Vivid. Raw. Life changing. During our journey beside Grace there are several memories that with the passing of time only reverberate louder, resonate deeper and ring with crystal clarity like a chiming steeple full of bells on a cool crisp morning. You stand there in awe and listen; sure it is heaven you are hearing. And you, with all of your being, reach out with feeble hands but determined heart to capture every ring, every chime, echo and chorus, willing it to never stop.

Eric and I were staying with Grace in hospice. We had been there by her bedside for a couple of agonizing but glorious weeks. She awakened in the early morning hours in extreme pain and asked us to pray for her. (As was ever increasing, some hours the morphine pump every 15 minutes was just not enough). Eric gathered on one side of her and I on the other. We held her hands as we prayed for the pain to leave. Relief from the wretchedly extreme pain was immediate and she laid back against her pillow and closed her eyes. After some time of praying, I looked over at Eric and through gritted teeth I spit out the words, “Isn’t it time yet?” I barely whispered the words but the venom behind them was no less vile. The words boiled out hot from a heart that could no longer bear to see Grace, my beloved child, in so much violent and consistent pain. I spoke, rather hissed, these words across Grace, to Eric as he sat quietly and prayed.  He looked over at me, but before he could address me, Grace opened her eyes, leaned up out of the bed and with such peace-(let me explain what I mean by peace. Her body was not tense, just in extreme pain, her breathing was labored but pure, she leaned forward gracefully like cool water gathering itself and turned her head slightly toward me and with calm assurance she spoke quietly and gently) with that kind of tangible and aggressive peace she turned toward her “hissing” mother and answered my demanding and angry question which wasn’t really pointed toward her or Eric.

I had ultimately aimed this barbed question to my God. What was pouring out of my heart was, “When God are You going to do something good here? When are You going to take this sweet child out of this intense and undeserved, never ending pain? When God are You going to show up?  When God are You going to answer our quest for a miracle? Don’t You think we have waited long enough? Isn’t it time yet?!” My heart still breaks at the remembering of these shameful questions, shameful, yes, but real just the same. I suppose it is not the question or the intent that reveal my shame. But rather it is Grace’s response that brings such clarity to the stark contrast of my shameful lack of faith and patience with her enduring faith, patience and kind heart.

“Isn’t it time yet?” Her answer to my searing hot demanding and angry question was the cool, quiet release of gentle faith and powerful calm. “No, mom, I think we‘ve got a little ways to go.” My surprised eyes darted from Eric’s serene face to Grace’s tired but divine eyes as she looked directly into my tortured soul.  “You don’t think it’s time yet, baby?” I offered incredulously into her sweet and smiling face as I choked back the wave of acid tears seeping from my raw and melting impatient heart. “Nope, I’ve got a little ways yet to go.” With that easily spoken proclamation and a nod of her head, she laid back down, closed her eyes and found sweet sleep. It was a quick encounter, lasting no more than a couple of minutes. But the depth of what transpired in those seconds holds me together to this day. I didn’t just learn, I experienced, regardless of the situation or the circumstance, the truest and most simple form of faith can be found in active and aggressive patience coupled with violent and determined peace. I glimpsed, through Grace, heaven on earth.

This past August Eric and I celebrated 23 years of marriage. That, from one perspective, is a lot of time, a lot of time to learn about myself and life. It seems since Grace’s passing I have been sorting through the mental card catalogue of my life. Looking at what I have learned, examining with care each card. I am looking at what I believe and value, what is true and what are just powerless platitudes or outdated ideals.

I came across one card and I find myself unable to put it down. The card I hold in my hands is dingy, torn and the writing has faded but it has been underscored, highlighted and circled. I remember when this card was written. It was during the early stages of my marriage when life was bright and shiny and new.  In one corner of this card I can still see the faded splotches of spit-up from our newborn, Grace. The card reads, “Children do not make your life better. The life of a child only magnifies what is already there.” I remember writing this card. Only someone with a child can understand the simplicity and beauty of this truth. The same can be said of someone with money or with a spouse…”These things don’t make your life better…just different…and they prove to only magnify your strength or weakness.”

The inexperienced eyes of the young wife look longingly at the arms of the mother holding the baby. The young wife thinks to herself, “A baby will make it all better!” But the reality of experience says, “The baby only exposes what is already in the marriage.” If the marriage is strong, loving and stable, the baby will amplify that love, stability and strength. If the marriage is fraught with discontentment, tension and heartache, the baby will only expose and magnify the disgruntled and hard feelings. I re-read my card for the umpteenth time, “The life of a child does not make life better, only different. It reveals what is already there.”

It is upon examining this card, turning it over and over again in my shaking hands that I know this card is incomplete. I didn’t rewrite a new card but rather just added a much needed second truth. “The life of a child doesn’t make your life better. The death of a child doesn’t make your life worse, just different. Life or death only magnifies what is already there.” This is an old card with a familiar understanding but with a whole new depth. The first truth cannot stand if the second truth is error. Do the circumstances of my life make my life any better or any worse?? That is why I am still holding this card in my hand, turning it over and over, reading it in my sleep and in the shower. But still, neither truth is substantial if I don’t read the back of the card. What is on the back of this card is, in some form or fashion, what is on the back of all of my cards. I didn’t write the back. It is the handwriting of Jesus. His writing reads, “If you take My words and live by them then your life is complete. If you ignore My words and go your own way then your life will always lack.”  Then the truth of my life isn’t about better or worse but about being complete.

