There are days I choose to look back. Not because I want to wallow in self-pity but because those days are just significant in our lives. Below you will find my blog posts from the first anniversary of Bethany and Katie’s burial and then the second anniversary. Today, I really don’t have anything to add. Some of the memories are fading. That’s not an entirely good thing. . .
Flashback – Anniversary of the Funeral
A year ago today Bethany and Katie were laid to rest. January 4, 2014, runs through my mind in bits and pieces like a slideshow of still photos – moments captured in my mind – interspersed with video-like footage – blurred images alongside others in sharp focus.
Memories of personal encounters during the visitation – my college roommate’s husband standing before me unashamed as tears fell from his eyes – impossibly young friends, teachers and school nurses extending sympathy – friends who had driven several hours, many of whom hadn’t seen us in almost ten years – a man who only identified himself as “a friend”. Bethany’s broken-hearted boyfriend and his equally broken-hearted mother standing alongside her sister and the soft pink tulips (Bethany’s favorite flower) we cherished.
Pastor Wes and Lisa meeting with us just prior to the start of the service. The comfort and blessing provided by the presence and participation of Bill Boren, our Pastor from Kansas City and long-time friend, who had performed our son’s funeral twenty plus years before. The music and message.
The sight of those two flower draped caskets standing in the cold air at staggered heights one in front of the other, the cemetery chapel providing a fitting backdrop at the graveside service. How I wish I’d taken a picture of that starkly beautiful, sobering and painful view.
The luncheon that followed – and the hospitality the church ladies extended in inviting and making welcome the numerous international students Bethany had befriended at UCA.
The discovery of the stroke my oldest brother suffered leaving him hospitalized at Northwest Regional.
The dark drive back to Little Rock with my crazy brother who was insanely willing to spend three hours on the road with us all because he wanted thirty minutes with Gracen before taking upon himself the responsibility of driving Bethany’s car another three hours back to Bentonville, in what had become inclement weather, before driving on to Tulsa planning to catch a flight home that same night.
Today was a day of bittersweet flashbacks of well remembered, sharply-edged pain, gently buffed smooth and soft by hugs of comfort and sorrow shared between friends and family. Yes, a year ago today Bethany and Katie were laid to rest and tonight Gracen will drift off to sleep in her over-sized Pineville Fire and Rescue t-shirt.
January 4, 2016
The alarm rings and David and I rise. This is not our home, not our room, not our en suite bathroom. How could we stay there without a single one of our girls?
We hit the showers and iron clothes and dress in fine, dark clothes befitting the occasion before slicing a pill in half and taking turns swallowing the pieces down. The room is bright but our hearts are not.
We pack up our things and exit heading off to do the thing we least want to do but cannot bear not to. It is January 4, 2014, and it is chilly out. Another day of moving cement encased feet, one in front of another. It’s day ten.
We arrive at the church and head to the sanctuary where we are greeted and hugged by longtime family friends, Jack and Sherry Erisman and their grown and married daughter, Maryann. We turn and enter the darkened and silent sanctuary; empty but for two identical flower-draped caskets, and pictures of our smiling daughters standing alongside. We walk slowly forward where I lay a hand first on one, and then the other casket, thankful we chose the bright, vibrant sprays of flowers, so reflective of Bethany and Katie in life.
I don’t want to be here! No, that’s not right. I don’t want to have reason to be here. I wish the nightmare would end. Wish I’d awake to find we’re pulling into our driveway ten days prior, December 26, 2013, at 3:15 in the afternoon. That’s the time we would have arrived home had we not encountered Troy Robins. Wish I could watch my three daughters, my impatient dog, O’rane and David climb from the van, stretch and tumble into the house dragging blankets, pillows, electronics and suitcases along with them. If only I could rewrite that day! If only . . .
Instead, Pastor Wes George and his wife Lisa join us and we prepare for the visitation that will be held before the funeral begins. David and I stand facing the rear of the sanctuary, to the right of the caskets which will not be open for viewing. Ten days is too long. And then the doors open and people begin lining up to share our sorrow and express their condolences.
That half-pill erased most of my anxiety over strangers and reporters. Simple gratitude remained for those who patiently waited to hug us and tell us of their prayers on our behalf – for those who stooped to place a shoulder beneath the cross we struggled to carry that day and the nine before. My focus was narrow. The person before me, David to my left and Bethany then Katie to my right.
It was time. Pastor and Lisa drew us back into the choir room behind the platform at the front of the sanctuary, gave us last minute instructions, inquired as to how we were holding up and gave us a moment to take a deep breath before the girls final service began. And the music started – “He’s Been Faithful to Me”.
We reentered the sanctuary and took our seats huddling together, holding hands and focusing on the music and the brief synopsis of our girls’ far too brief lives. Clinging to scriptures of faith and hope – scriptures of our loving God and an eternal future for our girls and for ourselves.
All too soon we were loaded into a car and driven to the cemetery where we found the girls’ caskets set at staggered heights with Hunt Chapel serving as a fitting backdrop for the faith we profess. A few final words were spoken, and then . . . we turned our backs and walked away, my heals wobbling and sinking into the grass as we crossed the expanse of lawn back to the car. We left our girls for the last time – the last time – in that beautiful and cold cemetery where nothing and no one would ever hurt them again. Oh, the agony of it!
