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Bitter & Sweet

Ethan’s Mom: I picked up my copy of Streams in the Desert after several months, turned to the current date’s devotional, August 19th, and found that I had previously circled it. The poem from that entry describes Joy and Sorrow as they are preparing to go their separate ways because they cannot travel the same path. Then they each gaze upon Jesus. Joy recognized him as the King of Sorrow and Sorrow recognized him as the King of Joy. The final verse says,

‘Then we are one in Him,’ they cried in gladness, ‘for none but He could unite Joy and Sorrow.’ Hand in hand they passed out into the world to follow Him through storm and sunshine, in the bleakness of winter cold and the warmth of summer gladness, ‘as sorrowful yet always rejoicing.’

That image stayed with me as I was starting to write this blog about our summer. It started with goodbyes and ended with a very unexpected turn of events but was sprinkled with fun, grace, and love throughout. Bitter and sweet. That is life in the shadowlands every day, but sometimes the tension is especially prominent. So, what have we been up to this summer?

After 10 years, we graduated our last child from our church’s preschool program. Our oldest finished elementary school. There were many special events to celebrate these transitions, but eventually, it became difficult to carry the weight of the grief alongside the joy. I was grieving a change in our family’s season, as we were exiting the stage of babies/preschoolers altogether and taking our first hesitant steps into middle school. I was grieving Ethan’s absence from the preschool graduation ceremony, the kindergarten tours, and the class lists while proudly cheering on our living children through parties, parades, recitals, and sporting events.

Our 15th wedding anniversary fell on the night of our daughter’s recital dress rehearsal. The weekend was full of activities, so there was no time to celebrate. My husband advocated for an anniversary trip right after school was dismissed for the summer. I thought he was crazy but actually it was the best idea he’s had in a long time (and he has good ideas frequently!). We spent time in the foothills of the Smoky Mountains, hiking to waterfalls and up mountains together. It was a sweet time to slow down and enjoy each other after passing in the night for weeks.

In June, we had Vacation Bible School, which is always a crazy week.  During VBS, my parents painted the room upstairs that had been the twins’ nursery so that #4 could change rooms with his sister, who needed a room of her own among all the brothers.  This was good and right, but also hard because it involved moving Ethan’s remaining possessions out of the room along with his brother’s stuff.  It is mostly still sitting stacked in my room, waiting for the tough job of sorting through and packing up into storage.   But #2 is enjoying life in her ballerina pink room, and #3 and #4 are having a blast as roommates.  

The next week, #1 complained of a stomachache. Not nausea, not intestinal problems, just an ache in his abdomen. We gave it a couple of days, but when he couldn’t walk upright without discomfort, I took him to the pediatrician. She was slightly suspicious, but not convinced, that he had appendicitis. Later that afternoon, an ultrasound technician took one look and confirmed he had a raging case of appendicitis and also a high pain tolerance. We ended up at the emergency room of the local children’s hospital, the place where five years earlier we had heard the words, “there is nothing else we can do” and the entire world shattered into a million pieces. I have prayed we would never have to return to that ER. I have alternate plans for where to go in the event of a broken arm, etc., but when your child’s appendix is about to rupture, there is no other option. Thankfully, the doctors and staff, particularly the Child Life Specialist, were so kind and patient with us as we tried to calm our anxious 11-year-old and hold it together ourselves. The surgery went smoothly, he stayed the night, and we all went home the next day. Upon arrival, we had to throw away the contents of our refrigerator, as our power had been out for 20 hours starting the night before all the action, but there is nothing like an emergency surgery to put food waste in perspective.

Aside from a few camps, we spent most of our time at the swimming pool. Three kids did swim team, one did dive team, and we all enjoyed playing together in the water. There are many things I miss about having a baby or toddler in tow but taking very little people to the pool is not one of them. #4 really grew into a solid swimmer early in the summer, so all four are now strong swimmers who do not have to be within arm’s reach at all times. They can swim off and enjoy playing with friends. This is the season for the pool (past swim diapers and not yet too-cool-for-the-pool), and we lived in it. No regrets there.

