Monday, December 13, 2010
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
Thursday, December 2, 2010
My Story Part 3
So as I write this I'm feeling like I'm way behind the 8-ball. Like, why didn't I do this sooner? Why am I writing this now? It seems a bit like old news but now that I've started I guess I feel like I might as well continue.
The next hours were a blur. I don't remember leaving the hospital. I don't remember getting in my car or the ride home. I don't remember how that piece of the journey ended. I walked in the house and was lambasted with emotion. Derrick's things were there. His presence was felt there. I didn't want to have to walk past his bedroom. I didn't think I could do it. I didn't want to go in. Somehow I was forced in. His sheets were disheveled. I could smell him. I could hear his voice calling me "Seestor!"
That day we had to go to the funeral home. Stroo funeral home in Cutlerville. was the same place that was used for my Grandma C. and so it seemed like the natural place to go. Likewise, Pine Hill Cemetery holds stones for Gram C, Grandpa C. and Uncle Johnny. I remember hearing my parents say they might as well buy three plots in the cemetery so they will be buried by Derrick. How awful that was to think of losing my parents too and the reality of that at such an awful time. We all met at the funeral home together. We were escorted to a room in the basement. I had been in this funeral home for a number of visitations but never paid much attention to the basement. Seems sort of fitting that the basement is where we sat and discussed the details of burial. The funeral home director asked us if we would be putting the information in the paper and gave us a timeline that we had to finish writing the obituary. My dad had come with a draft that we reviewed and ok'ed. We talked about times we would hold visitation, when and where the service would be held, and then we were taken to the room with caskets. I saw a small child's casket in the room and thought how awful too that must be. I thought it quite strange to be "shopping" for a casket. The price tags were high which seemed a bit ridiculous. There were many styles. I thought how unimportant it was to pick a certain style for something that simply gets buried into the ground but my parents helped us choose something special. It's as though they had the foresight to know that standing at visitation and being at the funeral we would be looking at the casket and it would be nice to have something special. There were trophy bass on each corner of the casket. We chose flowers for the top that included some grasses and we put an arrow in them. There was a larger floral arrangement that I think said son and brother and then a smaller arrangement for the casket that said "Uncle."
We began talking about the funeral service. My dad knew there was no way that he as a pastor could give the message at the funeral of his son. Ken Schripsema, the former youth pastor at Kelloggsville, was asked to speak at the funeral. He joined us in our living room that night. We were all just sitting there, waiting for someone to say something. My dad, the pastor, chimed in "This sucks." Now to most of you, those words might not be significant but I to hear those words come from my dad almost made us laugh. My dad doesn't speak like that. My mom used to rag on us for using the word "sucks." Never before had I hear my dad say that. And yet, it was so totally profound that he was there - able to admit and say outloud what we were feeling. We all knew there were no words and so my dad's word choice in this situation left me thinking "You're right dad. The everyday words we use don't have the possibility of describing this." My dad is a man who is extremely strong in his faith and has lived that my entire life. He has daily modeled unselfish, unending love to me even when I haven't been good at reciprocating and so hearing him say those words to me almost had the a similar conotation as the words "Jesus Wept" in John 11:35. It was a firm reminder of our humanity. Anyway, we talked with Ken about what we had so far thought the service might look like. We shared what we wanted him to talk about in his message. And he shared with us. It was a time of weeping, a time of pain, and yet a time of sharing sweet memories and things we could include to make the service special.
My dad and I were basically the ones who then put the rest of the service together. We had to get an order to the funeral home director so that they could get the funeral service programs printed. I remember feeling so busy and feeling like I had a purpose admidst my grief. The conclusion of the day of the funeral was profound in that the support from visitation was no longer anticipated, the funeral was over, and we had the holidays just around the corner. It was sort of a similar let down to what it feels like after planning a wedding. While one is in joy and one is in pain, both are events that people spend months (or hours) rushing to plan, trying to think of the details, putting in emotional energy, and I know I felt after we got married a bit of a let-down when coming home from the honeymoon in regards to where my time and energy was being directed. My brain had to slow down. The schedule slowed down. This big anticipated even was finished.
That Saturday afternoon while we were meeting with funeral directors, Derrick's football team was playing in the state Semi-Finals. What happened in that game exploded on the news that night. Derrick's team had won the game with a final score of 42 points - exactly the number Derrick wore on his jersey. I wondered what it was like to be at the game. While it was not possible for us to be at the game, nor do I think we could have emotionally handled a crowd at that point, my dad over and over again lamented that were not there. My parents have followed all of us kids in our sports endeavors and have almost never missed a game. My dad read through the stats of the game and spoke over and over again of how thrilled he was with how Derrick's teammates, Derrick's friends, played.
Tom spent the night at my parents house that night. His parents were still on vacation and driving home seemed like such a task. We fell asleep on the couch. I knew at that moment that God had given him to me (for among other reasons) to help calm my soul. Had he not been there I would have never slept. I slept hideously as it were but having him there, holding me, allowed me to fall asleep.
