If asked to describe in one word my feelings toward parenting our surviving children it would have to be…

Helpless.

From the  moment you welcome your sweet, heavenly bundle of joy into the world you begin the lifelong process of parenting.  You love them, care for their physical needs, bandage their wounds and fiercely guard and protect them from the evils of the world.  In our own home, we have taken extra measures to preserve our children’s innocence for as long as possible.  We homeschool, don’t have cable, and spend a lot of time  enjoying nature and one another.

My children have always been aware that suffering and evil exist on some level.  We have prayed as a family for an end to abortion, for sick babies, for families that I encountered in Guatemala who literally live in garbage dumps.  We’ve talked about wars and martyrs in our homeschooling.  They know that life-threatening diseases exist and accidents occur.  From the time they were small, I have told them all about their uncle Chris, my brother, who died in a car accident before they were born at the age of fifteen.

As with any family, life has not always been smooth sailing.  We’ve parented through miscarriages, difficult pregnancies, premature babies, transatlantic moves, minor illnesses, and broken bones.  They have faced the death of a stepgrandfather.  Although these were certainly difficult seasons, the trajectory of our family life was not drastically altered.  Our children felt safe and secure and we have always been able to pick up and carry on as before despite the bump in the road.  We have always instinctively known how to help our children and keep them safe.

But when Evie died, all of that sheltering and instinctive parenting went out the window.

My sweet and innocent little girls saw their beloved sister die before their eyes with no warning or explanation.  My son’s world came crashing down as he came face to face with his own mortality.  They discovered that horrible things don’t just happen to other people…they happen to us.  All of that talk about safety precautions like wearing your seat belt, bike helmets, and healthy eating means nothing when you see your sister drop dead at a piano recital.

Your world is no longer safe and life just doesn’t make sense.

The pain of losing a child is indescribable and the pain of watching your children grieve as you stand by helplessly is excruciating.  There’s nothing I can say or do to take away their pain.  I can’t bring back Eden’s best friend and mentor, Micaiah’s little sister and Cecilia’s second mommy.

Parenting through such catastrophic loss is like groping in the dark, grasping at straws, navigating dark waters.  Grief is the strongest, and most confusing emotion that exists and the grief of a child is anything but direct and obvious.  It manifests itself in fear, sadness, and anger in unexpected ways.

The girls are often afraid to sleep in their beds at night.  They fear their own death or the death of someone else they love.  We have to be very careful about exposing them to any type of tragedy in the world lest they worry about leaving the house.  They are often contemplating the hidden dangers lurking around every corner.  The circumstances surrounding Evie’s death have added an additional element of fear and uncertainty.  Every time they have any kind of ache or pain they inquire about it and sometimes phantom symptoms show up.  All the kids worry about Gabriel’s safety.  He’s their sunshine and joy on the dark days and they are keenly aware that joy can turn to sorrow in an instant.

Sometimes grief looks like anger in many different forms.  They wonder why God would have even created us knowing we would bring sin and evil into the world.  They bicker and fight at times and isolate themselves from the rest of the family.  Little ones misbehave to get attention.  Doors are slammed and angry words are spoken.  Disappointment abounds when feelings are hurt and words misunderstood.

Often anger turns to pervasive sadness.  We must hold them while they cry.  Oh how I wish it were due to a scraped knee or disappointing friendship!  The other day Cecilia was becoming frustrated with me over some schoolwork she wanted to do.  She ran off.  When I found her, she cried, “I wish Evie was here.”  In that moment, she recognized that I was just not doing things the way Evie would have done them.  I held her in my arms as she cried and cried and another sword pierced my heart.  There are certainly tears but sometimes I recognize it as the lonely look in Eden’s eyes when a five year-old sister is just not the ideal playmate at the moment.  When they look at old pictures and videos I know they are missing her.  Their artwork is also an expression of the sorrow they feel inside.  Cecilia draws many, many pictures of the three sisters…two red-heads and a blondie.  Sometimes the blondie is in the sky as an angel.  Sometimes her pictures are simply Jesus on the cross in black ink.

With five people grieving very differently, a baby, building a house, and the ocean of emotions, family life can be utterly exhausting.  Most days I feel like a firefighter trying to extinguish the flames burning here, there, and everywhere.  I don’t always know how to help and protect my kids and I’m so broken myself that sometimes just getting up and putting one foot in front of the other seems nearly impossible.

I worry about my family.  How will we survive?  What will family life look like in the years ahead?  Will we ever thrive again?  What are the long-term repercussions of this terrible tragedy?  Am I doing the right thing?  How can I be a good mom when my mind is clouded with grief?

