Without a Word_ How a Boy's Unspoken Love Changed Everything - Jill Kelly [68]
Jim and I went to the cemetery today. On the way there we stopped at a florist to buy a dozen red roses and two red, heart-shaped balloons…. When we arrived at the cemetery we dusted the snow off Hunter’s angel. Even covered in white, she’s beautiful. We tied one red balloon around the angel’s wings and decided to let the other one go—up to heaven and Hunter, of course. Jim wanted to build Hunter a snowman. So we did…. I brought a bag of black licorice (Jim’s favorite) for the ride, so we used two pieces for his eyes and a bunch for a smiling mouth. We found a leftover blue pop-top in the backseat of the truck for the snowman’s nose. A few sticks worked for arms, and Jim’s red Buffalo Bills hat fit perfectly on his head. He was the cutest snowman. Imagine that—a snowman at the cemetery.
I should’ve been more focused on Jim today. It’s his birthday. He’s alive. But Hunter’s not. It was so cold today. Jesus, please keep my heart from growing cold and hard during this season of grief.
Jim knows how much I love Valentine’s Day, and always have (how ironic). I was shocked when he sat me down at the kitchen table this afternoon to give me a Valentine’s gift. I had no idea what to expect. And I still can’t believe what he said. His gift to me is that starting in March, for a half-hour every week, he will sit down with me so I can teach him about Jesus and the Bible. How cute is that. As if I’m a teacher. I wonder if it will happen. Lord, thank You for giving me hope. Thank You for showing me that You are at work in our grief.
The next few weeks passed quickly. I was convinced I was moving along in my season of mourning just fine. Except for the obvious pangs of sadness, sorrow, and sleeplessness, I imagined that everything I was experiencing was just part of the normal grief process, if there is such a thing. My grief certainly never felt normal. I never felt as though anyone was feeling the way I was. Sleep deprivation and tear-stained cheeks were old friends of mine, so when I struggled more with both, I wasn’t surprised.
And then it happened. I went to bed the night of April 16, 2006, and woke up the next morning bound by a smothering gloom that paralyzed me from deep within. It was as if I had been wrapped in a shroud of emotional and spiritual darkness and cast into a bottomless abyss.
Frightened and confused, I immediately called my mother: “Mom, something’s wrong with me.” I was frantic. “Please come over right away.”
In a few minutes she was right by my side. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. My heart is racing and I feel like I’m going to have a heart attack.”
She suggested we take a walk around the cul-de-sac. Erin and Camryn were busy in the playroom, so I agreed. As we walked, I talked and she listened.
During what would end up being months of severe depression, she continued to listen. Most of the time, my precious mother had no idea what to do, but she was always there. She listened. She prayed.
After our visit, my mother went into emergency mode. She contacted every prayer chain, prayer warrior, and pastor we knew. A handful of close confidants also rallied to provide encouragement and emotional support.
The heaviness of my grief was crushing. Here’s my journal entry for that day.
April 17, 2006—I don’t understand what’s going on. I woke up this morning oppressed by a heaviness of heart I’m not familiar with. HELP ME! I’m scared to death. What is this? I feel like I’ve fallen into a dark abyss of depression and despair. Lord, where are You? Why do I feel so alone, abandoned? Never in all my life have I felt so downcast, so afraid, so lifeless, so damaged. My thoughts and fears overwhelm me day and night.
Save me from myself! Is this normal? I feel like a prisoner in my own flesh. I feel like every ounce of life is being choked out of me. My chest hurts and my heart won’t slow down. Do You see me? Do You hear me? Please rescue me