Sunday morning we didn't go to church. It seemed like vit was appropriate to wait to have to greet people at visitation. Instead of going to church that morning, we went shopping. We had visitation Sunday, Monday and the funeral Tuesday. I needed some new clothes - not that I knew how in the world to pick something out to wear at my brother's funeral but regardless we had to be dressed up three days in a row. I didn't feel like I had three days worth of appropriate clothes. I had just bought a black vest so I wore that with a white shirt and black skirt for the funeral. I have no idea what I wore for visitation (certainly not important).
I remember seeing cars come and go that morning from the church parking lot and wondering what it was like to be there. I felt like people were just staring at our house. Part of me wanted to go see them. Part of me wanted to hide. At that time Kelloggsville Church was really a family to us. I felt like I was missing out on something that the rest of my church family was taking place in. I didn't know what or why I felt this way but I certainly wondered...How did they say the news to the congregation? I'm sure many had seen the paper but my dad being a pastor there, I'm sure they had to say it again. Who said it? How did the congregation respond? Did they have a message that day? What songs did they sing?
That night was our first night of visitation. Surprisingly, I, the girl who's always late, was the first to get to the funeral home. I walked in and the doors to the room were closed. They did however have Derrick's name on a sign over the top of the door. It seemed so odd to see his name there. It didn't belong over that door. It was heart wrenching. I have been back to Stroo a few times for visitations since Derrick's and seeing the name plate over the door gets me every time. I see Derrick's name. It wasn't supposed to be that way!
Since the room at this point was empty, the casket seemed like it was so far away as it was on the other end of the room. Flowers had already begun to flood the funeral home. I had helped pick out the clothes that Derrick would be dressed. We picked a plaid light blue American Eagle shirt with jeans. I wondered why it looked so different on him in the casket. It wasn't until a bit later that I realized it looked different because they had tucked his shirt in so it was quite tight to his skin - not a way he wore his everyday clothes. Most of the time his shirts went untucked. His hands were also laid on top of each other in such a formal fashion on his stomach. im's friend Rob had been with Tim the entire night in the hospital. Rob brought a shotgun shell and tucked it into Derrick's hands. Derrick was wearing a necklace he bought in Ensenada when we were there on a MOSES trip.
All three days the funeral home was packed. Steph had flown in from New Mexico. I have no idea when I first saw her or what I said but I know she spent all of her time at the funeral hanging out with Nasreen just staying around in case we needed anything. My sister recalls having Nasreen go get her different clothes. I just remember them being there. We saw countless friends - some long time friends, some we hadn't even seen in a long time. Tom and I were engaged just three weeks prior to this and the obituary stated Lisa and her "fiancee" so many people came to use congratulating us and offering sympathy at the same time. People were so supportive. Sooo many people said "I can't believe you're doing this! How are you doing this?!" It's true - only by the grace of God. None of us wanted to be there but people were praying us through.
So many dear ones found different ways to support us and love us through this time. I called my college roommates (Stacy, Afton and Lindsey) and asked them if they could come clean my bedroom at home. My mom's best friend from Iowa was coming for the week and would be staying in my room but the dresser needed dusting, sheets had to be washed, the junk on my floor needed to be cleaned up. Afton brought a very bland chicken noodle soup knowing full well that my stomach goes crazy with stress and a bland chicken noodle soup is something my stomach would be able to tolerate. Tim had suggested using the country song "Go Rest High" for the slide show and so I sent Steph and Heather on a mission to find that.
Mr. Moes, one of Tim, Derrick's and my former teachers, stopped by the house with a large pot of soup. I answered the door and he couldn't even talk. He just offered his gift and cried. I knew he enjoyed cooking and I felt the love that had been poured into that. I can still picture him handing me the pot of soup. I tried saying thank you and it's as though he couldn't even accept my thanks. He just trembled and cried and then left.
Visitation was tiring. It was a time of celebrating Derrick's life while grieving his death. I remember thinking his friends - just juniors in high school were too young to have to come to something like this. I held many of their hands and walked with them up to the casket. All the while we collected memories and thoughts from them that would be read at the funeral.
Again the verse resonates:
Thessalonians 4:13 "Brothers and sisters, we do not want you to be uninformed about those who sleep in death, so that you do not grieve like the rest of mankind, who have no hope."
The next hours were a blur. I don't remember leaving the hospital. I don't remember getting in my car or the ride home. I don't remember how that piece of the journey ended. I walked in the house and was lambasted with emotion. Derrick's things were there. His presence was felt there. I didn't want to have to walk past his bedroom. I didn't think I could do it. I didn't want to go in. Somehow I was forced in. His sheets were disheveled. I could smell him. I could hear his voice calling me "Seestor!"
