I sat alone at my laptop, with the chilly early morning hours still holding tightly to the nighttime darkness outside.  The rest of my family still slumbered upstairs while I sipped my first cup of coffee and quickly typed up a brief email to my son’s teacher.  It was picture day at his school and I needed  to make her aware that the necessary form and payment were safely tucked inside his communication binder.

I signed my name and sent the email without much thought, but as I took another sip of coffee, it hit me like a crashing wave.

This is technically my son’s senior year but yet, it isn’t.  I just wrote his name and address in capital letters onto that tiny form that the school portrait photographer sends out every year, sealed a check inside, all the while hoping and praying for a school picture where my son does not looked distressed or anxious.  Maybe even a picture with him smiling.  Maybe this will be the year.

His reality does not match the reality of others his age who are getting their senior portraits taken in anticipation of their high school graduation.

In that moment, it hit so hard and so quickly that it caught me off-guard.

Grief.

Another milestone is passing by…

And I could only sit alone in the silence as hot tears flowed unchecked and the grief threatened to overwhelm one more time.

 

Grief is not my favorite topic to discuss and it most definitely is not something I have ever handled very well.  Whatever I end up writing here, it will simply follow my pattern of thought as I continue to ponder the grieving process as it relates to my journey … in this case, the autism part of the journey.

When I first brought Ty home from the hospital, I was already a jittery, unsure mother.  He had arrived a few weeks too early and had stopped breathing after birth.  Bringing him home six days later, was one of the sweetest, yet most frightening, days of my life.  He was not an easy baby and cried more than I thought possible, but I adored him and was so grateful to be his mother.

I dutifully took him to each well-child check up with his Pediatrician and checked off each little milestone on the paper they gave me at each appointment.  I took him to get his picture taken every few months and loved dressing him up in the cutest little outfits.

I happily joined a local moms group and enjoyed sharing the challenges and joys of the early days of motherhood with these other ladies.  I was sure I had found my place … my group … my tribe.

This was the life I had been waiting a lifetime to live.

It wasn’t the easiest of times because there were many other difficulties in life but I coped with those heartaches by pouring all my heart into this little boy of mine with the contagious smile and beautiful blue eyes.

Eventually, however, things began to change.

When I took him to the Pediatrician, I had fewer and fewer milestone markers to check off.  Concern began highlighting those appointment as I watched him lag further and further behind.

I still attended those moms groups but I began to notice a separation as my child struggled towards reaching the most basic of milestones while the other children flourished on together.  The challenges and joys the other mothers shared no longer matched what I was experiencing and no one seemed to understand that my child was different … my experience was different.

We still went to church but the differences showed there as well as he hyper-focused on certain toys, lining them up over and over, an often vacant stare in his eyes.

And that was all before the behaviors, elopement, night terrors, and chronic sleep deprivation began.

Not to mention the arrival of additional siblings.

Everything in life changed and everything that I had always known and wanted no longer fit.

For that matter, neither did I.

 

As I have watched grief play out over the years in the lives of others and in my own life, I have come  to realize that our experiences in life, our faith and understanding of God, our worldview, our support systems (or lack thereof), and our personalities are all contributing factors to how we grieve.

I have watched people walk through significant losses and I have learned that the way we grieve is incredibly personal.

Everyone handles it differently.

I don’t know that there is a right or wrong way to grieve …

As long as you truthfully allow yourself to grieve.

As for me, I find grief to be very difficult waters to navigate.

Waters I prefer to avoid completely.

But I am coming to understand that how we grieve and how we walk alongside others who grieve can have a powerful effect … both positive and negative.

In the early years of Ty’s diagnosis, I was lost in a sea of grief, but I didn’t know how to grieve.  I did not know how to cope with the diagnosis or how challenging life was to become.  My faith was weak and my understanding of who God is was based on a very shaky foundation.  I did not have a strong support system and the comments made and the silent distance from others reinforced my inability to acknowledge the loss and grieve in a healthy manner.

I do remember feeling guilty.

I eventually stopped talking and I stopped allowing myself to feel much of anything.

I didn’t grieve.

I birthed two more precious babies.  I literally never slept.

I tried my best.  I failed a lot.

