One Month Later

Today we celebrated Ben's one-month heaven anniversary.

 

And by "celebrated," I really mean, "had a stomachache almost the entire day because of how much I missed him."

 

There are a few things I've learned about grief in the past few weeks. It is unpredictable. It is volatile.

 

And I absolutely hate it.

 

Not only are we working through the feeling of being a family of five-minus-one, but we are also preparing for another one to join us in about thirteen weeks. We are trying to find a new normal, celebrating Ben's life while also mourning his loss. It's tough. I remind myself of scriptures that point to God's hope, His peace, the strength He offers to those who hurt. And yet there seems to be a big disconnect between my head and heart. What I know to be true and yet what I feel to be true. I still cry out to God in pain, asking why He had to choose Ben. Why our family. Why our son. But then I remind myself that I am not God. These things are not for me to decide. God is sovereign and He is Love. He is working out a bigger picture and we just need to trust Him.

 

Sometimes, you just have to fake it 'till you make it.

 

Our biggest concern has been for Jack's well-being. His behavior was up-and-down. In addition to his moments of being especially thoughtful and sweet, he was whiney. Easily irritated. Angry. And neither me or Andy knew how to handle it. We prayed for wisdom, to know how to appropriately act and react to his constant mood swings, from super sweet to super irritable. When to simply love and when to discipline. Jack has always been the more independent one, likely to tempt the limits, but the past few weeks have seemed to push his tendencies to the extreme.

 

Last weekend, I searched online for helpful ideas to support Jack through his loss. I found a site called "The Twinless Twin," and read about how to counsel a family going through the loss of a twin. They said losing a twin - much less that of an identical twin - can be as painful as the loss of a spouse. I read through much of that information in tears, feeling so sorry for my firstborn. That he had to give up his twin. That he would now grow up as a twinless twin. His birth certificate even identifies him as a twin and always will. Would he always feel this loss? Would he someday have guilt that God chose to take Ben home and not him? My thoughts twirled all over as Andy and I cried over our loss. Jack's loss. Megan's loss. Our unborn baby's loss. It is such a deep hole that has been left. How would we ever recover?

 

Overall, the site did provide some encouragement. The suggestions they made to provide stability to the surviving twin were things we were already doing: keep pictures around of the twin that had passed, be open in talking about your emotions, and finding opportunities to celebrate their life. I went to bed that night slightly encouraged, but still completely overwhelmed.

 

As we pulled out of the driveway for a play date that next morning, Jack randomly said, "Mom, I just wish Ben could have grown up to be a man." I started bawling. I couldn't help it. All of my emotions about my twinless twin emerged from the night before and I cried out of sadness and confusion.

 

"I know, Jack. Me, too," I said in between tears. "I really wish he could have grown up with us here in earth. It makes me sad to think about how much I miss him."

 

Jack's wisdom - once again - took me by surprise. "Mom, it's okay to be sad sometimes. But Ben is with Jesus in heaven. How many times do I have to tell you?" We laughed about the fact that he's the one encouraging me when I'm supposed to be the one that is comforting him. "Don't worry, I'll keep reminding you of things to be happy about," he told me.

 

Tell me again: why am I worrying about this boy?

 

I told Andy about our exchange that morning and we agreed: Jack is going to be just fine.

 

That afternoon, it occurred to me that, in addition to mourning his brother's loss, that he was working through the normal lack of routine that summertime brings. Now that preschool is over, our family has lacked any regular structure that had been part of our lives since September, even through Ben's sickness. So Andy and I sat down and instituted a list of chores for Jack to complete every day to support our family, as well as an allowance schedule. I'm not sure if it was just good timing or if that's what he really needed, but he has really stepped up to the challenge and seemed to have found a bit of identity and purpose. His behavior in the past five days hasn't been perfect - he is a normal five-year-old, after all - but we have noticed a huge difference since giving him more responsibility around the house again. He seems to have found a new sense of purpose. A source to receive encouragement. And it has been helpful to everyone.

 

He and Megan are also learning to interact again. But this time, without their mediator. It has been refreshing to see their relationship transition into a new one. Slowly.