That day we had to go to the funeral home. Stroo funeral home in Cutlerville. was the same place that was used for my Grandma C. and so it seemed like the natural place to go. Likewise, Pine Hill Cemetery holds stones for Gram C, Grandpa C. and Uncle Johnny. I remember hearing my parents say they might as well buy three plots in the cemetery so they will be buried by Derrick. How awful that was to think of losing my parents too and the reality of that at such an awful time. We all met at the funeral home together. We were escorted to a room in the basement. I had been in this funeral home for a number of visitations but never paid much attention to the basement. Seems sort of fitting that the basement is where we sat and discussed the details of burial. The funeral home director asked us if we would be putting the information in the paper and gave us a timeline that we had to finish writing the obituary. My dad had come with a draft that we reviewed and ok'ed. We talked about times we would hold visitation, when and where the service would be held, and then we were taken to the room with caskets. I saw a small child's casket in the room and thought how awful too that must be. I thought it quite strange to be "shopping" for a casket. The price tags were high which seemed a bit ridiculous. There were many styles. I thought how unimportant it was to pick a certain style for something that simply gets buried into the ground but my parents helped us choose something special. It's as though they had the foresight to know that standing at visitation and being at the funeral we would be looking at the casket and it would be nice to have something special. There were trophy bass on each corner of the casket. We chose flowers for the top that included some grasses and we put an arrow in them. There was a larger floral arrangement that I think said son and brother and then a smaller arrangement for the casket that said "Uncle."
We began talking about the funeral service. My dad knew there was no way that he as a pastor could give the message at the funeral of his son. Ken Schripsema, the former youth pastor at Kelloggsville, was asked to speak at the funeral. He joined us in our living room that night. We were all just sitting there, waiting for someone to say something. My dad, the pastor, chimed in "This sucks." Now to most of you, those words might not be significant but I to hear those words come from my dad almost made us laugh. My dad doesn't speak like that. My mom used to rag on us for using the word "sucks." Never before had I hear my dad say that. And yet, it was so totally profound that he was there - able to admit and say outloud what we were feeling. We all knew there were no words and so my dad's word choice in this situation left me thinking "You're right dad. The everyday words we use don't have the possibility of describing this." My dad is a man who is extremely strong in his faith and has lived that my entire life. He has daily modeled unselfish, unending love to me even when I haven't been good at reciprocating and so hearing him say those words to me almost had the a similar conotation as the words "Jesus Wept" in John 11:35. It was a firm reminder of our humanity. Anyway, we talked with Ken about what we had so far thought the service might look like. We shared what we wanted him to talk about in his message. And he shared with us. It was a time of weeping, a time of pain, and yet a time of sharing sweet memories and things we could include to make the service special.
My dad and I were basically the ones who then put the rest of the service together. We had to get an order to the funeral home director so that they could get the funeral service programs printed. I remember feeling so busy and feeling like I had a purpose admidst my grief. The conclusion of the day of the funeral was profound in that the support from visitation was no longer anticipated, the funeral was over, and we had the holidays just around the corner. It was sort of a similar let down to what it feels like after planning a wedding. While one is in joy and one is in pain, both are events that people spend months (or hours) rushing to plan, trying to think of the details, putting in emotional energy, and I know I felt after we got married a bit of a let-down when coming home from the honeymoon in regards to where my time and energy was being directed. My brain had to slow down. The schedule slowed down. This big anticipated even was finished.
That Saturday afternoon while we were meeting with funeral directors, Derrick's football team was playing in the state Semi-Finals. What happened in that game exploded on the news that night. Derrick's team had won the game with a final score of 42 points - exactly the number Derrick wore on his jersey. I wondered what it was like to be at the game. While it was not possible for us to be at the game, nor do I think we could have emotionally handled a crowd at that point, my dad over and over again lamented that were not there. My parents have followed all of us kids in our sports endeavors and have almost never missed a game. My dad read through the stats of the game and spoke over and over again of how thrilled he was with how Derrick's teammates, Derrick's friends, played.
Tom spent the night at my parents house that night. His parents were still on vacation and driving home seemed like such a task. We fell asleep on the couch. I knew at that moment that God had given him to me (for among other reasons) to help calm my soul. Had he not been there I would have never slept. I slept hideously as it were but having him there, holding me, allowed me to fall asleep.
Sunday morning we didn't go to church. It seemed like vit was appropriate to wait to have to greet people at visitation. Instead of going to church that morning, we went shopping. We had visitation Sunday, Monday and the funeral Tuesday. I needed some new clothes - not that I knew how in the world to pick something out to wear at my brother's funeral but regardless we had to be dressed up three days in a row. I didn't feel like I had three days worth of appropriate clothes. I had just bought a black vest so I wore that with a white shirt and black skirt for the funeral. I have no idea what I wore for visitation (certainly not important).
I remember seeing cars come and go that morning from the church parking lot and wondering what it was like to be there. I felt like people were just staring at our house. Part of me wanted to go see them. Part of me wanted to hide. At that time Kelloggsville Church was really a family to us. I felt like I was missing out on something that the rest of my church family was taking place in. I didn't know what or why I felt this way but I certainly wondered...How did they say the news to the congregation? I'm sure many had seen the paper but my dad being a pastor there, I'm sure they had to say it again. Who said it? How did the congregation respond? Did they have a message that day? What songs did they sing?
