* * * * * * * * * *

"It took" ~

Those 2 words may be short, but they are powerful.

They can encompass time.

They can indicate the abandonment of the illusion of control that we assume we have in life.

* * * * *

"It " ~ something besides me, other than myself.

"Took " ~ a lack of giving or gifting on my behalf, something being snatched or taken or changed or brought forth without my consent, or perhaps due to it.

* * * * * * * * * *

Many have asked how Blue Water Hope's first large event went, and to be thoughtful and honest ~ it was everything that we had hoped it would be.

It was an evening of truth, of faith, of acknowledgement, of pain, of healing, of listening and speaking, of allowing ourselves to splurge on chocolate and mac n cheese.

It was raw and inspiring and it brought families in our community together who may have not otherwise met ~ who have walked in each other's shoes, perhaps feeling alone and without realizing just how many others have lost a precious child.

The evening was all of that and more ~ but for me personally, it had a lingering feeling that I couldn't quite place my finger on.

* * *

It was scary to walk into a room with so many parents who have experienced unfathomable loss and heartache...

... but it was also simply comforting to be there together.

There was an unspoken camaraderie about the crowd that made each of us feel like we belonged and left us a little breathless.

We knew what each other felt.

We saw in the eyes of those around us the weight that we too carry.

We heard the words of others acknowledge the silent screams in our own heads, which gave life to the struggles of death and let us experience first-hand the coming together of community in times of loss.

It was heartbreaking and bittersweet.

* * *

It took hours of reflecting afterward to search for the perfect word to describe An Evening of Hope.

At moments it felt like the right adjective was on the tip of my tongue, almost in reach ~ yet I soon came to terms with the fact that the English language simply did not have a fitting word to encompass the evening that I had just spent with some of the strongest and gentlest and most loving women that I have ever met in my life.

To take the pain and beauty and fragile strength of the whole night and sum it up in one word would not do it justice. So after contemplating for a bit, I decided to move on and let that fraction of time name itself one day when it was ready ~ if ever its hours could be boxed within a word.

* * * * * * * * * *

It took lots of Benadryl and melatonin and physical exhaustion for me to sleep at all during the 11 days that followed, and still the precious hours of relief were far and few in between and clouded with a rawness that I couldn’t escape.

I would like to say that I woke up the next day feeling healed and full of energy, but that's not what happened.

It took time.

Grieving and facing pain does not bring about instant results.

I wish it did.

The morning after the event, on the 3 year anniversary of the death of our son ~ also Mother's Day this year ~ it took one sweet song to break open the seawall for grief that I had built to get through prepping for the evening before.

Grief is a funny little bastard.

It refracts light in all the right ways that makes it appear smaller than it really is, and then when it sees a moment's weakness and the tiniest crack in our facade, it multiplies beyond the capacity that we can handle and it tries to drown us.

It is hard to breathe when you are drowning.

It is hard to exist when you are grieving.

It is hard to look up as people you love pass by during communion at church because you are too tired and ashamed to be living when your son isn't.

It is hard to focus on words or look into the eyes of those speaking wisdom around us when we think we lack in all things in a moment of grief... and the distance from the ground to someone's eyes is too hard to travel.

* * *

It took 2 days to admit that I couldn’t go anywhere.

That I couldn't grocery shop, that I couldn't make dinner, that I couldn't buy my secret sister a gift for Tuesday.

That admission wasn't fair to my family or anyone else, and so then the guilt ate at me and covered me like a weighted blanket while I slept ~ too heavy to crawl out from underneath and too hot to comfortably rest beneath.

Guilt and shame are cruel nemeses that love to kick us while we are down. They whisper lies and try to break us. And then they laugh and spit and whisper some more.

* * *

It took 3 days to drive all the way to one of my family's favorite kids programs, only to chicken out in anxiety and make myself physically ill enough to go home.

How could I walk into a room to face a class full of children who I love as much as my own when I couldn't face looking in the mirror that day? When I couldn't pull together enough strength to put on makeup and put in earrings?