Extraordinary suffering strips you of your faculties, your pride, and your false sense of control.  It renders you naked and exposed and drags you to a crossroads.  It’s the Red Sea, the walls of Jericho, and the climb to Calvary.  On this side of it we can’t see the outcome or the reward that awaits.  We could easily become immobilized by the pain, curl up into a ball of anxiety and fear and simply give up.

But God is big enough to part the sea, tear down the walls, and climb the mountain… beaten and bloody with a cross on His back.  He doesn’t really need our help.  He simply asks us to love Him and trust that He’s making a way through the darkness.  In order to help my children, I myself must become a little child.  I must put my hand in His and let Him lead me.  And as a child, I must love unconditionally with no limitations or expectations.   Our children need the security of that unconditional love.  In the words of a fellow bereaved mother, we need to “love them back to life.”  They need to see us grieve and know that it’s ok to embrace the pain but they also need to see us survive because we trust that Jesus has our future in His hands.

I admit that trust doesn’t always come easily.  There are moments that I don’t even want to get out of the boat and confront what lies before me.   At other times, I might be willing to step out into the water but like St. Peter I take my eyes off of Jesus for a moment and the waves begin to consume me.  I survey the raging storm and feel helpless and alone in a deep, dark, never-ending sea of needs that I cannot meet and brokenness that I cannot fix.
Each time I feel overwhelmed and afraid, I try to put my thoughts to rest and pray.  My prayer is a simple one and sometimes the only one I can utter.  Coincidentally, (or maybe not so coincidentally) it is an appropriate prayer for this year of Divine Mercy.

“Jesus, I trust in You.”

“When I see that the burden is beyond my strength, I do not consider or analyze it or probe into it, but I run like a child to the Heart of Jesus and say only one word to Him: “You can do all things.” And then I keep silent, because I know that Jesus Himself will intervene in the matter, and as for me, instead of tormenting myself, I use that time to love Him.”

From the Diary of St. Faustina

Our children are connected to us in a way that defies human understanding.  We give them life and they are a part of our very being. We care for their physical needs and nurture their minds, hearts and souls.  Watch them grow.  Relish in who they are becoming.  Love them fiercely with a sacrificial love that knows no limits.  We have hopes and dreams for their futures.  They are the fruit of our marriage sacrament.  With the birth of each child the family culture changes and grows and each child’s unique temperament and gifts add to the beautiful balance of family life.  By welcoming them into the world we embrace the mystery of familial union.  A mystery that reflects the greatest mystery of all:  The Most Holy Trinity.

It’s incomprehensible that you can take your children to do something fun on a Saturday and within a matter of one hour life as you knew it comes to an abrupt end.  All of the nurturing, hopes, and dreams you had for your child and your family as a whole unit…gone.  A peace of our hearts was severed from us and left the earth forever.

That’s not something you ever “get over”.

And now we live suspended between Heaven and Earth not fully present in either realm.

I have become accustomed to the sorrow and longing for what once was.  To say that I miss my little girl is a gross understatement.  There really aren’t adequate words in the human vocabulary to express the pain of losing Evie and the astounding hole that her absence created in our family.  We face it every day, in every moment.  There’s no escape.

As I lay in bed one night, crying myself to sleep again, the following passage from Scripture came to mind:

“And a man named Jairus, an official of the synagogue, came forward. He fell at the feet of Jesus and begged him to come to his house, because he had an only daughter, about twelve years old, and she was dying. As he went, the crowds almost crushed him. And a woman afflicted with hemorrhages for twelve years, who [had spent her whole livelihood on doctors and] was unable to be cured by anyone, came up behind him and touched the tassel on his cloak. Immediately her bleeding stopped. Jesus then asked, “Who touched me?” While all were denying it, Peter said, “Master, the crowds are pushing and pressing in upon you.” But Jesus said, “Someone has touched me; for I know that power has gone out from me.” When the woman realized that she had not escaped notice, she came forward trembling. Falling down before him, she explained in the presence of all the people why she had touched him and how she had been healed immediately. he said to her, “Daughter, your faith has saved you; go in peace.”
Luke 9:41-48

That woman is me…bleeding on the inside. Weary. Exhausted by grief.

My pain is so deep that I often feel alone in the crowd.  I find it difficult to engage in the trivialities of life and my patience for small talk has reached an all-time low.  The things that people seem to worry about and that I myself once fretted over seem unimportant.   I see people around me “pushing and pressing in” like the crowd in the Gospel trying to get where they are going and check things off their list.  They are busy with their lives and their families. They greet me with a smile and a, “how are you?” but I’m not sure how to answer that question nor do I think everyone really wants to hear an honest response.