 

But oh, how I miss my Benjamin. Especially through these nice weather days. Days where we would lazily watch both boys chase creatures in the backyard, go to the zoo, the museum, and to my parent's house. We do all the same things. Just without Ben. I hate it. But I suppose I'm getting used to it. Because I have to.

 

I'm learning that I will never come to a point of being finished with the mourning process. I will never be able to say that I am completely over it. Never. I feel Ben's absence almost every minute of the day. He was a significant part of our family and that's not something that you can just get over. I cry to remember our hospital stay, the pain he had to go through, and how he blindly trusted us to care for him. It hurts. And I hate it. But I am learning to redirect my thoughts. Focus on the positive. Celebrate the laughs, the blessings, the good that God has brought from it. Because I cannot make things better by wallowing in the events of the past. I cannot change a single thing that has happened by simply crying about it. I don't want to be bitter. I want to be a good wife, a good mom, a good friend. While it's okay to be angry at God sometimes, it is not a place where I can stay. It's an empty hole that only gets deeper, the more time you spend there.

 

And so we move forward. One foot in front of the other, one step at a time.

I told Jack this afternoon that we were going to visit Ben's grave tonight after Daddy got home. "Why?" he asked.

 

"Because it's been a month since he's been in heaven. It's a way to celebrate his life."

"I don't want to go," he said indignantly.

 

"We're going to go when Dad comes home. It's a way to remember Ben."

 

"But I remember Ben. I don't want to go!"

 

I was nervous to push him into doing something he didn't want to do. But I also didn't want too much more time to pass before we made our first visit back to the burial site, a place we pass by at least twice a day and yet have never stopped with the kids. Andy and I decided that I wouldn't say too much more about it, but that we would stop for a short time on our way to dinner.

 

Perhaps I should have mentioned proper cemetery etiquette before getting out of the car. Jack was all over the place, climbing on the gravestones, and jumping over plots while chasing the ball he was throwing in the air.

 

I had a much different idea of how this was going to go.

 

We put a few roses on my Grandpa Albrecht's grave (who we buried last May just four rows ahead of Ben) and then stood at Ben's site and thanked God for caring for him in heaven. And then we made a swift exit so neighbors wouldn't be offended at the way our son was jumping around the existing gravestones.

 

Aye.

 

 

 

But Jack had made it clear that he did not want to be there. I suppose his actions were a way for him to cope with the situation. To handle such a weird event. It must be awkward, to talk so much about your brother being in heaven and yet your mom insisting that you visit the place where his old body is buried. I'm glad we went, though. He did ask a lot more questions as we left and I'm sure our next visit will be a bit more smooth.

 

 

Tonight at bedtime, Jack reiterated his love for his brother. "Mom, Ben was my favorite boy in the whole world. He was a really nice boy. Everyone in the world loved him."

 

Normally, moms would take a comment like that and throw it up to five-year-old exaggeration. But there are a lot of people out there who have come to know - and love - his brother. Even strangers that neither of us know at Target mention how much they love Ben and have grown closer to the Lord because of his testimony. Jack's comment might not be too far from the truth.

 

Jack asked to feel the baby kick after we read a story, his eyes widening as if each time were the first. I told him that at twenty-six weeks, the baby can hear noises outside of the womb. So tonight, we heard a lot of, "Hi baby sister! This is Jack! I am your big brother! This man is Dad, this girl is Mommy and this girl is Megan! Can you hear me!?"

 

I honestly have no idea how we'll get through tomorrow. Or the next day. Or the one after that. Each milestone we celebrate without Ben, each anniversary seems to get more and more difficult. But those are not things I can think about right now. I'm only thinking of today.

 

I know we're going to be alright. I know we're all going to be okay. Not because we won't feel the pain in a few years or forget how much we loved Ben. But because we choose to keep going. To find JOY. To celebrate the good, weep over the bad, and keep our eyes fixed on Jesus. Because as much as I long to be with Ben, I can think of no one else I would rather care for my son than my heavenly Father... at least until I get there.