That night was our first night of visitation. Surprisingly, I, the girl who's always late, was the first to get to the funeral home. I walked in and the doors to the room were closed. They did however have Derrick's name on a sign over the top of the door. It seemed so odd to see his name there. It didn't belong over that door. It was heart wrenching. I have been back to Stroo a few times for visitations since Derrick's and seeing the name plate over the door gets me every time. I see Derrick's name. It wasn't supposed to be that way!
Since the room at this point was empty, the casket seemed like it was so far away as it was on the other end of the room. Flowers had already begun to flood the funeral home. I had helped pick out the clothes that Derrick would be dressed. We picked a plaid light blue American Eagle shirt with jeans. I wondered why it looked so different on him in the casket. It wasn't until a bit later that I realized it looked different because they had tucked his shirt in so it was quite tight to his skin - not a way he wore his everyday clothes. Most of the time his shirts went untucked. His hands were also laid on top of each other in such a formal fashion on his stomach. im's friend Rob had been with Tim the entire night in the hospital. Rob brought a shotgun shell and tucked it into Derrick's hands. Derrick was wearing a necklace he bought in Ensenada when we were there on a MOSES trip.
All three days the funeral home was packed. Steph had flown in from New Mexico. I have no idea when I first saw her or what I said but I know she spent all of her time at the funeral hanging out with Nasreen just staying around in case we needed anything. My sister recalls having Nasreen go get her different clothes. I just remember them being there. We saw countless friends - some long time friends, some we hadn't even seen in a long time. Tom and I were engaged just three weeks prior to this and the obituary stated Lisa and her "fiancee" so many people came to use congratulating us and offering sympathy at the same time. People were so supportive. Sooo many people said "I can't believe you're doing this! How are you doing this?!" It's true - only by the grace of God. None of us wanted to be there but people were praying us through.
So many dear ones found different ways to support us and love us through this time. I called my college roommates (Stacy, Afton and Lindsey) and asked them if they could come clean my bedroom at home. My mom's best friend from Iowa was coming for the week and would be staying in my room but the dresser needed dusting, sheets had to be washed, the junk on my floor needed to be cleaned up. Afton brought a very bland chicken noodle soup knowing full well that my stomach goes crazy with stress and a bland chicken noodle soup is something my stomach would be able to tolerate. Tim had suggested using the country song "Go Rest High" for the slide show and so I sent Steph and Heather on a mission to find that.
Mr. Moes, one of Tim, Derrick's and my former teachers, stopped by the house with a large pot of soup. I answered the door and he couldn't even talk. He just offered his gift and cried. I knew he enjoyed cooking and I felt the love that had been poured into that. I can still picture him handing me the pot of soup. I tried saying thank you and it's as though he couldn't even accept my thanks. He just trembled and cried and then left.
Visitation was tiring. It was a time of celebrating Derrick's life while grieving his death. I remember thinking his friends - just juniors in high school were too young to have to come to something like this. I held many of their hands and walked with them up to the casket. All the while we collected memories and thoughts from them that would be read at the funeral.
Again the verse resonates:
Thessalonians 4:13 "Brothers and sisters, we do not want you to be uninformed about those who sleep in death, so that you do not grieve like the rest of mankind, who have no hope."
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
My Story, Part 2
Part 2
So somewhere between midnight and 10am we received the news more officially and had to come to grips with a new reality - one none of us wanted to accept. The next hours were spent meeting with doctors, waiting, already feeling the exhaustion…I remember the nurse, Mary, walking back by the room. I don’t think she was even assigned to Derrick’s care but again my mom grabbed her. My mom asked her if we would be able to go in and see Derrick. She didn’t just mean if we would be allowed in the room – we all wanted to know – what did he look like? Could we do it? Could we see him this way? I grieved for my mother who works as a nurse for patients who are all on ventilators. She had always said she prays that she would never have to see someone who she loves so much on a vent…especially not one of her children. This night she didn’t get the option. Derrick was on a vent. I remember the rhythmic sound of it when I entered the room, the steady, cold, surreal sound of it. A machine was breathing for my brother.
I don't know if my mom has ever seen Mary again but the way I remember her, she was an angel for us that night. She answered tough questions. She gave direct answers. And her confidence that we would be able to see Derrick lying in that hospital bed gave me confidence to enter that room.
When I think of a tragedy like this one I imagine that the body of a victim of such an accident would be bloody, bruised, broken, distorted. While Derrick did have a large bruise on his head and around his eye the rest of his body seemed “normal.” I almost feel like I remember one of my siblings commenting how proud he would have been to have such a shiner on his eye. Maybe I made that up. Derrick was lying on his back - his hands in front – very similar to the position we would see him in the coffin. I remember thinking that the strong muscles I had commented on to him just hours earlier were now lifeless.
There is a lot I don’t remember from this night. It pains me. I don’t remember when we finally were allowed in the room. I don’t remember who went first or if we went all together. Once we were allowed into ICU we walked a ways down the hall so I feel like the room was hear the end of the hallway or a corner room. The walk down that hallway felt dark and cold.