Facing such profound pain, it’s easy to retreat into oneself and hold the world at arm’s length.  Even for an extrovert.  Because losing a child propels you into another dimension.

And like the woman in the story, it brings me to my knees in search of the One who can heal my broken heart.  I’m willing to crawl on my hands and knees through the pain to seek Him, recognizing that the bleeding has no expiration date but that someday it will stop.  If not in this world, then in the next.

But what I find most compelling about the Gospel passage is that Jesus doesn’t allow this bleeding woman to remain anonymous.  Her suffering and eventual healing is not just between the two of them.  It’s meant to be lived out in community.

Because as this broken and lonely soul touches Him, this Teacher and Great Physician stops in His tracks. He asks the most ridiculous question imaginable in a teeming crowd of people…

“Who touched me?”

By acknowledging her, Jesus opens the door for her to share her story and in sharing, her healing is complete and she becomes a witness to the truth.

Losing a child can be a very lonely experience and parents feel even lonelier when their loss is not acknowledged.  Perhaps people don’t know what to say or they are afraid to say the wrong thing so they say nothing at all.  Maybe they have good intentions but the opportunity passed them by.  Fear of upsetting the family could be a factor.  But trust me.  You are not going to remind them of something they’re not already thinking about constantly.  There’s no reason to be afraid of tears or apologize for them.  They are a normal and regular part of grief and a healthy release.

More than anything, a grieving parent wants so badly for someone to acknowledge their pain, to say their child’s name, to remember her, to share their grief with them, to cry.  And when I see Jesus’ reaction to this woman, I know in my heart that the need for acknowledgment is valid.

Remaining silent causes hurt feelings and isolates the parent even more but shared grief is like a lifeline pulling them out of the darkness.

Personally, we treasure the cards we receive that contain a special memory of Evie or a way in which she has impacted someone in her death.  The book of memories that our homeschooling co-op made for us is a precious gift.  My husband savors it bit by bit so that he always has a new discovery waiting for him.  We love it when people share new pictures or videos even if we can’t muster up the strength to view them right away.  We are blessed when people do things to honor her  because she was an amazing little girl and it would be another tragedy for the world to forget her beautiful life.

And we are so thankful for those who continue to reach out to us in our exhaustion with tangible offers to help, for those who let us know they are praying and truly want to know how we are doing.  For those who pray with us and hold us when we cry.  For those who recognize that grief has no timeline.

Because when you acknowledge the suffering of another human being, when you reach out in empathy and compassion, when you become vulnerable and selflessly give of yourself to help a hurting soul,  you reveal Jesus to the world.

“Christ has no body now but yours. No hands, no feet on earth but yours. Yours are the eyes through which he looks compassion on this world. Yours are the feet with which he walks to do good. Yours are the hands through which he blesses all the world. Yours are the hands, yours are the feet, yours are the eyes, you are his body. Christ has no body now on earth but yours.”

St. Teresa of Avila

Sometimes the storm abates for a while and we enjoy peaceful waters–moments in our trials where we can ponder the goodness of God.

At that time, Jesus revealed himself again to his disciples at the Sea of Tiberias.  He revealed himself in this way.  Together were Simon Peter, Thomas called Didymus, Nathanael from Cana in Galilee, Zebedee’s sons and two others of his disciples.  Simon Peter said to them, “I am going fishing.”  They said to him, “we also will come with you.”  So they went out and got into the boat, but that night they caught nothing.  When it was already dawn, Jesus was standing on the shore; but the disciples did not realize that it was Jesus.  Jesus said to them, “Children, have you caught anything to eat?  They answered him, “No.”  So he said to them, “Cast the net over the right side of the boat and you will find something.”  So they cast it, and were not able to pull it in because of the number of fish.  

John 21:1-6

Once or twice a year, my husband spends a few days at a monastery in prayer and reflection.  He always brings home a gift for each of the kids and some really delicious fudge made by the monks.  Last summer, he presented Evie with an icon depicting the disciples casting their nets into the sea.  They sat on her bed discussing the image.  My husband encouraged her not to worry about what she would do in the future.  God had a plan for her life.  She simply needed to throw down her net and let Him fill it with fish.

Fast forward to April 10th of this year.