Simple, plain and extravagant! And full of Hope! Husbands, children, money, etc…these things are temporary, inconsistent and fleeting. It seems they are here one minute and gone the next. The presence of these things in my life does not make my life better any more than the absence of these things makes my life worse. He, the Christ, makes my life complete. In the end, it is not about what I have written, scratched out, added or edited on the front side of the cards of my life that really count, it is what I have done with the writing on the back.

Eric and I visit Grace’s graveside often. To explain why we go there would be futile to those who don’t understand. But then trying to understand the incompressible was the whole reason I started blogging in the first place. It seems I haven’t made much progress since the time of Grace’s tragic death and her glorious “Heavenly Homecoming”. I suppose where I am right now in this process is trying to bridge the chasm between the knowledge of my head versus the hurt of my heart.

We leave her graveside and every time I am struggling to breathe and think straight. I just keep muttering to myself, “Our child died. Our firstborn died. Our Grace died!” It remains incomprehensible. As I walk away, holding on to Eric, the pain in my heart is almost unbearable. And I shouldn’t say ‘heart’ because that is just one tiny space within your chest. That place just left of the middle of your chest. I should say, “The pain that starts in the back of my throat as I choke back hot tears, collides with a rolling acid wave of stabbing pain pulling upward from the bottom of my lungs. The two forces meet somewhere in the middle of the entirety of my chest which causes me to lose my breath”. I have to actually remind myself to breath. At that point with every beat of my heart, my deafened ears ring. All I am really aware of is the pulse of my heart ringing in my stinging and burning ears mixed with intense and consuming pain.  

Still, with the shake of my head I know that is an inept description. There is no way to really convey the depth, intensity and hollowness of the unbelievable pain and sadness that fills my being, numbs my brain and disarms my senses at the realization that “Grace is gone”.

As we drive off, with my world coming back into focus, I realize I was not prepared for this kind of pain and loss. I suppose there is no way one could prepare for it. But, still, I know I am being “unreasonable”. My head says the pain I feel is “unreasonable.” I remember holding Grace in my arms hours before she passed telling her, “Baby, if God gives you what you deserve He will give you Heaven. Don’t stay here for me or dad! Choose Heaven. Receive your reward! You have fought so hard and so well, you deserve Heaven.” My head knows Heaven is the best place for her. A place where there is no pain or tears. Grace was about to leave for college and start her own life apart from me and her dad. Our time together was coming to a drastic change. Children leave home to make their own path and go their own way. Change was coming either way. "You know Heaven is the best place for her"…..This is what my head says.

But my heart, well, my heart is another story. My heart cannot understand, accept or fathom such reasoning. My heart hurts at the loss of Grace. It implodes and bursts with searing pain at the memory of her face, the sound of her laugh, the sight of her picture or the remembrance of plans made for her future.

At the moment, I find I cannot bridge the chasm between my reasonable head that understands Grace is in a better place and my unreasonable heart that feels only her bitter absence. My head reasons that with the passing of time, (Come on Laura it’s been five months!) my heart shouldn’t hurt so badly, (Come on Laura it’s only been five months!). My head cannot comprehend my heart. My heart doesn’t listen to my head. But it hopes. My heart still hopes for the strength to bear the loss of our Grace well. My heart hopes not in the lessening of the pain of losing Grace but rather in endurance until the chasm between my head and heart is bridged.

My heart remains in hope until my head and my heart are one again.

Today is five months since our Grace passed. Yes, it seems I am still counting the days and months without her. I wish I could say the pain is gone, my heart has healed and all is well but that would not be the truth, not even close. 

It was a choice to enjoy her birthday Sunday, October 6. Many of my closest friends and family joined me and my family Sunday to honor Grace by dedicating “Grace Park” behind our, and her, church building in her memory. It was a choice as we gathered beside her grave to celebrate her life with love and laughter as Alese spray painted a purple rose on her grave while her brothers watched, her dad sang and friends stood close by.

Grace was and is the epitome of inspiration. I marvel at her courage, faith and spirit all the time. When I am at my worst, I remember Grace at her best. I wish I could say her best was when she was footloose and fancy free without a care in the world, acting like most spontaneous and erratic 19 year olds, but that is not true and very short-sighted.  Grace’s best, her most excellent of heart, was when she had every reason to be angry with God, angry with the world and bitter with her life but chose to love God instead, embrace her life and fight the never ending pain. She did this all with a smile on her face and a song in her heart. Grace saw and understood the beauty of choice.

It was Grace’s choice not to be a victim of cancer and that made her a victor in life. The dark seasons of our life seems to want to dictate and whittle down our choices until we feel we have no choices left to make at all. It is those times we become victims- victims of life, victims of circumstance, victims of the very thing we hate. Grace made a choice early on in her journey not to be a victim. Her dark season came and with it she saw the Light and Beauty of choice. And once she made her choice, she never changed her mind or direction!

Grace’s choice is made, mine seems to waver more than I would like. If Grace’s choices were based on how she felt, she would have never left her bed. And her infamous smile would have faded into crumbling tears. There is no doubt she had every reason to cry but she chose to laugh, love and live instead. When a heart chooses to live above the circumstance and stand in Faith, I believe the grace of God abounds and helps to sustain our choice. Grace understood the grace, power and sustenance of choice.

I am still looking at her life and learning from it. I wish I could say the dark season of my life is over, but I see the heavy black clouds that hang low and dense and I sense the eerie stillness of the air around my heart. But at the same time, I see Light stabbing and piercing through those ominous clouds and I understand the beauty and victory of the day is contained in the power of my choice.