Saying goodbye to Derrick was the hardest thing. When my Grandma Christians went on to heaven many of us had the chance to say goodbye to her in her hospital room. I remember Derrick grabbing her hand, kissing it and softly saying “Goodbye Grandma, I love you.” I found it significant the way he said those words. He said goodbye with such confidence. Words I didn’t even want to think – he said out loud. I trust that the words he uttered he said with confidence knowing this isn’t the end. God’s promises for us are true! Lucky for Derrick his parting from Grandma was a much shorter time than the rest of us.
I used the same words, the same touch of the hand as I said goodbye to Derrick. Boy these are hard memories to revisit. Tears stream my face. More to come…later…
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
My Story Part 1
Friday ~ November 22, 2002
It seemed like a regular Friday. I was a junior in college at GVSU. Tom and I were engaged three weeks earlier and so wedding planning was in full force. I didn’t have classes in the afternoon so I was at home but Tom and Heather and I were headed out to my apartment at GVSU for dinner with Afton, Stacy and Lindsey. Shelly had stopped over with baby Lucas. We were all sort of just hanging out, chatting about what our weekend plans would entail. I remember teasing Derrick about all the working out he had been doing for football season and he of course flexed his muscles and told me to punch him as hard as I could in the stomach. He was headed with his friend Jon to South Christian High School’s (SCHS) girls varsity basketball game. It was at Caledonia high school and it was one of the first rounds of play-offs. SCHS was quite excited that both their girl’s basketball team and boys football team had great potential for play-offs this year. Derrick gave little Lucas a kiss and said “I love you little buddy” and he walked out the door. I often wonder what he would say to Tiffany.
It seemed like a regular Friday. I was a junior in college at GVSU. Tom and I were engaged three weeks earlier and so wedding planning was in full force. I didn’t have classes in the afternoon so I was at home but Tom and Heather and I were headed out to my apartment at GVSU for dinner with Afton, Stacy and Lindsey. Shelly had stopped over with baby Lucas. We were all sort of just hanging out, chatting about what our weekend plans would entail. I remember teasing Derrick about all the working out he had been doing for football season and he of course flexed his muscles and told me to punch him as hard as I could in the stomach. He was headed with his friend Jon to South Christian High School’s (SCHS) girls varsity basketball game. It was at Caledonia high school and it was one of the first rounds of play-offs. SCHS was quite excited that both their girl’s basketball team and boys football team had great potential for play-offs this year. Derrick gave little Lucas a kiss and said “I love you little buddy” and he walked out the door. I often wonder what he would say to Tiffany.
Shelly and I were wearing the same shirt. When we bought it we agreed not to ever wear it at the same time. Isn’t it funny how it was so cute when we matched as little kids? As a college student, that simply wasn’t as cool. We laughed at how we both had it on that night but we knew we wouldn’t be seeing each other later since we were headed our separate ways. I don’t think either of us ever wore the shirt again.
So off we went – Tom, Heather and I in Tom’s big red truck. We headed out to GVSU for dinner. I don’t think we had even started eating yet when I got a call from one of Derrick’s friends. The summer of 2002 I had spent in Mexico so Derrick had used my cell phone all summer while I was gone. I still had all of his friends’ numbers stored and they had my number. We had Nextel Direct Connect so one of his friends bumped me and said there had been an accident. He said Jon and Derrick were in a car accident and Derrick was being taken by aeromed downtown. I’m quite sure that at this point I went into a stage of shock. I told Doug this wasn’t a funny joke. He kept telling me it wasn’t a joke – it was true. I couldn’t believe. I wouldn’t believe him!
Apparently one of their other friends had been following Jon and Derrick to the game and so they were at the scene. It was hours before the police ever made contact with our family. I’m quite sure I was the first in my family to get the news. I think Derrick’s friends also called my brother Tim who was at the cottage. I knew we had to call my dad. When I called him I could tell right away that he didn’t know anything yet so I passed the phone off to Tom and made Tom give the message. Then Tom, Heather, and I hopped in his truck and drove downtown. That’s the one and only time we’ve driven from GVSU in Allendale to Spectrum Downtown in less than 10 minutes. Heather grabbed my hand. I was trembling. I tried calling my sister on the way to the hospital. She was with my mom. I wanted to talk to my mom but she wouldn’t let me at that point. She just kept saying “If aeromed was there, this is really bad.” I know now that aeromed is used in only the most critical cases. It’s like bring the hospital to the patient instead of bring the patient to the hospital.
Apparently one of their other friends had been following Jon and Derrick to the game and so they were at the scene. It was hours before the police ever made contact with our family. I’m quite sure I was the first in my family to get the news. I think Derrick’s friends also called my brother Tim who was at the cottage. I knew we had to call my dad. When I called him I could tell right away that he didn’t know anything yet so I passed the phone off to Tom and made Tom give the message. Then Tom, Heather, and I hopped in his truck and drove downtown. That’s the one and only time we’ve driven from GVSU in Allendale to Spectrum Downtown in less than 10 minutes. Heather grabbed my hand. I was trembling. I tried calling my sister on the way to the hospital. She was with my mom. I wanted to talk to my mom but she wouldn’t let me at that point. She just kept saying “If aeromed was there, this is really bad.” I know now that aeromed is used in only the most critical cases. It’s like bring the hospital to the patient instead of bring the patient to the hospital.
