I just got an email from a friend whose father died of cancer a few years ago. She asked, "Do you find yourself wanting to tell the cashier what you've been through?" Her question reassured me. I am not alone in this strange phenomenon. The children do this a lot. In fact, at the grocery store yesterday, Josiah told the lady bagging our groceries, "My Daddy died." He has done this several times and of course it shocks the recipient of the news. The lady looked at me for confirmation and I said, "Yes. Its true." Then Josiah said, "He was in pain."
4th of July parade with the Miller family. The weather was glorious in the mid-70's and Sally prepared her traditional Independence Day Blueberry Crumble, hard boiled eggs and iced coffee.
Josiah announced every part of the parade. 
Mary Poppins, me and Charlotte
The kids eager to collect candy from each parade float. Charlotte told the lady sitting next to us that her Daddy died.
The Fawcett Frenzy when the 4th Finally Fizzled
Posts
13 comments:
Hi, Margie.
Three years ago this coming August, my 72-year-old father pulled in front of a car he did not see coming -- a car going 80+ mph -- and died instantly, we were told, of blunt aortic trauma. Here in Seattle, faculty retreat had just started when my best friend, sitting next to me, got up and left, came back, pulled me out, and had to get me to the phone so my sister could break the news. I flew home to Alabama the next morning and spent the next week with my family. We were all in shock.
I'll never forget coming back to school the following Monday and realizing that things -- people -- were all so normal. In particular, I remember opening my email and seeing all the mundane items people at school had been discussing -- this meeting here, that meeting there, a reminder about this upcoming event, etc.
"Don't they realize my father is dead?" I remember thinking. The world had stopped for my family and me, yet their world just went on as usual.
I remember walking in that strangeness for so long. Your note reminded me of it.
It also reminded me of the grief. I had to function normally because school had started. I had classes, papers, students, meetings. I did what I had to do.
But every time I got into my car, I remember feeling as if grief were a silent passenger. Grief was always sitting there in the passenger's seat, waiting patiently for me, no matter what I'd just been doing, whether laughing with a student, coming from a class, whatever. At one point, I remember even leaning over to touch it; it was that palpable.
It was like living in two distinct worlds with nothing in common.
Sitting here in the early of this Seattle morning, thinking of you and holding you in my heart today.
Blessings,
Debbie
Dearest Margie: As John's mother, I know EXACTLY how you feel. As I meet people, I feel they can't really know me or relate to me now without knowing that my eldest son died so recently. Just last night as Bill and I were having our devotions together, I thought, "When we get through here, I'm going to call John..." Then the reality that there is no John to call literally hit me once again. Tears are always close to the surface even as we go on living and receiving comfort from the Father. You, Charlotte and Josiah are always in our minds, hearts and prayers. As you said before on this blog, this is something we ourselves have to go through...it can't be passed off to someone else, but praise God for what He does and has provided in the Body of Christ and His Holy Spirit. Thanks for the great pictures. We send you our deepest love and big hugs all around!
Margie, I'm so glad you allow Charlotte and Josiah to share their grief with strangers - without shushing them. You are a good mom. -Beth T
When my dad died (I was 12) I was so oddly ashamed of what had happened, I couldn't tell anyone. Everyone in my life found out anyway, of course, but I dont think I uttered the words myself until 2 years later. The sense that I needed to hide from what happened did so much damage. So, in that sense, I think its good to hear that your kids are verbalizing what happened.
Praying for you!
I remember sitting in my room with Kathy in my old bachelor apartment in Wheaton and realizing nearly simultaneously that i wanted to spend the rest of my life with her and that my step-father, the man who raised me, would never get to meet her or her him. In some ways, the melancholy of that moment will never leave me. And nearly ten years later, i have come to the conclusion that i don't want it too. It is a bitterness that is so central to my life, a thorn or pain that i can't imagine living without. I hesitate to advise anyone else or make connections to anyone else experience here. I can only say that this is one area of my life where the Real Presence has made itself know most strongly, that i have felt the comfort of the Spirit most distinctly because of this truth. I send you much love and hope.
Jeff Hitt
the grief of loss comes bubbling up in some strange and yet, very real ways. i've been experiencing the loss of John through the songs I hear, smells prompt me to remember and remind me of him, i see fruits that conjure up lovely memories. i look a little differently at the night sky.
i love you and hold you closely!
julie mac
Margie--I felt the same thing when I had my miscarriage last fall. I know in some ways this pales in comparison to the grief you are feeling, but in another way--a broken heart from loss connects us. I wanted to know why the world could keep moving when I felt deadened on the inside. I, like you, felt compelled to tell everyone for some strange reason. I didn't know why. I now pray that the Lord will surround you with those with whom you may be frank and honest as you share your grief.