My only regret is that I do not have a picture of the graveside service. The tent with friends standing and seated, the staggered flower topped caskets, the chapel and David and I standing before it all. It’s an important, albeit devastating moment of our lives. I’d like to have that moment under glass so I can slide my finger over it as I remember the beauty of the place, the beauty of the sorrow, and the beauty of broken hearts. Broken hearts are beautiful. They reflect raw love in the wake of incomprehensible loss.
I remember that day in graphic detail. The ride back to the church, the meal served upstairs for friends and family, the international students in attendance, the ladies who served lunch. I remember padding downstairs in stocking feet to load up plants and flowers to take to the hospital hoping to brighten Gracen’s room, hoping to share her sisters’ last day with her and so I could hold onto their beauty and fragrance until they were no more. I remember saying goodbye to family, changing clothes in a bathroom stall, a quick stop home and driving back to Little Rock. I remember the vast relief of seeing and touching Gracen again – still breathing – Thank God she was still breathing!
And as tears roll down my cheeks, I remember that day as if I am walking through it again on weighted feet with leaden heart as keening sounds claw their way up my throat to tightly clamped teeth and lips holding back the shrieks of pain and sorrow in deference to the now twenty year-old girl who lies on the sofa in the other room; oblivious to my journey down memory lane.
Yes, I remember that day as if it were yesterday. I think it will forever feel like yesterday.
January 5, 2017 at 5:21 am
I can’t “like” this because reading it I am transported back to our good-bye for Dominic as well. But you’re right-we absolutely need to purpose to remember. We need to remember the awfulness of that day as well as the beauty of grace and mercy showered on us by others when we could barely put one foot in front of the other. We never “forget” but sometimes need to pull out the details and sharpen the images. These are defining moments that have shaped and continue to shape who we are right now.
I sometimes wonder how or if God will show us the beauty from the ashes of those days. Will those threads be as prominent in the finished tapestry of our life story as they appear to us? Or will they be only a tiny fraction of what He’s been weaving all along?
Thank you for sharing your heart. I hate that we share this burden, but I am thankful for another honest traveler.
January 5, 2017 at 12:30 pm
I think it would be nice to see the tapestry of our lives when we get to heaven and also to be able to see the ways our lives impact the tapestry of another’s life. Sometimes we feel so alone and yet I know there have been defining moments in my life – moments of spiritual revelation, wisdom, and understanding that have made permanent changes in the way I live, think and love others. Can you imagine one large tapestry, with colors so unique that each color is representative of a single life, that reflects how all of mankind has been affected by each individual life. That would be a sight to behold!
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January 5, 2017 at 5:22 pm
That’s mind-blowing Janet.
January 5, 2017 at 7:39 am
These anniversaries are so painful, so difficult. Crying, Screaming, and praying with you. Hugs.
January 5, 2017 at 12:32 pm
Thank you, Nancy. I appreciate the many ways you’ve chosen to share in my sorrows. It’s different than the simple acknowledgement of one’s sufferings. It’s yoking up with another hurting soul and that is a beautiful thing!
January 5, 2017 at 12:34 pm
Thank you, Janet. Without you, Melanie and so many others, I would be lost and alone. Thank you.
January 5, 2017 at 12:37 pm
I’m glad we can all be there for you! No one should walk this path alone – and with Christ we never do; but I’m so thankful for those who serve as the hands and feet of Christ by loving, serving, and ministering to each one of us. God Bless you, Nancy!
January 5, 2017 at 10:51 am
January 5, 2017 at 12:33 pm
Thank you for faithfully reading my blog posts and for sending hugs. I appreciate you!
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January 5, 2017 at 11:24 am
I only “like” this so you know I’ve read it.
Oh, the memories are so painful but the sharing and the telling are so healing and comforting at the same time. It’s needed and necessary, but oh so painful. Tears, hugs and prayers for you.
January 5, 2017 at 12:35 pm
You’re so right, Roger. The sharing and telling leads to healing. The weight is lifted off one’s shoulders and shared by another. That is comforting!
January 5, 2017 at 12:45 pm
It’s also comforting to have other sufferers along in this so we don’t feel so alone. Being able to lift each other. Just knowing someone else is walking beside us is so comforting. Not only christ but my brothers and sisters.
January 5, 2017 at 12:50 pm
Exactly! Do you have a support group near you? There’s a WWW support group here in NW Arkansas. Those walking this path with me have supported and encouraged me in so many ways. They get the unvarnished me! I hope you have a handful of such friends!
January 5, 2017 at 1:55 pm
Yes, we’re going to our local Compassionate Friends group. We haven’t made any friends in the group just yet, but we’re getting there. We started this last June. It’s been helpful. My wife really likes it. I also do TCF online chat. I like it. No WWW groups here in El Paso, Texas. There are several GriefShare groups but there are so far away and the times are bad for us.
January 5, 2017 at 3:51 pm
Are you on the WWW Facebook page? Sorry, I’m drawing a blank here! I’m glad you found Compassionate Friends. You might look into getting the Grief Share workbook and going through it with your wife or maybe getting some Compassionate Friends to do it with you. Actually, I think you can do it online too.
January 5, 2017 at 5:27 pm
No I’m not on the www Facebook group. I was for a little while but got off to help out with the group I help moderate. Mainly just help the two ladies with technical issues. I hadn’t thought of just getting the work book and going through it from grief share. I’ll look into it. If they have it online I would do that.
January 6, 2017 at 8:38 am
I’m pretty sure they have a Facebook page as well. If you try it, I hope it ministers to you and your wife comfort and encouragement. I keep reminding myself that Reunion Day is drawing ever nearer!
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