Our little buddy, Nicholas Henry, will be 2 at the end of January. Most of you know he was named after my brother, Nicholas Scott, who passed away when he was 13 and I was 11.
I have thought a lot about all of the times we will get to tell our son "Uncle Nick stories." This might sound dumb but it honestly never crossed my mind that one day I will have to tell my son "the Uncle Nick story." That day came sooner than I expected. Sunday. We were at my parent's house playing with toys and watching football when he pointed to a shadow box hanging in the living room and said, "What's that?" The question was pointed to my mom. She looked at me, I looked at her, and she said, "How do I explain this one? Hmm. Those were for your Uncle Nick." As a side note, I should mention my mom and I both recently finished a book called Colors of Grief. It brought feelings of grief and anxiety back to the point where I felt like my brother died yesterday. I haven't experienced grief like that in years. The story was eerily similar to ours and I found myself not sleeping well, tearful all day long, and anxious. As you can imagine with any almost two year old, the conversation was practically over before it started and he completely switched gears to something else. Maybe one of the five remotes he likes to play with at my parents? I can't remember. I never thought about the fact that when my son learns about his Uncle Nick and his legacy of joy and faith, he also learns that his Uncle died, a part of the story that is unfair and quite honestly, brutal. As hard as it was for me to read Colors of Goodbye, there were several good reflections that I am leaning into as I continue to navigate grief, which includes preparing to tell Nick about "the Uncle Nick story" someday. Our family experiences both grief and joy. "Both/and living creates richer living, not in spite of grief, but because of it." Nothing that came out of Nick's death was worth the cost of losing him but I have a choice about how I will fill the crater this loss has left behind. A few quotes from the book, (In talking about how to fill the crater left behind by the loss of her daughter) "I could fill that sucker in a heartbeat with bitterness, anger, and doubt. I could heap it to overflowing with self-pity, victimhood, and resentment. And no one would dare blame me because death of a child is an ace in the hole when it comes to remaining stuck. But could I instead choose to fill that crater with things like open-handedness toward God, a deeper authenticity in my faith—one that doesn’t spit-shine the tragedy with too-soon platitudes about heaven without first giving nod to my lacerating loss? Could I fill the crater with curiosity, greater empathy, richer gratitude, and hope? Would there come a day when I could fill that crater with joy? This thought silenced me. My outstretched hands fell to my side. I am not a mere victim. I have a choice." "God, always the gentleman, had not rushed me or demanded I accept this life whose story line still horrified me, and perhaps always would. He had simply continued to invite and to fan little embers of joy beneath the ashes as constant reminders of His love for me. He had not forgotten me or my family or our pain." This year's grief talk with my two year old was short. I pray that when my son is old enough to hear all the parts of the story, he sees the ways God has fanned embers of joy (HELLO, giving me a beautiful son named Nick) beneath the ashes of such significant loss. I pray he sees his mom, making daily choices to fill craters of grief with open-handedness towards God and his goodness. Someone who didn't fall victim to bitterness and anger. I pray that he sees a family that has held on and who has let go. Most importantly, I hope he sees a God who invites him into joy.
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Hi! I'm Haley. Archives
May 2019
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