Did I even brush my hair that day?

I don't remember.

Friends took over in my absence.

I went home and hid under my blanket for hours, praying for sleep and being blessed with somehow finding it while my girls enjoyed their day.

* * *

It took 4 days to leave my house and actually want to, only to find that I was so exhausted that I lacked words and physical strength.

I couldn't think ~ I was too tired.

I couldn't laugh ~ I was too tired.

I could hardly feel ~ I was just too tired that day.

It was beautiful to see friends who I love but I hated myself that day.

It was that same day that the granite company called and our son's headstone was ready to be delivered to the cemetery.

It took everything I had to be calm and continue breathing that day.

It took more out of me than I had left inside of me to take. Thankfully, God carries us when we cannot walk ourselves.

What I thought would be healing ~ a place for my son's ashes to rest and people to visit to remember him ~ left me empty and aching.

* * *

It took 5 days to start doubting choices and decisions.

Who was I?

What was the point?

Why would my pain have purpose?

Had I misunderstood a calling?

Had I forgotten the beautiful hand of grace that God had carried me with throughout impossible times?

Was I terrible to question Him?

Would I ever heal?

Would I be strong enough to help others to heal?

* * *

It took 6 days for me to realize that my littlest girl had caught a stomach bug and to lose count of how many times she vomited in the night and the following day.

I slept off and on during it all, hating daylight any time sleep crept away and reality yanked me awake again.

My husband made our sick little girl broth while I laid in my chair useless and silent.

* * *

It took 7 days to get out of my chair with the faintest ounce of ambition to go buy flowers to plant at our son's headstone.

All I could think of is that they would just wither and die like all flowers do, like all people do.

I hated flowers that day and all of the smells and colors and the fact that we gift something so lovely at such ugly times stole their beauty from me.

(Side note: I love kind gestures, so if you've ever given me flowers in life, I loved them at the time! But please, aim for chocolate in the future. Or crispy bacon. Or both.)

But I hated flowers A LOT that day as I bought them for our son ~ knowing that he never would have picked them out himself ~ but knowing that he deserved the honor of receiving them.

I especially hated flowers a little bit more when a sweet fellow customer at the store told me to 'have fun' as we parted ways with our individual carts full of petals.

I didn't have the heart to tell her why I was buying mine.

It took almost two hours to walk through Menards before discovering that everything wouldn't fit into one cart, that I had spent too much money that I didn't have, and that the garden center doors had been locked and I had to walk around the long way to our truck.

It took another hour after that for me to realize that either my foolishness in not eating all day or my daughters stomach bug was making me nauseous, and I found myself ungracefully vomiting into a ditch of wildflowers in the cemetery.

Ironic that in the end, flowers took the brunt of my day.

It took another 15 minutes after that before I gave up for the day and went home to sleep off chills and aches and admit defeat.

* * *

It took 8 days for me to ask my oldest daughter for help with the flowers for her brother's grave.

I knew that my aching body could not lift the huge bags of gardening soil alone ~ and I couldn’t bear to let my sweet friend who offered to do it for me complete a task that only a mother should do.

It took almost two hours of crawling on the ground that afternoon ~ sick and desperate and driven ~ pushing forward in weakness and frustration to plant flowers that were physically beautiful but emotionally devastating.

* * *

It took 9 days to purposefully set my phone down at least five times in one morning in order to not call and cancel an important meeting with two mothers because I found myself empty and wordless and in tears and reeling from getting used to eating again.

I will share that it didn't take long to see the blessing of showing up, even literally on empty, and setting aside pride and admitting struggles out loud to others ~ because God will use every single moment to bless us if we obey ~ especially when choices are hard and will define our character and honor His plans.

That day's meeting blessed me in countless ways as I looked into two mothers' deep and gorgeous eyes and heard them speak of Hope amidst struggles.

These moms were breathtakingly beautiful and I could have listened to them speak all day.