We also looked forward to our family reunion in Michigan. My in-laws plan and host one every other year at various locations. This year, we had two neighboring cabins on the shore of Lake Huron, and it was an absolutely wonderful trip. There are 15 cousins on that side of the family, ranging from 5 years old to young adult, and they were all there, except Ethan. It is amazing to watch that crew reunite and pick up like no time has passed, even though it is months or years between our gatherings due to geographic constraints. We enjoyed catching up and being together while boating, swimming, and playing games – everything from corn hole to ping pong to Uno. But even this very sweet time is touched by bitterness. My sister-in-law had a life-threatening stroke soon after our first reunion in 2015, and the effects of the stroke continue to fundamentally affect her daily life. Seeing her adapt to the challenges in person is both inspiring and heartbreaking. Every time we are together, I am struck anew by how much she has lost, how hard she has fought to rebuild her life, and how thankful I am that she is still with us.

Which leads me into the “grand finale” of our summer, and it is not easy to relate. My husband was out working on a ladder in the yard the weekend before school started and took a major fall, resulting in a loss of consciousness. I found him very disoriented and called 911. For the 3rd time in 5 years, the fire department rushed to our house in response to a medical emergency. He was admitted to the hospital, spent one night in the ICU, moved to a regular room, and was discharged with a long list of unanswered questions. The following weeks have been very difficult, and it is still too raw to write about most of the details.

However, I will end with this thought. Sometime in the early hours of the morning in ICU, I suddenly realized that if my husband spent more than a few days in the hospital, he would miss the first day of school and be completely devastated. Thank God, he was discharged in time to walk #4 to his first day of kindergarten and give him a big hug at the door. Then we watched one little kindergartener walk through into the “big school” when there should have been two. Ethan wasn’t there to walk in, but their Dad was there to hug his twin brother goodbye. That was the end of our summer in the shadowlands – bitter and sweet.  Sometimes it is just plain exhausting trying to hold them both.

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Happy Fourth Birthday, Ethan!

Ethan’s Dad: It is late, but I cannot let the day pass without marking what should be our Little Caboose’s fourth birthday. His twin brother Noah had a good birthday, I think, filled with most of the things such a day should have for a child: special meals, an adventure with Mom, some cool presents, and visits from grandparents (both virtual and in person). Of course, those also are all things Ethan does not get to experience, and we, his family left in the Shadowlands, are so much the poorer for it. The joy we get to see from Noah is matched by the void left by Ethan’s absence.

And once again with these events that mark time we remain astonished in opposing ways that we have arrived at the twins’ fourth birthday because time both flies and crawls in this situation. It flies as we watch Noah, in the same way so many other parents do, grow like a weed throughout his precious childhood. It crawls as we miss Ethan, always yearning for that time when we will see him again. Time is indeed relative when you live with having twins but only one of them is still living with you on this earth.

I am ever thankful that we continue to get to see Noah’s joy. It is impossible to exaggerate the enormity of that blessing, one which I am painfully aware I would not recognize quite so well if it was not for Ethan’s absence. Yet, I am always heartbroken that we do not simultaneously get to see the same joy from Ethan, or the unique joy the boys certainly would have given to each other. Noah is now old enough to express to us — and often does— that he wishes Ethan would come back to us, and the sweetness of that unknowing longing evokes an inner ache that defies description.

My consolation — my hope — is that one day we are going to be able to sit down with Ethan and have a bunch of birthday parties in a row, or one party so stupendous that it somehow dwarfs these lost milestones. What will be his favorite party game, his choice of cake, his big present? I wonder as I wait for that jubilee which exceeds all earthly celebrations.

For now, we mark the time, we cherish Noah, and we cling to the promise that God is able to keep our Ethan, who we have entrusted to Him, until the day Christ returns. (2 Timothy 2:12). Our four-year-old who never reached four or three or two or one was celebrated and mourned this day. And so he will be until Kingdom Come.

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I Hate Halloween

Ethan’s Mom:

I hate Halloween.

I didn’t always hate Halloween.  I grew up trick or treating in my little neighborhood.  I have fond memories of a fall festival at my elementary school, particularly the cakewalk.  I even won a costume contest once in an elephant outfit my grandmother made.  I think the prize was something like a $10 gift certificate to the local drug store.  We never did anything scary, so I never really thought of the “dark side” of October 31st.  I figured if you didn’t participate in the scary stuff, you could just ignore it.