My dear friend relayed to me that she had to leave mass briefly because she was crying after hearing this portion of the same gospel:

So the disciple whom Jesus loved said to Peter, “It is the Lord.”  When Simon Peter heard that it was the Lord, he tucked in his garment, for he was lightly clad, and jumped into the sea.  The other disciples came in the boat, for they were not far from shore, only about a hundred yards, dragging the net with the fish.  When they climbed out on shore, they saw a charcoal fire with fish on it and bread.  Jesus said to them, “Bring some of the fish you just caught.”  So Simon Peter went over and dragged the net ashore full of one hundred fifty-three large fish.  Even though there were so many, the net was not torn.  Jesus said to them, “Come, have breakfast.” And none of the disciples dared to ask him “Who are you?”  because they realized it was the Lord.  Jesus came over and took the bread and gave it to them, and in like manner the fish.  This was now the third time Jesus was revealed to his disciples after being raised from the dead.”

John   21:7-14

Upon hearing the reading she was deeply moved by the fact that when Peter saw the risen Lord he was so anxious to be in His presence that he jumped out of the boat and ran even though the boat was not far from shore.  He couldn’t wait one more second.  My friend pictured me racing to greet Evie like that on the shores of Heaven.

Me…waiting on the shores of the Sea of Galilee

In May of 2015 I took a pilgrimage to the Holy Land with a group from Eagle Eye Ministries.    One of the most moving experiences I had was at the very location of this Gospel reading.  We celebrated mass outside near the sea early in the morning.  The breeze was gently blowing and the sun was rising up to warm our backs.

After mass, I entered the church of the Primacy of St. Peter.  A large rock is situated in front of the altar identified as the “Mensa Christi” or “Table of Christ.”   This is the very rock where Jesus is believed to have shared breakfast with his disciples on the shore after His resurrection.

When they had finished breakfast, Jesus said to Simon Peter, “Simon, son of John, do you love me?” Simon Peter answered him, “Yes Lord, you know that I love you.”  Jesus said to him, “Feed my lambs.”  He then said to Simon Peter a second time, “Simon, soon of John, do you love me?”   Simon Peter answered him, “Yes Lord, you know that I love you.”  Jesus said to him, “Tend my sheep.”   Jesus said to him the third time, “Simon, son of John, do you love me?”  Peter was distressed that Jesus had said to him a third time, “Do you love me?”   and he said to him, “Lord, you know everything; you know that I love you.”   Jesus said to him, “Feed my sheep.”

John 21:15-17

As I knelt before that rock, I began to weep.  I was not the type of person who used to cry  easily or often (before Evie died) but for some reason I wept.  I prayed for those who grieve.  My stepdad had just passed away in March so I was especially thinking of my mom and praying for her.  I contemplated how awful Peter must have felt that Jesus’ last memory of him was his denial.  Sometimes we don’t get the opportunity to say a proper goodbye to those we love.    I pulled out my notebook and penned these words:

“In Peter’s confusion, emptiness and grief Jesus fills his net with fish and gives him the opportunity to express his love for him as many times as he denied him.”

A number of weeks ago, my five year-old presented me with the above picture.  If you examen it closely, you can see Jesus with three disciples.  They are in a boat.  There’s a net in the water full of fish.

Hmmm….What are you trying to tell me through all of this Lord?

Imagine how St. Peter felt.  He had given up his entire life to follow Jesus and now what? Life as he knew it had come to a complete halt and none of it makes any sense.   He can’t see the big picture…he just feels heartbroken, confused, and guilty for denying his Lord.  What is he to do but go fishing?  It’s what he knows and maybe it will bring comfort.

Peter is completely spent…and he throws down his net.  But he can’t catch a thing on his own.

Until Jesus shows up.  And what does Jesus do?  He fills up Peter’s net, He feeds him, He gives him the chance for reconciliation.

Isn’t it just like Jesus to know what we need and give it to us exactly when we need it?

Jesus is standing on the shore of our hearts.  In fact, our resurrected Lord is always standing there, whether we recognize Him or not.

The longing and the emptiness we feel in our suffering is a cue….a cue to run into His arms and to let Him fill our nets.  To simply tell Him we love Him and allow His love and forgiveness to wash over us.

If you think there is no way you can make it through another moment of your day, if you can do nothing but put one foot in front of the other, if you have no idea how your life is going to pan out, then you are right where Jesus wants you.

Jesus took Peter’s empty net, filled it with fish, and built a Church that is still standing more than two thousand years later.  Imagine what He can do with our empty nets!