Aeromed had landed in a field near the accident sight. Jon was driving his parents car down 100th Street just past Hannah Lake when he lost control of the vehicle and proceeded to over correct. The car rolled multiple times and the roof peeled off. The vehicle stopped when it tipped in the ditch and hit a tree. They figure that Derrick’s head took most of the impact. Jon tried to resuscitate Derrick. They did CPR while they waited for the medics. Soon the streets were blocked off and lights were flashing all around. A week or so after the accident I went with my dad to see the car. Looking at the car, it was a miracle to think that anyone could have survived, nonetheless without hardly a scratch. I don’t know why God chose to only take Derrick home at that time. He must have really special plans in mind for Jon.
We entered the hospital by the emergency entrance. Jon and his mom were already there. My parents and siblings were either there when we arrived or almost there. We stayed in the emergency room waiting area for a bit and then we moved up to a waiting room by ICU. Heather had called her parents or sister to come pick her up from the hospital. I remember Gene pacing the hallway by the elevators holding Lucas. As news traveled the ICU waiting area began to fill up. Aunts and Uncles and cousins came. Friends of our family came. And Derrick’s friends and fellow football teammates came and sat on the floor in the hallway. Considering how many people were there, it was awful quiet. We kept getting the message from the doctors that we had to wait for more information. My mom, who is a Registered Nurse, kept us in tune with reality. At one point she said if there is something they could do for him they would have had him in surgery already. A nurse walked by a bit later. It was someone my mom had worked with in a previous job. “Mary” she called. “Mary!!! What’s going on in there?” Mary very flatly said “It’s not good.” My mom asked for more details at which point Mary said a few things and commented on Derrick’s eyes. Mary said “Do you know what that means?” My mom responded plainly. “He’s brain dead.”
Derrick’s football team would be playing in the State Semi-finals the next day. My dad had talked to the coach and told them they should play the game. “Derrick would have wanted them to play.” So many of the players headed out of the hospital and slowly it was just our family left. I can’t say I really had any concept of time at this point but I feel like it was around 11pm. We knew what the prognosis would be and we knew it was now just a matter of waiting before we would be allowed in to say goodbye.
At this point word had spread by word of mouth and through the media. The girls had won their basketball game that night and lots of kids came up to the hospital when they got the news after the game. I can't even remember if or when I called my roommates back. (These were the days when texting/email didn't exist on my phone). I asked Heather to call some of our friends. Tom's parents were out of town so it took us a bit to get a hold of them. My friend Steph was also out of town. She was living in New Mexico for the semester. I kept calling and she wouldn't answer. I couldn't call by the ICU waiting room. We had to go down to the main floor. I sat by the fountain in the front entrance of Spectrum. I finally called her parents house to see if I could get another number for her. I remember thinking I was going to wake them up. It was getting late at this point. I got a hold of someone else is New Mexico and found out Steph had gone to see a movie and I got the approximate time for when she would be back. I wanted to tell her myself but I didn't know how. I considered having Heather call her but knew I needed to do it. I wanted so badly to tell one of her NM friends to go get her out that movie but I knew that wasn't a realistic option. So I calmly told her friend that it was important. That I needed to talk to her when she got back. I don't know what I said. I don't remember if I was sobbing. I just remember the fountain. I hate that fountain!
Maybe you could add your part of the story here? Maybe we could make this blog grow? Maybe it will help you, like it's helping me. If you're interested post it in the comments or email it to me. Just a thought.
At this point word had spread by word of mouth and through the media. The girls had won their basketball game that night and lots of kids came up to the hospital when they got the news after the game. I can't even remember if or when I called my roommates back. (These were the days when texting/email didn't exist on my phone). I asked Heather to call some of our friends. Tom's parents were out of town so it took us a bit to get a hold of them. My friend Steph was also out of town. She was living in New Mexico for the semester. I kept calling and she wouldn't answer. I couldn't call by the ICU waiting room. We had to go down to the main floor. I sat by the fountain in the front entrance of Spectrum. I finally called her parents house to see if I could get another number for her. I remember thinking I was going to wake them up. It was getting late at this point. I got a hold of someone else is New Mexico and found out Steph had gone to see a movie and I got the approximate time for when she would be back. I wanted to tell her myself but I didn't know how. I considered having Heather call her but knew I needed to do it. I wanted so badly to tell one of her NM friends to go get her out that movie but I knew that wasn't a realistic option. So I calmly told her friend that it was important. That I needed to talk to her when she got back. I don't know what I said. I don't remember if I was sobbing. I just remember the fountain. I hate that fountain!
Maybe you could add your part of the story here? Maybe we could make this blog grow? Maybe it will help you, like it's helping me. If you're interested post it in the comments or email it to me. Just a thought.