I kept them all alive, fed, and clothed.  All things considered, that is significant.

I loved them deeply…

Even if I didn’t know how to love them well.

I worked hard and threw myself into busyness … anything to keep from ‘feeling’.

I advocated for Ty.  I took my children in church.  I did the whole ‘autism awareness’ thing.  I lost three loved ones very precious to me.  I journeyed on through a challenging and lonely marriage.  I struggled deeply with depression.

But I didn’t grieve.

Not for any of it.

Grief must have its due, however.  It must serve its purpose.

Without grief, there can never be healing.

Or so I’ve been told.

“We have to account for the things lost.”

Over the course of this last year or so, there has been a lot of grieving.

God, in His infinite wisdom, allowed the shaky foundation of faith from my youthful years to be destroyed and now He is rebuilding me on a solid foundation of His truth.

I have learned that God will back me into a corner until I honestly look at the sorrows of life, acknowledge the losses, cry the tears, and give it all to Him.

He is my support system.

I still don’t like grief and if I could, I would outrun it forever.

But this time, when I experienced the sense of loss in those early morning hours, I cried the tears of grief…

and then I wiped the tears away and did the only thing I really know how to do anymore.

I cared for my children …

I fulfilled the obligations of the day …

and I looked to Jesus.

 

 “The Lord is near to the brokenhearted
And saves those who are crushed in spirit.”
Psalm 34:18

 

There is an interesting dynamic that can happen when a child of God allows herself to experience the process of grief.  Grief actually draws me closer to my Savior.  The chronic grief and stress of raising a child with significant, life-long needs and challenges is often overwhelming to me, especially when one takes into account the other realities of life.   As I age and I  become more aware of my own weakness and constant fatigue, the more I recognize my need of Christ.

This life I have must be lived through Him.

I lift the eyes of my heart and I see the Man of Sorrows crucified, risen, and advocating on my behalf before the Father and I realize that He gets this.  He understands.

The world may expect me to be an autism warrior and blaze new trails.  The Christian community may expect me to be strong, always smile, and only share the successes of hard-won battles.

But Jesus.

Jesus knows and is filled with compassion on the days that I need to grieve.

He is … “A man of sorrows and acquainted with grief…”
Isaiah 53:3

 

He may not bring a casserole for supper on those evenings when I am too weary to prepare anything more than a grilled cheese sandwich for my children’s supper but … He is the Bread of Life.

For the bread of God is the bread that comes down from heaven and gives life to the world. 

“Sir,” they said, “always give us this bread.”

Then Jesus declared, “I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never go hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty.
John 6:33-35

 

 

He may not sit across from me to share a cup of coffee and meaningful conversation but … He is the source of living water.

 Jesus answered her, “If you knew the gift of God and who it is that asks you for a drink, you would have asked him and he would have given you living water.”

 “Sir,” the woman said, “you have nothing to draw with and the well is deep. Where can you get this living water?  Are you greater than our father Jacob, who gave us the well and drank from it himself, as did also his sons and his livestock?”

Jesus answered, “Everyone who drinks this water will be thirsty again, but whoever drinks the water I give them will never thirst. Indeed, the water I give them will become in them a spring of water welling up to eternal life.”
John 4:10-14

 

He may not offer a physical hug, hold my hand, or share a much needed verbal word of encouragement, but … He is the breath of life and my source of strength.

“The Spirit of God has made me, and the breath of the Almighty gives me life.”
Job 33:4

 And He has said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for power is perfected in weakness.” Most gladly, therefore, I will rather boast about my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may dwell in me. Therefore I am well content with weaknesses, with insults, with distresses, with persecutions, with difficulties, for Christ’s sake; for when I am weak, then I am strong.
2 Corinthians 12:9,10

Grief is a personal journey that each of us will make repeatedly over the course of our lives.  This is what I am learning on my journey …

There is healing to be found and freedom to be experienced when we lay those losses at the foot of the cross that once held the Man of Sorrows.

At the cross, those losses can begin to heal.

Healing can lead to change.

Over time, small changes can lead to steady growth.

The kind of growth that will transform our lives and and touch the lives of others.

It all happens at the cross.

“Therefore comfort one another with these words.”
1 Thessalonians 4:18