“It is simple to become a saint.  You have only to surrender yourself to God from moment to moment, to think of nothing but him, to pay no attention to what is not your concern, and as a result, heaven immediately enters the soul, because its emptiness attracts the fullness of God.”

Mother Agnes of Jesus, O.C.D.

(sister of St. Thérèse)

“Not only that, but we even boast of our afflictions, knowing that affliction produces endurance, and endurance, proven character, and proven character, hope, and hope does not disappoint, because the love of God has been poured out into our hearts through the holy Spirit that has been given to us.”

Romans 5:3-5

A woman clings to the side of a craggy mountain.  There is nothing to do but climb.   She looks like a speck of dust compared to the enormity of that looming peak.  Bystanders wonder how she will get to the top.  They shake their heads and don’t know what to say.    The journey will be long and arduous.  She might slip more than once.  She will be cold and miserable.  Many times over she will doubt herself and her ability to overcome.  She will feel alone, isolated, exposed.  She’ll be tempted to give up when all she can see is the cold rock in front of her.

Many friends and family rally around her at the base.  They want to help and they do.  They supply her with things she needs at the moment:  nourishment, prayer, an encouraging word.  They repeatedly tell her that they are willing to do anything to help.  She just needs to say the word.

But she doesn’t know what she needs.

 She has no idea what this journey will entail.

Some even begin to climb with her up the steep and rocky terrain.  But as the days drag on, many turn away.  Some have their own mountains to climb.  Others feel there is nothing they could say or do to help her.  They fear that talking about the enormity of the mountain will cause her to lose hope or remind her of the pain.  They don’t want to mention the beauty of the valley she left behind, fearing it will bring her to her knees with sorrow.   Some even seem to pretend that the mountain she is climbing doesn’t exist.  Perhaps they are filled with good intentions but their own cares and worries consume them and there isn’t time left for climbing this mountain.

Little do they know that she thinks of nothing but the valley below where she lived for so long.  She longs for it with an indescribable ache.  Every day she feels the burning in her muscles as she attempts to climb one more inch up the mountain.  With each sunrise she wakes to the stark realization that she has left the valley and there is no turning back.

A few faithful friends remain by her side.  They aren’t afraid of the climb.  They aren’t waiting for her to tell them what she needs.  They know because they are right there climbing with her and they have no expectation for when the journey will end.

Many are silently in prayer.

At times, the mountain is so foggy that she can barely see what is directly in front of her.  She feels directionless, dazed, and confused.  She barely recognizes herself.  The landscape is unfamiliar and storms often rage on the mountain.

Yet there are moments of peace amidst the storms.   Sometimes she feels the warm sunshine of hope on her back.  Occasionally she comes to an overlook where she can rest and basque in it’s light and beauty.

But then the darkness comes again.  Fear, self-doubt, helplessness, guilt, bitterness and pain threaten to swallow her whole and she feels vulnerable and alone.

As she trudges along, she hears a still small voice call her name.  Distracted for a moment from the searing pain she looks up and sees Him.  This is not the first time that she’s noticed His presence.  She is often so intently focused on the mountain that she forgets to look for Him.  But then His Spirit whispers to her soul,

“You’re never alone.”

She recognizes His voice and knows that He’s been with her the whole time.

He is the bread that sustains her and the water that refreshes her thirst.  He’s present in the companions climbing alongside her.  Moments of hope and respite from the grueling climb were fashioned by Him.  He hears every plea uttered by those in the valley and those who have already reached the top of the mountain. His Spirit breathes new life into her soul and strengthens her.

He is her ever-present Guide and the Light that illuminates her path.

He is the One who weeps with her.  When her strength has failed, He picks her up and carries her.  As she lies broken and defeated His love washes over her like a flood and reminds her that her trial is producing lasting fruit.

She looks up from the mountain and sees Him standing there.  He extends His nail-pierced hands and asks her to share this journey with Him.

You see, He climbed the mountain long before she.  He was ridiculed, humiliated, and beaten along the way.  Men put him to death and nailed Him to a cross.  He gave his life for her and for all those willing to follow Him.

But the mountain did not consume Him.  

He rose from His rocky tomb to new life.  He defeated the darkness.

His name is Jesus and He’s the embodiment of Hope.   

He is the Hope who lives in her and reminds her that this suffering will end and that every tear will be wiped away.  He is guiding her to a new home more glorious than anything she could ever imagine.

And hope does not disappoint.

He knows her sorrow, He knows her pain.  He’ll lead her to glory if she will just take His hand and put her trust in Him.

“In this world you will have trouble, but take courage, I have conquered the world.”

John 16:33