Until last year, when it seemed that every street had at least one lawn decorated with faux tombstones, and my children started asking why people had stones like we see at the place to think about Ethan in their yards.  Then it hit me, how much of this celebration glamorizes death.

Newsflash y’all – death is bad.  Very, very bad.  And it is hard for me to be surrounded by symbols and reminders of it, no matter how whimsical they may seem or how cute kids (including mine) look in their superhero and princess costumes.

So, as we move from the witches and skeletons of October into the season of Thanksgiving, I am thankful that no matter who or what says otherwise, death LOSES.  No matter how many years I will look around and wonder what Ethan would have wanted to dress up as for our church fall festival or book character day at school, we will not be separated forever.  One day the flesh and bones of this world will be raised imperishable, and we won’t fear anything ever again.  Come Lord Jesus.

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Back To School

His Mother: Today was the first day of school. We have three enrolled in school this year – 2nd grade, kindergarten, and 3K preschool. I have been trying to prepare myself for this week for a while now. After last year’s back to school festivities caught me off guard, I was expecting the waves of grief this week. But the thing is, you never know exactly what a difficult day or season will actually look like in advance. Some things might be easier than expected, other things are harder.

Back to school is, like a lot of things in our culture, getting to be a bigger and bigger deal. I remember getting new clothes and school supplies for the new year when I was growing up but not much other fanfare. There is a lot of pressure now to look and act in certain ways. You go check the class lists ASAP, milling about with other parents to talk about “who you got” even though technically I didn’t get anyone, my child did. Then there is meet the teacher day, with its obligatory new-teacher-side-hug photo to post on social media. On the crazy first day of school before getting your kids to school on time, you must stop to get perfect pictures of your kids standing outside your welcoming front door with homemade signs that document their grade, school, and what they want to be when they grow up (or some other sweet memory). Our school also has this breakfast social for kindergarten parents called “Tears and Cheers,” so that you can rejoice or mourn with others who have sent their kids on to big school this year.

You could probably imagine, even if you haven’t experienced child loss, that these milestones and photo ops could be painful. Anytime I am around a whole group of people where everyone appears to be so “normal,” the loneliness bears down on my soul: knowing that that most of the folks in the crowd have no basis for understanding what it feels like to know you will never walk your child into his first day of kindergarten. I can’t go to the breakfast because the “tears” that people are sharing over bagels are because their babies are growing up like they are supposed to do, and I have cried an ocean of tears because my baby will not.

But do you know what is the worst so far? The “All About Me” pages. I have filled out 4 forms (and I only have 3 students!) that have asked me to list my students’ siblings and ages. I am waiting to get requests for sending in a family photograph from at least one teacher, maybe more, which is also awkward. My family does not fit neatly into a blank line on a form or into a photograph. I cannot leave Ethan out – he is their brother and usually when asked how many siblings they have, my kids will answer 4. So far, they have always drawn family portraits with some representation of Ethan. I want the teachers to know they are not drawing some sort of imaginary friend! The real difficulty comes in the age part. I list names and ages until I get to Ethan. Then I stare at the paper. I can’t really write 19 months old, as that seems disingenuous. If the teacher knows our family already, I will just list his name. For instance, my daughter has the same teacher my son had during the year the twins were born and Ethan died. She actually came to the visitation, so I know she is aware of who Ethan is. For the others, I am left writing Ethan (deceased). Writing those words hurts my heart every time. The very few pictures of all 5 of us no longer show the big kids in their current ages and stages, so we send in family photos that only show the majority of our family.

