His Eye is on the Sparrow

It's been more than three weeks since Ben passed away. I honestly thought it would get easier.

 

Not quite yet.

 

We have periods of intense faith. Confidence. Ben is whole again. Healthy. With Jesus. There is no greater comfort than knowing that to be true. We have hope in God's promises. And that comforts us immensely.

 

But then we have periods of intense pain. Especially when we remember the little boy from before the headaches. The laidback, goofy, and self-sacrificing little boy who was such a huge part of our family. The peacemaker. The teacher. We feel hurt to feel his absence, pain to remember what he had to go through, and anger to think about life in the future without him.

 

I had to look up the seven stages of grief today. I wondered where exactly I fit on the spectrum.

 

Looking it up gave me words to talk about it with Andy tonight. To describe where I felt like I was in grieving our son and see where he was.

 

This website describes seven stages of grief including:

1. Shock and denial
2. Pain and guilt
3. Anger and bargaining
4. Depression, reflection, and loneliness
5. The upward turn
6. Reconstruction and working through
7. Acceptance and hope

As it turns out, I'm not in any one stage. I'm in a constant flux of almost all seven stages, all at the same time, changing from one minute to the next.

 

As much as our emotions fluctuate, we've seen the same in Jack. He is only five, though, so he mourns much differently.

 

Jack is our firstborn. Independent and impulsive. He is a thinker and very passionate. And so we've seen him act out - on both ends of the spectrum.

 

The same sweet boy that offers us cold glasses of water, extra pillows for my back, and patiently teaches Meg how to play badminton... is the same boy that makes unrealistic demands, uses a nasty tone with his mom, and loses his temper on a moment's notice. We can see him working out his grief, learning to manage without his twin brother at his side, and navigate through an otherwise familiar world. He's just as volatile as we are. His emotions are just not as sophisticated as ours. We guide, comfort, correct, and pray for wisdom to help us discern when to use each.

 

I took the kids to the town park the other day. It was a relatively last-minute decision, so I hadn't organized anyone else to meet us there. It was one of the boys' favorite spots. A lake with snakes, ducks, fish, and frogs, as well as a playground for Meg. I was extremely exhausted, (being six months pregnant will do that to you,) waddling around the park, trying to be sure Jack didn't jump into the water to find another water snake for himself, while also entertaining Megan who just wanted to ride on the swings. And Jack wasn't listening. "I'm NOT leaving until I find a frog!" he insisted. I just about had it. We had already been there for almost two hours. I didn't pack any lunches because I was at the end of my grocery week and so we were all hungry. It was getting close to Megan's naptime and I wanted nothing more than to sit down. "We can't go now!" Jack cried. "Then who else am I going to play with today?" I somehow managed both kids into the van and we headed home. Jack was sad when I admitted I didn't have energy to find him another playmate while his sister napped. And I was angry.

 

Angry that I had to worry about finding my son additional playmates. I never had to do that before! I worked hard to teach my boys how to play nicely with each other. For the past two years or so, I felt like my hard work had paid off (although it was probably just because of who they were.) Jack and Ben played beautifully together, complimenting each other very well. When they did have a conflict, they seemed to resolve it relatively quick. It was so easy just to send them outside for them to entertain themselves while I enjoyed watching from the sidelines. We went on play dates all the time, but they weren't anything I had to construct more than once or twice every single day!

 

I sobbed. And sobbed. The whole way home. It's a good thing there weren't many cars on those back roads I took home that day. Because if there were, I would have had to pull over to recover. I almost did.

 

Why, God, did you have to take Ben? Jack needs him! I need him! I hate the fact that I have to work so hard to entertain my firstborn these days. Especially while carrying for this new life inside of me. He never needed this before. Why did you have to take Ben?

 

Driving by the cemetery where Ben's body is buried didn't lighten the tears either.

 

I was so angry with God. WHY did this have to happen?!? Couldn't we have all learned the same lessons if You would have given him the complete physical healing we had so desired at the end of it all?!? You would have still gotten the glory!

 

I let Jack watch Curious George while Megan napped and I laid down on the couch next to him. I was spent. Sad. And not knowing how we could ever reach the other side of this nightmare. Near the end of the first episode, Jack came over and started snuggling into my lap. "How is the baby feeling?" he gently asked. "Can I get you anything?"