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
November 23, 2010
Took the day off of work today. Sort of annoying that I had to use 2 sick days to comp for this since it extends the holidays. You know, I really wouldn't have planned this right before the holidays...course I really wouldn't have planned this ever. Went for the usual run this morning with Tiffany in her stroller. It's was extremely windy but I was grateful to still be able to get out. I was reminded that sometimes we do have to run against the wind. It's not easy but you just have to keep putting one foot in front of the other. I felt that. At one point I felt like I kept moving my feet but I wasn't even going anywhere. Sometimes life feels that way. I had the "Beauty Will Rise" cd on my iPod this morning. The first time I listened to the CD I wasn't really a fan. I thought that it wasn't really my style. But the more I have listened to it, the more the lyrics have touched me. I am confident that beauty can rise from ashes. I have experienced joy in the mourning and I know that God is faithful and I am learning to let Him have control.
This afternoon Tom and I took Tiff to the gravesite. How I wish she could meet her Uncle Derrick! He would have loved her! It's always so hard because walking to the gravesite also means walking by the gravesites of my dear Grandma C, Grandpa C and my Uncle Johnny. I brought a boquet of roses. I left some of the petals by Gram C.'s tombstone and then the other flowers by Derrick's. I didn't realize how long it can take to pull the petals off a rose one at a time! Learned something new today.
I have so many questions. I feel I know the Biblically scripted answers in my head ~ so hard to grasp in my heart. I am thankful that year 8 is NOT like year 1 (or 2 for that matter). God has done a work on my heart. Grief is different now and for that I am so thankful. I am also thankful that grief for me comes with hope. I long the day I enter heaven. I rejoice at the promise that there is a room there waiting for me since I have believed.
I Thessalonians 4:13-14 "Do not grieve like those who have no hope. For we believe that Jesus died and rose again, and so we believe that God will bring with Jesus those who have fallen asleep in him.
This afternoon Tom and I took Tiff to the gravesite. How I wish she could meet her Uncle Derrick! He would have loved her! It's always so hard because walking to the gravesite also means walking by the gravesites of my dear Grandma C, Grandpa C and my Uncle Johnny. I brought a boquet of roses. I left some of the petals by Gram C.'s tombstone and then the other flowers by Derrick's. I didn't realize how long it can take to pull the petals off a rose one at a time! Learned something new today.
I have so many questions. I feel I know the Biblically scripted answers in my head ~ so hard to grasp in my heart. I am thankful that year 8 is NOT like year 1 (or 2 for that matter). God has done a work on my heart. Grief is different now and for that I am so thankful. I am also thankful that grief for me comes with hope. I long the day I enter heaven. I rejoice at the promise that there is a room there waiting for me since I have believed.
I Thessalonians 4:13-14 "Do not grieve like those who have no hope. For we believe that Jesus died and rose again, and so we believe that God will bring with Jesus those who have fallen asleep in him.
Beauty Will Rise
Out of these ashes beauty will rise
And we will dance among the ruins
We will see it with our own eyes
Out of these ashes beauty will rise
For we know joy is coming in the morning
In the morning, beauty will rise
*Lyrics to "Beauty Will Rise" by Steven Curtis Chapman
Click here to watch video of "Beauty Will Rise"
Isaiah 61 The Year of the LORD’s Favor
The Spirit of the Sovereign LORD is on me, because the LORD has anointed me to proclaim good news to the poor. He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim freedom for the captives and release from darkness for the prisoners, to proclaim the year of the LORD’s favor and the day of vengeance of our God, to comfort all who mourn, and provide for those who grieve in Zion— to bestow on them a crown of beauty instead of ashes, the oil of joy instead of mourning, and a garment of praise instead of a spirit of despair. They will be called oaks of righteousness, a planting of the LORD for the display of his splendor.Seeing how the Steven Curtis and MaryBeth Chapman family have shared their faith journey through the death of their 5 year old daughter, Maria, has really inspired me. I was fortunate to spend "A Night With the Chapmans" at a concert at Central Wesleyan. I also read MaryBeth's book "Choosing to See" a story of choosing to see victory in the darkness. Check out these links for more info. on their story:
stevencurtischapman.com
marybethchapman.com
showhope.org
Follow them on twitter:
@MaryBethChapman
@StevenCurtis
@ShowHopeNow
TELL YOUR STORY
In life I have learned that we all face challenges. They come in many forms and varying intensities. Some are challenges that push us forward; that inspire us. Others grieve the depths of our being. It may be grief in the form of loss, grieving something you want but don’t have, financial grief, grieving someone’s health.… I have experienced grief in many of those forms but none deeper for me personally than when my younger brother Derrick was taken to heaven at the age of 16.
