Unpacking While Packing...

My family is moving this week. We're moving back out to Mom and Dad's old farmhouse in Walnut Grove. My mom vacated the premises after her stroke a couple of years ago, and since then the place has fallen into dire disrepair.

We're on a time crunch, as we have agreed to vacate our current house by Sunday. Therefore, all the cleanup of the old farmhouse has to be done each evening after I get off work and we'll move our belongings over there on Saturday and Sunday.

We spent a good portion of yesterday cleaning out the house. Being out in the country, when there was no human movement, the mice took up residence in force. In response to the population boom in rodents, the snakes moved in thinking it was a smörgåsbord of  furry little creatures. So, we're finding empty rodent nests, droppings, and snakeskin all over the house. It's quite an undertaking to clear it all out and make it livable, a task which my wife has shown great fortitude in attacking. I've been under the weather for a couple of days, so yesterday's physical labor was less than stellar on my part.

As I'm going through the items in the house, I'm uncovering a lot of memories of my mom and dad. Faithful readers and friends will know that my dad was killed in a tractor accident on the farm in October of 2005. Though it's been nearly a decade, sometimes the memories of my father are overwhelming, as is the sense of loss. It's not as if I'm walking around in a grief-stricken daze. It's simply that sometimes the emotions wash over me and I miss my dad more than the average day.

Apparently, delving into all the personal effects around the house have triggered these emotions, not just in waves, but in tsunamis. I find myself becoming very sullen and quiet as the liquid grief washes through my soul. Yesterday I came across Dad's wallet. It was a weird sensation opening my dad's billfold and seeing his ordination card and ID in there. It's impossible to describe the feeling as I looked at it.

Rather than being a debilitating factor in my life, though, I've found that thoughts of my father bring me joy. Yes, there's the pain of loss and the loneliness that comes with wishing I could be with him and talk to him about life. However, I think back to the laughter he brought, to the tangible change he wrought in so many lives and I have to smile.

I have such a rich heritage. I had the privilege of watching my mom and dad pour themselves into the lives of countless people over the years. I had the dumbfoundingly awesome experience of seeing, first-hand, what a true heart of ministry and service was. My dad wasn't perfect. He'd be the first to say it. But through trials and tests, his character and commitment to Christ were always evident.

As I look at his belongings, the only physical remnants I have of his existence, I smile with blurry eyes. My dad loved me, and I him. My dad loved God and served Him until his dying day. My dad cherished my mother. He was a hard worker at everything he did. And, even when there was little recognition of his service, he still did it... because it was right.

I miss my dad, but I look forward to embracing him in eternity.

The Things We Say...

Recently, I became aware of a family who had announced to their friends and family that they were expecting a baby.  Such joyous news!  But then, right after announcing the pregnancy, they suffered a miscarriage.  The wife posted a heartfelt blog entry about it, explaining the situation and her deep sense of loss.

My heart breaks for this family.  I know the pain that comes with loss.

One of the things that fascinate me about social networking is how obvious it becomes that people are oblivious to what they read. People have responded to her blog post in some of the most insensitive ways.  It reminded me of some of the things people said to my family and me after my father was suddenly killed in an accident.

People often don't know what to say when someone has suffered a loss.  It can be awkward and uncomfortable.  Often, people parrot the same cliches they've heard all their lives.  These words are intended as a form of comfort, but usually add to the suffering.

So... as a public service to those who have been fortunate enough to have avoided suffering serious loss in their own lives, I have decided to bring to your attention certain phrases and statements that should be avoided if you find yourself speaking to the victim of such a tragedy.

1. He/She's in a better place.  Please don't say this.  To a person who has just lost a loved one, this phrase adds insult to injury.  The surviving members of the family are wounded, and wounded people are often incapable of thinking in the abstract.  The person to whom you are talking is trying to deal with deep personal pain.  They are trying to comprehend their loss and how in the world they are going to live their lives without their loved-one.  To say the deceased is in a better place comes across as calloused and insensitive.  They want their loved-one with them, and their emotional turmoil often prohibits them from grasping the simplistic truth you're trying to convey.
2. Everything happens for a reason.  Oh boy.  Explain to me how my father flipping over on a tractor and crushing himself to death in front of my mother could possibly be "for a reason."  Actually, don't.  Because if you try to do so while I'm in the midst of my unexpected grief, you'll be driving the dagger deeper into my heart and twisting.  Please don't be like the ignorant and seemingly heartless man who told me that my father had probably been killed so that I would move to Missouri and lead worship in a particular church.  There are no words for this kind of insensitivity.
3. In the case of a miscarriage:  You know, one in four pregnancies end in miscarriage.  That wounded parent doesn't care about statistics!  How about this for a statistic.  Everybody dies. Do you want me to say that to you when you've lost the person who is dearest in your life?  Would that be comforting?  No, that would make me a heartless beast.  Yes, death is common.  However, it is not common to the person suffering the loss.  Think.  Think.  Think.  "Even the fool, when he is silent, people will think he's wise."
4. Also in the case of a miscarriage:  You'll be good parents someday.  Really?  And what is stopping me from being a good parent today?  Oh, the death of my baby?  Yeah, maybe the reason my baby died is because I wouldn't be a good parent right now.  
5. You can try again later.  I don't know about you, but the last thing on my mind when Krystal and I had a miscarriage was, "hey, we can try again."  Seriously, this was not just a simple mishap to us, and it isn't to other parents, either.  This wasn't my favorite team losing the playoffs.  It was a baby dying.  Please recognize the importance of the event in the person's life.

If you notice some sense of hostility in my writing, you're right.  This topic touches a nerve with me.  As you know, I lost my father in a tragic accident.  When I was suffering from that, I realized how hollow and meaningless the things people say can be.  Krystal and I have also suffered the loss of a child through miscarriage.  Those wounds cut deep.  We, fortunately, hadn't announced the pregnancy to anyone--a fact that saved us the heartache of everyone we know trying to comfort us with canned responses.  Those who found out about it did, in fact, use some of the same phrases listed above.

There are those, though, who are exceptionally sensitive to a mourner's plight.  When my dad died, there was a young minister who came to sit with Mom.  He hugged her and sat with her silently.  He simply held her hand and sat silently, letting her know that he was there to support her in her time of loss.  This young man showed more wisdom than the hundreds who thought it necessary to fill the silence with hollow words.

My words may sound harsh.  If so, I apologize.  If they offend you, it's probably because you haven't experienced first hand the loss of a dear one.  Please take my words to heart.  The wisest comforters are those who sit silently, offering their presence as support, and not their words.