Also, thank you for ministering to the Smith's after church on Sunday. I was struck by your powerful words about Abraham.
On a lighter note, it was so fun to see you and the kids at the parade last Friday! I was glad to have some friendly faces in the crowd.
Thanks for your post this week, Margie.
Peace of Christ,
Bonnie
Dear Margie,
In God's perfect timing, Benedict John was born on the 5 week anniversary of John's death, 1 July. Thus, as we rejoice in every new week of Ben's life, we will also be marking another week that John is gone...a new life here on earth, and death, therefore new life in heaven. Please know that every week that passes and we celebrate Ben, we will also think of you and Charlotte and Josiah, mourning another week of life without a husband and daddy. We cannot comprehend such pain and sorrow, especially how it goes on simultaneously with our own amazing joy and wonder of a new baby.
We pray for you and our children do join in praying aloud for Charlotte and Josiah as we pray morning prayer together (almost) every morning. We love you and are glad our lives are linked in a small way through this little baby named Benedict John! We look forward to the day that we can tell him about John Fawcett; what he meant to us and to the world and especially how he loved and was loved by Jesus.
Peace,
Hoskins 6 (Steve+, Sarah, Stuart, Evangeline, Gloria and Benedict)
Margie,
God made us as social creatures who connect with one another (among other ways) through language. It is wonderful that you are allowing Charlotte and Josiah to speak freely of John's death and even tell strangers about it. By giving voice to the facts of their life and the sadness of their circumstances, they are trying to make sense of it. It is becoming real as they speak it out loud. Every time they mention it, your reaction and the reaction of the recipient informs their little hearts. They are learning how to process this and how to live with it each time they speak it.
jennifer
Hi Margie - Tears came as I read your last blogs and the stories others have shared. My dad died of complications due to Alzheimer's in Sept 2001 - a long and gruesome journey much like John's.
I remember how all of the traffic stopped as we drove from the funeral home to the graveside. That was the one point where the world did stop. Where it did stop and pay attention to the fact that my dad just died. And I didn't have to announce it - stranger and friend all knew. And it brought a strange sense of satisfaction.
Maaaaahhhhgie,
Is it hard to believe you still have to do the mundane things of life...every day?
When my mom died, I remember standing at the toaster oven at breakfast time thinking, "I can't believe I have to make toast now. This is ridiculous. My mom just died."
Then the elementary school would call me again and say, "Elena doesn't have a lunch again today. Could you please bring her one?" Making lunch for Elena was something I had done habitually every single day before school. Then Mom died and I could hardly make toast, much less remember to make a lunch for my daughter. That was weird.
I also was terribly surprised by how quickly powerful fits of anger would come to me. I had been intentional before she died to bless her, tie up loose ends and visit often...we didn't have unresolved issues. That's why the intense anger was SO alarming and surprising to me. I would wave up with very little warning and crash onto my family around me.
After many months it began to subside slowly. My children and husband accepted all my apologies and forgave me along the way.
Margie, you are so right about having to walk through the grief yourself. Just as I've said about child birth--I'll say it about grief, too...I'd like to raise my finger in the air for you and call, "STUNT DOUBLE!"
Raising a finger for you with love,
Hez
Maaaaahhhhgie,
Is it hard to believe you still have to do the mundane things of life...every day?
When my mom died, I remember standing at the toaster oven at breakfast time thinking, "I can't believe I have to make toast now. This is ridiculous. My mom just died."
Then the elementary school would call me again and say, "Elena doesn't have a lunch again today. Could you please bring her one?" Making lunch for Elena was something I had done habitually every single day before school. Then Mom died and I could hardly make toast, much less remember to make a lunch for my daughter. That was weird.
I also was terribly surprised by how quickly powerful fits of anger would come to me. I had been intentional before she died to bless her, tie up loose ends and visit often...we didn't have unresolved issues. That's why the intense anger was SO alarming and surprising to me. I would wave up with very little warning and crash onto my family around me.
After many months it began to subside slowly. My children and husband accepted all my apologies and forgave me along the way.
Margie, you are so right about having to walk through the grief yourself. Just as I've said about child birth--I'll say it about grief, too...I'd like to raise my finger in the air for you and call, "STUNT DOUBLE!"
Raising a finger for you with love,
Hez
Thank you for sharing. I lost my dad on Wednesday last week and you have given a voice to some of what I have been feeling.
Post a Comment