Grief is a process - a journey - one that takes time and is different for every individual; for every situation. For me the grief process has seemingly taken on different phases. Each phase having importance – its own place in the journey. I’d dare say that while each journey is different and individual there are likely some similarities too in the way people grieve. Psychologist and grief specialist’s have probably researched this and published the information in peer-reviewed journals and books. While I have not read any of those publications, I have lived it. My story may look very different than yours-quite frankly it’s even very different than my husband’s story, my siblings’ story and certainly very different than my parents’ story. While the story of Derrick’s death and his football team plastered the news for weeks following the accident, my personal journal is a story that for many years I have kept private only sharing with a few of my closest friends on only a few random occasions.
This year is different. November 23, 2010 marks 8 years that I have been on this journey. I don’t know why after 8 years God has now called me to tell my story. While for me it’s a part of every day of my life, it’s seems that most people would check this story off as a thing of the past. It’s done. Get OVER IT! I mean really – it happened 8 YEARS AGO?
Well perhaps I’m a bad listener, or a slow learner, that it has taken 8 years for God to get through to me. Or perhaps God has other reasons for why now is the right time to share. To be honest, I really don’t want to share my story. It seems much easier to grieve behind closed doors. I don’t want the sympathy. I don’t want people to tell me they understand. But for some reason, I feel that God has called me to tell my story.
This part of my journey started over two years ago when my husband Tom and I spent a weekend in Nashville with “Michael W. Smith and friends.” We went to the Grand Ole Opry Friday night, had a beautiful Valentine’s dinner and concert Saturday night and Sunday ended with worship. They sang a song called “Healer” and I felt as though God was telling me that part of the healing process might mean sharing my story. I began working at Taft Elementary the year after Derrick’s accident. Many of the people that I worked with, had become so dear to me, and they didn’t even know this part of my life. I felt like healing might mean that I needed to be open and honest – not keeping it a secrets. I have been wrestling with this concept since and have taken some baby steps to start sharing my story. Somehow, though, in the past months, it has been impressed upon me in a new way. That maybe someone else could learn from my story – maybe my story could inspire someone or maybe I simply just need to respond to God’s call and put it out there – even if no one responds. I attended “A Night With the Chapmans” and listened as the Steven Curtis Chapman family told their story of how God is faithful and God is true – even in the dark times. At the concert MaryBeth Chapman talked about how their family and in particular her two sons who have recently started the band “Caleb” have been given a story and they need to be stewards of the story. They need to share their story so others can learn from their faith journey.
About a month following this, my husband and I attended another concert. The singer repeated over and over again how important it is to TELL YOUR STORY. I swear he said it 100 times! TELL YOUR STORY! So I talked to my husband about it the next day and told him how that was really compelling and I really felt like God was speaking to me through those words. My husband said he never heard the singer say that. I couldn’t believe it!
So here I am at a starting point. I’m not really a fan of blogs. I’m not promising I’ll keep up with the thing. But I am trying to find a way to follow God’s calling in my life and be faithful to that. I fear writing my story. I wonder why anyone would want to read it – why anyone else would care. I don’t feel like I’m a good story teller. I consider myself to be pretty good at writing research papers and reports but seriously – those aren’t really that exciting. I’m not funny. I don’t use vivid language. I usually just tell the facts. Quite frankly, it worries me to write this without having someone edit it first. (Yes, go ahead and laugh at me!) I fear putting myself out there. I fear the emotional energy it takes to keep up with something like this. But what I fear the most is that there are parts of this story that has shaped me that I don’t remember.
So here it is ~ a blog about my life. Seems strange really to be posting this but I pray that as I work through what this means for me, you might be encouraged and inspired and find your own reasons to keep the faith!
Remembering
Monday, November 22, 2010
Intro to this Blog
I find this to be a different sort of blog. It's more of a story ~ one that I thought about writing a long time ago and am finally getting around to it. It's sort of just a way of documenting my story but in a way that I can share it with others.
I don't really like how the ideas are archived as though they can only be read in order. Nor do I like the fact that it looks like some are "old" posts and some are new. Think of them more as chapters in a book and you are getting a sneak preview as you read and watch as I, the author, keep revising and editing them.
As a starting point the post "TELL YOUR STORY" explains how I came to this point of blogging.
I will try to put the other parts of the story in some sort of order so that as they are developed you can read them in a sort of logical/chronological order. The more I write, the more I want other people to tell me about their part of this story. It grieves me that there are things I don't remember. I know there are other things that I probably never even heard about. If you want to add to the blog - feel free! Leave a comment or send me an email and we can intertwine the stories. We'll see how this goes.
I don't really like how the ideas are archived as though they can only be read in order. Nor do I like the fact that it looks like some are "old" posts and some are new. Think of them more as chapters in a book and you are getting a sneak preview as you read and watch as I, the author, keep revising and editing them.
As a starting point the post "TELL YOUR STORY" explains how I came to this point of blogging.
I will try to put the other parts of the story in some sort of order so that as they are developed you can read them in a sort of logical/chronological order. The more I write, the more I want other people to tell me about their part of this story. It grieves me that there are things I don't remember. I know there are other things that I probably never even heard about. If you want to add to the blog - feel free! Leave a comment or send me an email and we can intertwine the stories. We'll see how this goes.
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