I was prepared for that, in a way, given that this is our second back-to-school season without Ethan. One thing I did not expect that caused big waves of grief to crash over me earlier this week was kindergarten parent night. I requested that our daughter be assigned to the same kindergarten teacher that had showed such kindness to us during that difficult year. She loved on and watched over our son when we sent him back to school. I was excited walking in to her classroom, but then as I sat there, I realized that during that first parent night, I was sitting at those same desks with two little babies in my belly about to enter the second trimester of pregnancy. I was overwhelmed with all the changes in my life – pregnant with surprise twins, preparing to buy/sell houses, sending my firstborn to kindergarten. Those feelings came rushing back at me, and I sat there thinking how much more change, very unwelcome change, was unknown to us at that time. One thing my counselor has said on more than one occasion is how this loss changes who a person is at a very deep level. I am not the same person who sat in those small desk chairs two years ago and that realization was distressing and disorienting.

I have heard some people say that the first year after a loss is the hardest and others claim that the second year is hardest. Well, frankly, they both stink in my experience, but they do stink in different ways. The shock is completely disorienting during the first year – waking up discombobulated and having to remember that Ethan wasn’t there, trying to count 5 kids when leaving the house, etc. – and of course the trauma is fresh and causes frequent flashbacks to that horrible, terrible day and more terrible days that followed as well. Every 7th and 10th of the month weighed so heavily on us that first year. With the second year comes the realization that this nightmare is, in fact, permanent. The shock that can be so disorienting is also protective in a way, and now we are left with all the sadness, all the time. Plus, I am just tired of it all. I told my counselor it’s like when you decide to start eating healthy. You can start out with a lot of momentum but then there is a point where you realize this is not just about getting through 2 weeks without cake but a permanent change to a lifetime of carrot sticks. Not that I don’t like carrot sticks, but they aren’t as good as cake, you know? I miss cake.

I had a realization this week that maybe some things will be less painful in the years to come, but I don’t see any relief from the back-to-school grief for a long, long time. Next year, I will send Ethan’s twin brother, Noah, to his first year of preschool. The older kids have gone to Mother’s Day Out prior to preschool, but I have not been emotionally able to send Noah yet. I will pack his backpack and lunchbox, remembering the afternoon that I sat sobbing in the living room while my husband and father-in-law discussed funeral arrangements in the kitchen. My mother-in-law crossed the room to kneel beside me and hold my hand, and I choked out “I am supposed to be the one that picks out his lunchbox, not his casket.” We will take him to the same classroom that we have taken the others to at age 2, with a teacher that we adore. She decorates her room in Dr. Seuss for the new school year. Noah will pass under a door with a picture of Thing 1 and Thing 2 while every cell in my body will be crying out for our Thing 2 to walk in with him. I will come home to an empty house, which I imagine would have seemed like such an amazing thing to a mother of 5. But #5 isn’t going to go to school. Our 3 year-old tells me sometimes that Ethan “isn’t home” – he isn’t home and he isn’t going to school either.

The year after that, #3 will go to kindergarten, leaving me and Noah home 5 days-a-week. He was not supposed to have to endure my solo company – he was supposed to have a built-in playmate, not feel like an only child from 7:45-2:45 each day. Another kindergarten, another tears and cheers to skip out on…

Here’s the best/worst one yet – the next year, 2021, Noah will go to kindergarten. Alone. No debating whether or not it would be best for them to be in the same class or not. No decision on whether to match, coordinate, or just wear totally different outfits. Only 4 big kid backpacks hanging inside the door. As if that weren’t enough, my oldest will go to middle school. Middle School — where kids become teenagers. I had figured that out before the twins were even born, and I joked about how many tissues I would need that day. I think I should probably start stocking up now.

You get the idea… Each year signifies something new, if not for Noah, then for another of the kids. Milestones Ethan will never reach. The “what ifs” and “I wonders” are some of the hardest questions, and it just seems like there are a lot of those associated with back-to-school and the whole educational process, at least to this momma’s heart. I wonder if he would have eaten in the cafeteria or brown bagged it.? I wonder what his favorite subject would have been? What if the boys had totally different friends? Would I have insisted on matching backpacks and would that have resulted in protests?

I could go on and on, but I’ve got to go put snacks in backpacks and get ready for another early wake-up tomorrow. It’s the second day of school, and I have 4 kiddos earth-side depending on me to be present in their lives. I am so incredibly grateful for that job, and I want to celebrate their milestones as much as I need to grieve Ethan’s missing ones. Writing this post is helping me to do both, so thank you for taking the time to read my ramblings.