Ethan’s Mom:

Written September 2020:

“What is your most persistent thought about facing death?”

That was a question in our BSF study last week. Yep, it was.

The context was a discussion of the end of Jacob’s life in Genesis 49. After Jacob blesses and prophesies about his sons and their descendants, he reiterates his desire to be buried in Canaan, in the same cave as his father and grandfather. We have walked with this man through the last several chapters, watching him evolve from a deceiver who took what was going to be given to him to a father who played serious favorites with his family, to an old man who seems to have finally grown into the faith of his fathers. He has lived quite a life. Although there are some outstanding promises, He is “gathered to his people” in the best way possible — in his old age, surrounded by his family, confident in his God.

People in the leader meeting and my discussion group took the bait so carefully laid out by the question writers in the preceding questions. There was lots of talk about looking expectantly towards heaven, leaving the troubles of the world, and being with Jesus. One leader even threw her hands up and used a word like “ecstatic” or something similar in describing what her response to a fatal diagnosis would be.

Excuse me?

To be fair, the question was written about facing one’s own mortality, not death in general. It’s not that I haven’t thought about my own mortality. After all, I have my very own, paid-in-full cemetery plot. Sometimes I stand on it when visiting Ethan’s grave, but it can feel really weird to touch your final resting place when you’re only 40 and in good health. In contrast to my pre-2017 self, I actually think about death a lot. I talk about it more than I ever dreamed, especially with my children. Several times a week, Ethan’s twin will say how he wants to go visit Ethan in heaven or ask when Jesus is bringing Ethan back to earth. And yes, my persistent thought about facing my own death now is that I am following a path that Ethan has already traveled and at the end of that path comes a reunion that I long for every day.

But not until I was doing my exercise video of the day and kickboxing with unusual vigor that I realized something was seriously bothering me about all of this. I still couldn’t articulate exactly what until Greg asked me at lunch “how did the death question go in your group?” Then it hit me. The bigger question that I would have rather answered is “what is your most persistent thought about death?” And for that question, I definitely know my answer:

IT’S NOT RIGHT.

IT’S SO WRONG.

IT’S NOT FAIR.

March 9, 2022:

Recently, I read an article that made me revisit this post I started over a year ago and could not bring myself to finish. The author expresses what I was struggling to put into words that day as she considers the overwhelming death rate over the course of the pandemic (note: this article was written before the tragic events in the Ukraine started to unfold, which further underscores her point).

“I worry that, as people whose eternal fate is good news, we forget death is still bad news. God gave us life as a gift. Death isn’t our chance to level up into the presence of God; it’s the end of something God delights in and calls good on its own terms. Death is wrong.”

Death is wrong. Period. Whether a person lives a long and full life or a baby is stillborn or an anti-vaxxer dies of COVID, death is a separation, a punishment, a curse. We all deserve it, but we weren’t designed for it.

I feel this very keenly during the season between the twins’ birthday in January through the month of March. Conscious and subconscious manifestations of grief increase in frequency and intensity. Hurts that have scabbed over are raw again, and triggers seem to be everywhere. There is sadness but there is also anger. I find myself with a much shorter fuse with people around me, especially my kids.

What is the root of this anger? Why does it all seem so incredibly unfair when I know intellectually that my family isn’t exempt from tragedy? I think it’s because death is unfair. We were created for relationships, for eternal fellowship, for life. Whether those relationships are marred by sin in this world or severed by death, we know deep down in our core that things aren’t supposed to be like this.

A wise friend told me something on the first anniversary of Ethan’s death that I will always remember this time of year: “There is nothing good about a death day.” March 10th is a day for mourning, not celebration. There is nothing good about a death day – because there is nothing good about death.

But as hard as it is to remember this evening, five years removed from cradling my child for the final time, death doesn’t have the final word. Tomorrow, I will pray “A Liturgy for the Loss of a Child” from Every Moment Holy: Volume II at Ethan’s graveside. Included among the stanzas of lament are these strong words of resistance:

Do not let my love turn bitter. Let it turn fierce instead — fierce in its defiance of death, fierce in faith, fierce in its resolve to seek first the Kingdom of my God, tenacious in pursuit of that which is eternal, tender in compassion toward the suffering of others, invested in acts of kindness, mercy, creativity, reconciliation, and restoration — convinced that all lost joys mourned in this life are but pale preludes of the fullness to come.

I do not know how this can be true. If I listed all the lost joys that I mourn in this life, I would still be typing on March 10, 2023. How that pales in comparison to the fullness to come, I just cannot fathom. Even still, these words reverberate deep within my soul, in the place where I know Christus Victor is coming to vanquish my ultimate foe. He must.

Until then, “Let us linger in sorrow long after those around us deem it acceptable. Let us refuse to minimize the pain of losing our relative, our friend, our neighbor, our coworker. We may mourn for the rest of this life knowing that in the next, our God who conquered death will wipe away every tear.”

Come Lord Jesus.