It took writing all of this down to turn their heartbreak and my lack of words at the time into praise for the opportunity that He allowed for three women to be seen and heard, and for their value to God to be acknowledged out loud... even though life circumstances had not turned out as planned.

* * *

It took 10 days to admit that Tuesdays have and will continue to suck for some time, and to feel strong enough not to long for something to take the edge off.

Tuesdays are when I miss our son the most.

It took a few hours beyond that for yet another piece of my heart to shatter when I heard my littlest girl vocalize her plans of taking a photo together with her sister and her brother's headstone.

It took only a few seconds after that for my teenage daughter to agree without argument to the most heartbreaking selfie that I think I have ever been a part of.

That shard of my heart clung on for dear life by the little invisible threads that somehow hold me together on days like this ~ threads twined tightly in Faith and Hope and Love ~ the ultimate trio of strength that a merciful Heavenly Father has bestowed upon us, His children.

It took an extra half of a day to voice aloud to a friend over the phone that I doubted myself, and that I questioned my ability to care for others while I was going through it myself.

It took about five minutes into that conversation to cry ~ to really gut cry in self-pity.

My poor friend.

It took about an hour of crying before I was laughing so hard that I very literally peed my pants, just a little bit. (Gotta be real here, folks. Three kids and my very human bladder just ain't what it used to be...)

* * *

It took 11 days to wake up and really want to live again.

To ache for life and all it holds and to remember that finding joy along the journey IS possible, no matter what.

Joy is a constant that will always be there, if only you choose to look.

Even if bad things happen.

Even if someone dies.

Even if we are sick.

Even if we lose,

or we hurt,

or we make mistakes.

Even if ~ !!

It took 11 crazy, emotional, exhausting days for me to remember that the idea of Hope isn't a lie in the presence of hardship.

Hope is a constant too!

And once I remembered that truth, I physically felt Hope flood back into me with such a warm gentle peace that words do it no justice.

Hope is true, real, a fact, a commitment, a core belief ~ and through Hope, Joy is still possible!

* * *

It took an hour and six minutes to write this down so that I wouldn't forget it the next time that my health and confidence take a tumble.

It is now 5:28am.

I've had about two hours of sleep, and have a busy day ahead of me tomorrow ~ but it will be a good day.

Because after all, God promises us in Romans 8:28 that He will use ALL things ~ even a healing body, a sleepless night full of midnight ramblings from a broken human, and a busy next day ~ to bring about good to those who love Him, who have been called according to His purpose.

* * *

And friend, YOU are being called EVERY DAY ~ to be here, to be present, to be willing ~ even if it hurts and it is hard.

Bad days are ok and will pass.

Bad days will attempt to suck the life out of us ~ and sometimes come quite close to doing just that ~ but good days will follow.

Bad days will take more than we have inside of us to survive them, but they will also give us so much too ~ once we have lived through them, we will see how resilient we have become, how pain has stretched and strengthened us.

Bad days will strengthen our endurance. They will show us that we can do hard things. They will teach us to ask for help when we can't.

But bad days will always pass and will be followed by good days in the cycles of life.

We just have to learn ways of preplanning our responses for when grief or pain hit us out of nowhere, so that we are better equipped to continue moving forward.

We can do that with the support of friends and family, with Faith, and with a good counselor.

* * *

So, hang in there, my friend.

Reach out.

Be heard...

... and listen.

Love and be loved.

Your life has value and is precious!

Your life is just as important as your child's is!

* * *

Whether you can see or believe it right now or not ~

Beauty will come from ashes,

Healing will come from pain,

Strength will be gifted to the weary,

... and Life will continue to be filled with Beauty, Hope, and Joy ~ even along the journey of grief or amidst the struggles of pain.

* * *

We are still here ~ together!

Broken but still standing in Strength...

... and surrounded by a community who needs to see the reality of struggles in order to understand the promises of Hope and Healing.

* * *

With big hugs and lots of love,

~ Sarah

Call or text any time…

(810) 357-2057

www.bluewaterhope.org