 

Oh, the forgiveness of a five-year-old. So resilient. So sweet. It was as if he had forgiven my frustration earlier. He wanted to move on, too.

 

His faith is just beautiful, too. The other night at bedtime, I asked him if there was anything he'd like to pray for. He said he wanted Jesus to heal his bad cough. Then, with the next breath, he added, "But if I die, I'll be able to see Ben!" Sheesh, talk about a silver lining!

 

Today while driving, Jack and I started talking about Ben. I don't even know how it all began, but I do remember saying something about how Ben's tumor wasn't like having a cold or a bad cough. "The doctors knew that Ben's bump was serious. They told me and Daddy that he probably wouldn't be able to walk or talk after a while. And that they thought he was going to die." I suppose I felt it was important for Jack to know that Ben's death didn't really take us by surprise. That Jack wouldn't receive a similar fate if he complained of a headache. My heart just sunk to feel his deep hazel eyes stare into the back of my head. And my emotions took control.

 

"Sad tears?" he asked. We talked again about how it was okay to cry sad tears because of how much we would miss him. How we will always miss him. But those sad tears are also happy because we know he is with Jesus. And that there truly is nothing better than that. "But I will work hard to distract you from sad tears, Mom!" he told me.

 

Ben is with Jesus. That's all my firstborn needs to hear before he snaps back toward optimism.

 

The faith of a child. So simple. And yet so profound.

 

But God is not only using our son to help heal our pain. Even in the midst of our grief, God seems to have been going out of his way to show us signs of His presence.

 

This spring has been a (surprising or perhaps not-so-surprisingly) good one for wildlife around our house. Snakes and frogs have been unusually large and colorful. Butterflies have been prevalent and meaningful. Even squirrel, chipmunk, robin and bunny sightings have brought an incredible amount of joy to my kids. And in turn, their parents.

 

Yesterday, Jack caught a huge frog, "Kermit," at my sister's house. Meg really enjoyed him, too.

Today, Jack rescued a baby bird who fell out of a nest. "MOM!!!" he came running up to me on the back deck, "Look what I found! Dad will be so excited! And Ben would've been so 'frilled!" He said birds were his favorite because they could fly. Just like Ben.

 

Jack was really excited to show Andy when he got home, which thankfully, was only ten minutes later. "Is it a sparrow?" Andy asked. Curious, I looked up pictures on my phone. Without realizing, I started humming that old familiar hymn from my childhood. Initially, my thought was that it was a robin. But then I realized that baby sparrows had that little yellow stripe under their beak.

 

"Yes! It is a sparrow!" I told them excitedly.

We named him Jack. Jack Sparrow. heehee

 

And then I started crying again. God sent a sparrow. To our house. To my son. To my family. To remind us that He is caring for us, just as He cares for this sparrow. Oh, the symbolism was just too much to be a coincidence!

 

Here are the lyrics of the song:

 

Why do I feel discouraged?
Why do the shadows come
And why does my heart feel lonely
And long for heaven and home
When Jesus is my portion?

A constant friend is He
His eye is on the sparrow
And I know He watches me
His eye is on the sparrow
And I know He watches me

So I sing because I'm happy
And I sing because I'm free
His eye is on the sparrow
And I know He watches me

So I sing because I'm happy
And I sing because I'm free
His eye is on the sparrow
And I know He watches
And I know He watches
And I know He watches me

 

And here's a beautiful video, too.

 

We still feel anger. Peace. Sadness. Hope. And I'm sure those feelings will continue to fluctuate as we experience life without Ben. We grieve much because we loved much. That little boy's death left quite a hole in our hearts. But it always seems to come back to God. The fact that He has not abandoned us. He has not left us without hope. He is big enough to control the universe and yet small enough to live comfortably in each of our hearts. And send us reminders that He is still there, still in control, still loving us along the way.

 

If He loves a little sparrow enough to care for its every need, how much more does He love us?

 

It is almost unfathomable.

 

Thank you for the reminders of Your love, God. Keep sending them. We are very grateful for each and every one.