some point after the show last night and tried to help them process.
All of my kids are so different. Mathea is still young, but we were able to talk a little about “the guy on the cross.” Elliot is my most “in touch with his emotions” kid. We talked at length about Jesus, Hope, death, and resurrection. It was great. Samuel is my most active. He is more likely to want to play than really talk. I’m learning his style and sometimes I feel like I get it right. Last night was like that.
While my other two kids came to me crying, Samuel went outside and played. Distraction. So I found him later on, and asked if we could walk together. We ended up walking to the swing set, and what I’m learning is to let him lead. So at first he started playing with this pulley – so I just started doing the same. All the while I’m asking him questions to help him open up.
Then he started to swing. So I started to swing :) And we talked. For a really long time. It was such a good talk. Samuel feels things so deeply. I think the whole thing was almost too much for him. So we talked at length about the play and what he liked. We talked about Hope and Jesus too. He wasn’t in a place to talk about the sadness, so that was ok. But at least he knows I was there to talk about it.
So I feel like I’m learning slowly. But grieving with kids is honestly challenging. I pray for wisdom to shepherd them through this time. I am inspired by their resilience and their maturity at such a young age. And challenged as an adult to feel the depth of sorrow for Christ’s death that they felt last night. Truly this is what Jesus was referring to when he said we need to come to him “as little children.”
Two years ago today we held our second stillborn child in our arms and said goodbye.
Her name is Hope.
I’ve been contemplating what to write all day, honestly, and the words just aren’t coming. We visited her grave today. I listened to some music that reminds me of her. We talked as a family about her life now with Jesus.
It was strange, I felt myself almost missing the deep intense form of grief that comes in the weeks and months that follow a loss. I’m still grieving now, but it takes different shapes and forms over time. But there’s something about that immediate grief that almost feels more “connected.” Maybe it’s because I never had the chance to create any living memories with her, but that grief makes me feel closer to her somehow.
In therapy I have walked through every moment of that day, and the day two days prior when we found out. When your life is so completely shocked, you lose some piece of your innocence. The feelings that good things happen to good people, that things happen for a reason, that bad things happen to others…all of these came crashing down. And what’s more, most of them have remained down even after two years.
Because of Hope, I see the world differently. I see my faith, my relationship with my kids and Mandy, my relationships with others – all differently. Hope has taught me to value and cherish, to the best of my ability, every single moment with the people I love. Because nothing is guaranteed. And that scares me to death. One way I’ve chosen to respond to that, is to purposefully live every moment and every relationship to the fullest.
My kids will know that I love them. Mandy will know that she is first in my life. I will make room for the important things in life, and try to minimalize the unimportant’s hold on my time and energy.
Hope. She never spoke a word to me, kissed my cheek, or even breathed in my presence. And yet she has forever changed my life and my worldview. I’ve committed to living my life worthy of knowing and being the dad of Malachi and Hope. I can only pray to live up to it.
I’m exhausted and unable to write much because I am currently in the middle of our annual soccer camp! Every year I run free soccer camps to help serve our community through our church. This year we’ve had a banner year. I have 80 kids right now. Next week I have 60 5-8 year olds coming in the mornings, and so I added another session in the evening. That one is almost full at 50 kids!
What’s even crazier is that I didn’t advertise at all hardly! This was all word of mouth. Crazy.
But I am tired. I don’t if it’s waking up earlier every day, being in the sun for four hours straight, not sitting down all day, or what – but soccer camp just drains me.
So I’m off to bed!
What a great day. I don’t have much time to write tonight, but I wanted to post two pics from today. We went geocaching at White Clay Creek today. We actually never found the geocache, but we ended up becoming immersed in this amazing trail. It was really small, so we had to walk single-file, and the overgrowth was tremendous. We were truly walking right into the heart of the forest.
We walked on this path for about 20 minutes before coming to clearing at a field. We then proceeded to walk on this mowed path in the field, and then eventually onto another trail into the forest. After over an hour I began to worry that we’d have to double back. We assumed it would just come out ok, but we were just getting deeper and deeper into the forest. We found some new stream-lets and tons of beautiful wild flowers.
And then all of the sudden, we were out! We found Creek Rd and walked it back to our car. It was amazing. Here are two pics.
Here we are at a little streamlet we found. It was so muddy!
Just hanging out on fathers day :)
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