Hope in Life and Death
The day after our son was born, both of my parents tested positive for COVID-19.
Six weeks later, my mom recovered. My dad did not.
Losing my dad is the first major, unexpected loss I’ve experienced in my life. There has been a sharp contrast between the grief of sudden loss and the joy of welcoming our second child to our family. Processing both of these large, life-changing emotions in the midst of a home with a lively toddler and a new baby has been next to impossible.
My car has become my primary place to process my grief. It is usually on drives to the grocery store with Elsa or Ariel singing in the background that my children are temporarily quiet and my mind wanders. All of the memories of the week leading up to my dad’s death come crashing in. I remember our last family FaceTime call when he was sedated in the ICU and I was so overcome with emotion that I forgot to say ‘I love you’. I remember the text updates coming in from my brother, each time the news getting worse. I think about the moment we packed up our family and started to drive back home, thinking we had time to make it and say goodbye. I feel guilty that we didn't make it. I replay the phone call I received from my mom at four in the morning telling me it had happened. I remember crawling back into the hotel bed, waking my husband up to tell him, and not knowing what to do next.
On these drives, I cry. Just enough to relieve the emotions that have built up. With each drive, the memories become more bearable. As more time passes, the reality of it all starts to settle a little bit more.
We’re four months removed from it now. The grief is not nearly as heavy but it’s still there. It’s there when I’m speaking to friends and say something about my parents, quickly realizing I’ve misspoken. It comes back when I notice grandparents with their grandchildren, I’m struck with the fact that Micah will never know his Pop and Selah will likely forget the memories she has.
I have had people tell me that I’m strong for getting through all of this - losing a parent, giving birth, growing our family size, juggling being a stay-at-home mom with the remote work I do to make ends meet - but the truth of the matter is…
I’m not. I’m not strong at all. In fact, I have never been more aware of how weak I truly am. There were days when I was barely holding it together. My postpartum hormones were already in overdrive and the temptation to let myself sink back into depression was strong. In the weeks after we got home from the funeral, Micah would have bouts of inconsolable crying due to a food sensitivity we weren't aware of and Selah acted out in desperate attempts to receive the attention she once knew as an only child. Yet while I tried to comfort my son and be overly present with my daughter, one thought would keep ringing in my head - ‘My dad is dead. My dad is dead? Yes, my dad is dead.’
Even now that life has fallen back into a routine and the pain isn’t as present anymore, there are days that I collapse into bed at the end of the day feeling completely and utterly defeated by the demands of life.
So, how have I made it to this point? How have I walked through this season of life without imploding?
God. 100%.
God has been the source of any strength the outside world has perceived in me. It hasn't been an ample dose of self-care - that time doesn't routinely exist right now. It's not because I'm superwoman, though God knows I long to be. No, God, himself, has been the sole reason I’ve made it through.
In relaying that truth to a friend, they responded by saying I should give myself some credit. But I have to politely disagree. I have nothing to give myself credit for. If I was left to my own devices I would have completely fallen apart. I was sleep-deprived and grief stricken and had zero opportunities to deal with either. And yet, here I am. Still standing. Not because of my own strength, but because of His.
“And God is able to bless you abundantly, so that in all things at all times, having all that you need, you will abound in every good work.” 2 Corinthians 9:8
In all things. At all times. Because of God, I can abound in every good work. Because His grace is sufficient, I can handle the day He has given me. Because His gospel has saved me, I can make it to the end of each day even if I’m running on empty.
God is good, my friends. He is enough. It’s as simple as that. He is worthy of our trust, He is strong enough to carry our burdens. He is faithful to walk with us in every season of our lives.
The loss of my dad still stings. But I can rejoice in the hope that my tears are temporary. I can run to my heavenly Father as my refuge when the storms of life overwhelm me. His strength is something to marvel at. He never wavers, never fails, never leaves. He remains steadfast in a constant swirl of changes. He is my rock and I’ll keep clinging to Him until He calls me home. And at that moment, my dad and I can rejoice together - completely free from the pain of sin and death, worshipping God together for the rest of eternity.
